Her voice drops to almost nothing.
“And one of them…”
She swallows hard.
“…is me.”
The tunnel seems to narrow around us.
In my ear, Ronan’s voice cuts in, sharp. “Aaron—status.”
I press the mic without taking my eyes off Lark.
“We’re secure for the moment,” I say. “But she has something. A drive. A list.”
Silence for half a second.
Then Ronan’s voice turns lethal.
“Copy. That’s your why.”
Lark flinches at the tone she can’t fully hear, but she understands enough to look terrified again.
I release her wrist slowly.
I don’t touch her pendant.
Not yet.
Because I’m starting to understand something I didn’t want to.
They didn’t pick her because she was easy.
They picked her because she was careful.
Because she hid the truth when the truth was supposed to die.
And now the truth wants her erased.
I shift the car into park.
The engine idles, low and steady.
I turn to her fully, voice quiet.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Whatever you kept—whatever you think you did to protect it—”
Her eyes glisten. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” I cut in. “But it means you can’t go back. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”
Her breath shudders.
And something in my chest—something I thought I burned out years ago—pulls tight at the sight of her trying not to break.
I shouldn’t feel that.
Feeling makes you slow.
