“And the truth.”
52
Aaron
Location: Secure Analysis Room — Lisbon
Time: Night
“No.”
It’s not loud.
It’s not angry.
It’s final.
The kind of word that isn’t meant to argue.
It’s meant to stop something before it starts.
Lark doesn’t stop typing.
Doesn’t even slow down.
“I don’t get to not,” she replies.
Her voice is quiet.
Focused.
Like she’s already moved past this conversation.
“They’re killing people,” I say, stepping closer.
“Yes.”
“And you think handing them exactly what they want stops that?”
Her fingers pause for half a second.
Then resume.
“I think,” she says softly, “that cutting the head off the machine does.”
I move in front of her screen.
Block it.
Force her to look at me.
She does.
And that’s when I feel it.
Not hesitation.
Not fear.
