I flinch. “Please don’t make this romantic. It’s not?—”
“It’s not romantic,” he cuts in, and there’s a bite to it. “It’s inconvenient. It’s dangerous. It’s expensive.”
I blink.
Lonari leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs, voice low.
“You think you’re the first person to get hurt for truth?” he asks.
I stare at him, mute.
He continues anyway. “You’re not. But you are the first person who looked me in the face and treated the truth like a weaponanda responsibility.”
My breath trembles out of me.
I try to grab the conversation and steer it back to safe territory—work territory.
“So,” I say too brightly, “Morazin’s in the vault. We have the partial imprint. I’m going to build a triangulation routine?—”
Lonari’s hand comes up and gently—gently—taps my knee.
I stop talking.
He shakes his head once. “No.”
“What?” I snap, defensive. “No what?”
“No disappearing,” he says. “Not tonight.”
I laugh, sharp. “I’m right here.”
“You’re physically here,” Lonari replies. “But you’re already halfway into a tunnel in your head. Work-mode. ‘I’m fine.’ ‘I’ll fix it.’”
He watches my face like he’s tracking micro-expressions.
“Stop treating yourself like disposable collateral,” he says.
The words hit me like a slap I didn’t see coming.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Because he’s right.
I’ve been doing it for so long it feels like oxygen.
“If I’m not disposable,” I manage, voice cracking, “then why does everyone near me get hurt?”
Lonari’s eyes soften—not in pity. In recognition.
He takes a slow breath. “Because you’re standing in the path of a machine that kills to protect itself.”
My throat burns.
I look away. “That’s just a fancy way of saying I’m radioactive.”
Lonari makes a low sound, frustrated. “Jordan.”
I shake my head hard. “No, listen to me. I’ve been on lists since I was a kid. I’ve watched my government decide whose lives are ‘acceptable loss.’ I’ve watched them smile while doing it. And now I’m the one making trouble and—” I gesture helplessly, the motion jagged. “And now Kaijen loyalists are dying.”
