"Finish eating," I say.
He blinks, disoriented by the sudden withdrawal. His hand comes up to touch where my fingers were, like he's checking if the contact was real.
"You didn't answer my question," he says.
"Which one?"
"Why you're doing this. Risking everything." His voice is steadier now, but there's something underneath it. Something raw. "You said your conditioning is wearing off. That you got attached because I'm weak. But that's not an answer. That's an observation."
He's right. It's the most insight anyone has shown into my verbal patterns in years.
"I don't have an answer," I say. "Not one that would satisfy you."
"Try me."
I consider lying. It would be easy. I've built entire operations on fabricated motivations, false emotional appeals designed to manipulate targets into compliance. I know what he wants to hear: that he matters, that he's special, that I see something in him worth saving.
But the words won't form. When I open my mouth, what comes out is closer to truth than strategy.
"I've killed two hundred and seventeen people," I say. "I remember every face. Every sound they made. Every way the light left their eyes." I pause. "I felt nothing. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. Nothing."
He's watching me with an expression I can't understand.
Curiosity, maybe.
"Then I saw you at the auction. And something in my programming... stuttered." I search for the right word. "You were already broken. Already disposed of. There was no reason to intervene. No tactical advantage. No operational benefit."
"But you did anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the alternative was intolerable." I meet his eyes. "You would have been bought by someone who would finish breaking you. And I found that I could not allow it."
The silence stretches between us. I count the seconds. Seven. Eight. Nine.
"That's not nothing," Elliot says finally. "Feeling something intolerable. That's not nothing, Jace."
I don't know how to respond. So I do what I always do when faced with an input I can't process: I redirect.
"Finish eating," I repeat. "I have work to do."
The encrypted feed from Jagger comes through at 2300.
I'm at my laptop, running another security sweep, when the notification pings. I open the channel, scan the message.
Custodian inquiry logged at 1847. Subject: Asset transfer irregularity, case file 7-Kappa-221. Requested by: Office of the Director of Erasure.
Webb.
I read it again. The words don't change.
Webb isn't just watching me now. He's building a case. Pulling files. Documenting the deviation. The inquiry was logged three hours ago, which means he's been working on this since before I got home.
I type a response:Timeline?
Jagger's reply is immediate:Unknown. But inquiries don't happen without intent. He's moving toward something.
