I nod once. “No civilian collateral.”
She looks at me for a long beat, then says quietly, “You really changed the rule.”
“I changed the doctrine,” I correct. “Rules are what you write when you’re pretending you control people. Doctrine is what you enforce when the world is burning.”
Jordan exhales, shaky. “You’re terrifying.”
I shrug slightly. “You like it.”
Jordan rolls her eyes, but the heat in her cheeks betrays her. “Shut up.”
I lean in a fraction, keeping my voice low so the medbay doesn’t feel like it’s listening.
“Jordan,” I say, “you did the hard part. You made the truth loud. Now we keep it alive.”
Her gaze holds mine. “And if they try to kill me again?”
My jaw tightens. “Then they better bring more than a ‘routine inspection.’”
Jordan’s mouth twitches. “That’s your Scorsese line.”
I bare my teeth. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Yes you do,” she whispers, and there’s humor in it, and there’s fear, and there’s something warmer underneath both.
I straighten before the warmth can turn into a mistake.
“Rest,” I say.
Jordan glares. “Bossy.”
“Strategic,” I correct.
She exhales and closes her eyes for half a second, then opens them again like sleep might steal her.
I get it.
I glance at the monitors—her vitals steadying, her breathing still a little shallow. I step back and turn to leave, but her voice catches me.
“Lonari.”
I pause. “Yeah?”
Her voice is quieter, rough around the edges. “Thanks.”
The word lands heavier than gunfire.
I don’t look back right away because if I do, I’ll show too much.
When I finally turn, my face is neutral again.
“Stay alive,” I say.
Jordan’s mouth curves faintly. “Not sentimental, remember?”
I nod once. “Stall them.”
She blinks, and I see recognition flare—because she heard that message in the shape of my actions, even if I wiped the file.
