I pull the files side by side.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“About what?”
“This intel revision.” I tap the timestamp. “It predates the route change.”
She leans closer.
I feel it before I see it—the moment she realizes what I’m looking at.
“How much does it predate it?” she asks quietly.
“Fourteen minutes.”
That isn’t a delay.
That’s premeditation.
My jaw tightens.
“You changed the battlefield before I was ever rerouted.”
Silence.
Then—
“Yes.”
I turn in the chair and look at her.
Really look at her.
“And you never told me.”
Her expression barely shifts, but something in her eyes does.
Something old.
“You already knew that,” she says.
“No.” I shake my head. “I knew you interfered. I didn’t know you’d planned it.”
I stand slowly. Turn and look at her, she’s more beautiful than I remember.
“What else was in that file?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Wren.”
She inhales once, steadying herself.
“They’d flagged the asset for termination before the operation even launched.”
The words hit like a punch to the chest.
“Say that again.”
