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A beat.
“I’m going to remove it.”
The air tightens.
“Remove… what?”
Sentinel lets the silence stretch.
Just long enough.
Then—
“The space.”
That lands.
Hard.
“Sir,” the man says carefully, “Carter won’t allow—”
“He won’t see it,” Sentinel interrupts.
Absolute.
Certain.
“Because he believes proximity is protection.”
A step closer.
Voice quieter now.
“He doesn’t understand that for someone like her… proximity becomes pressure.”
The man’s expression shifts.
Now he sees it.
A little.
“You’re going to isolate her,” he says.
Sentinel’s gaze sharpens.
“No.”
A pause.
“She’s going to isolate herself.”
That’s the difference.
That’s the art of it.
No force.
No visible threat.
