I stare at him, rage buzzing under my skin.
“So you bury it,” I whisper. “Because it’s inconvenient.”
Dowron doesn’t flinch. “Because it’s volatile.”
“People are dead!” I snap.
“And more will die if this detonates publicly,” Dowron replies, unblinking. “Your evidence is real. Your conclusions are plausible. That does not mean releasing it saves lives.”
My hands curl into fists. The orphanage returns in a flash—adults explaining why a child’s pain is “necessary.”
I force my voice steady. “Fine. If you won’t go public, then secure Morazin and freeze the money trail. That’s tactical. That’s quiet. That’s stability and truth working together.”
Dowron’s gaze flicks to Clint, then back to me.
“No,” he says.
I blink. “No?”
“Orders from above,” Dowron replies.
I laugh once, sharp and disbelieving. “Of course. The invisible ‘above.’ The part of the institution you never get to see but always has its hand on your throat.”
Clint’s face tightens. He looks away for half a second like he can’t stand the room anymore.
Dowron stands. The meeting feels over before it’s finished.
“You will not pursue this through official channels,” Dowron says. “You will not broadcast these claims without authorization. You will accept safe passage back through the corridor and you will remain available for further debrief.”
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “You’re telling me to sit still.”
“I’m telling you not to start a war,” Dowron replies.
I meet his gaze and I feel something inside me go very quiet.
Institutions will not act voluntarily.
Not until they’re forced.
Not until the truth has teeth.
I inhale slowly, tasting sterile air and disinfectant.
“Fine,” I say. “I want one thing.”
Dowron pauses. “What.”
“Time,” I say. “And safe passage back.”
Dowron studies me like he’s trying to decide if I’m planning something stupid.
I am.
But he doesn’t need to know the shape of it.
“You get passage,” Dowron says. “Time is not mine to grant.”
“Then grant what you can,” I reply.
