He doesn’t react.
“I know.”
That’s worse than judgment.
I swallow. “The drive—”
“We’ll get to it.”
His voice is calm, but there’s a steel edge underneath it now, like something has settled into place.
He steps closer—not looming, not aggressive—but my body reacts anyway. I hate that. I refuse to apologize for it.
“I need you to remove the pendant,” he says.
My hand goes to my throat on instinct.
“No.”
The word is out before I can stop it.
Aaron’s eyes sharpen. Not angry. Focused.
“It’s not optional,” he says. “If it’s broadcasting, it’s a liability.”
“It was my mother’s,” I snap, heat flashing through the fear. “You don’t get to decide that.”
He holds my gaze. Holds it long enough that the rush drains out of me and leaves the truth behind.
“I don’t want to,” he says quietly. “But they already decided you don’t get sentimental choices.”
I look down at the charm, suddenly too heavy against my skin.
It was given to me the night my mother told me the truth about what she’d done. What she’d saved. What she’d refused to destroy when the order came down.
She said, If they ever come for you, this will matter.
I didn’t ask how.
I just wore it.
My fingers tremble as I reach for the clasp.
Aaron doesn’t move. Doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t look away.
When the chain comes free, I feel oddly… naked. Like I’ve just stepped out of a version of myself I didn’t know I was still wearing.
I hand it to him.
He takes it with care, like he understands this isn’t metal—it’s memory.
He sets it on the counter, pulls a small scanner from his jacket, and runs it slowly over the charm.
The device chirps once.
Then again.
His jaw tightens.
