"He won't. Not without proof that Webb has violated Custodianmandate."
"Then we get him proof."
Landon contributes too, surprising me. He's spent months analyzing the financial architecture of The Silent's legitimate fronts. Shell companies, money flows, connections to politicians and business leaders who think they're dealing with a philanthropic organization.
"Webb's been running side operations," Landon says, pulling up spreadsheets on his laptop. The screen glows blue in the dim room. "Money moving through channels that don't connect to an authorized Ministry account. I thought it was standard corruption, skimming off the top. But if he's using those funds for unsanctioned operations..."
"It's proof of independent action," Briar finishes. "Something the Custodians can't ignore."
I watch Landon work, the way his fingers fly across the keyboard, the intensity in his eyes as he traces patterns I can barely follow. He's not what I expected. Not soft, despite appearances. Not weak. Just different. A different kind of weapon.
"You're good at this," I say.
He looks up, surprised. "Thanks. I think."
"It's not a compliment. It's an observation. The Silent could have used you."
"They tried." His mouth twists. "That's why I'm here instead of in a Ministry basement being 'repurposed.'"
Briar's hand finds his under the table. Landon's shoulders relax by a fraction.
I file the interaction. The small gestures. The automatic comfort. The way two people learn to orbit each other when they've chosen to stay.
It looks like what I have with Elliot. Or what I'm trying to have. What I'm fighting to keep.
"The facility," I say, bringing us back to the immediate problem. "I need its exact location. Webb was careful not to give me anything I could use."
"I can get that." Briar pulls out his phone, sends a message. "I have someone in Design who owes me. She'll know where Webb keeps his toys."
"Toys." The word tastes bitter. "He's being tortured. Not physically. I made sure of that. But I know he's using neural extraction to force Elliot to relive his worst memories. Over and over." It’s something I only thought of after it was too late.
That’s why he accepted my terms so easily.
He could still hurt Elliot.
Landon makes a sound, small and pained. "That's..."
"Barbaric," Briar finishes. "But effective. Webb perfected the technique during the early years. He believes trauma can be mapped, quantified, used to predict and control behavior."
"He's trying to understand why I malfunctioned." I hear my own voice go flat. "He thinks if he can identify what made me attach to Elliot, he can prevent it from happening to other assets."
"Can he?"
"I don't know." The admission costs me something. "I don't understand it myself. He asked me once why Elliot. Why this broken, damaged, worthless asset out of all the people I've encountered in fifteen years."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. Because I don't have an answer." I stare at the fire, watching the flames consume wood and oxygen and time. "All I know is that when I look at him, something in me recognizes something in him. Like we're made of the same material. Like we were both built to be a somebody, and somehow we found each other in the wreckage."
The room is silent. I realize I've said too much. Revealed too much. The words came out without permission, bypassing every filter the Foundry installed.
Briar is watching me with an expression I can't read.
"That's not malfunction," he says finally. "That's humanity. The part of you they thought they'd erased."
"Humanity is a liability."
"Humanity is the point." He leans forward, intense. "Why do you think The Silent exists? Not to protect the Custodians. Not to maintain order. It exists because centuries ago, a group of families decided they could build a better world by controlling information, controlling resources, controlling people. But somewhere along the way, they forgot why. They forgot that power is only meaningful if it serves something larger than itself."
