“I'm very bossy in general. You just haven't noticed because you're usually too busy trying to control everything yourself.” He drank his own water, watching me over the rim.
“What? Do I have something on my face?”
“When did things actually go wrong? When did you stop being someone who believed in systems and start being someone who operates outside them?”
I took a long drink, buying time. “Why does it matter?”
“Because if I'm going to work with you, I need to understand what drives you. What you're actually fighting for beyond revenge and spite. Whether you can sustain this long enough to be useful.”
“Maybe revenge and spite are enough.”
“Maybe. But I don't think so.” He leaned back as the server brought flatbread and hummus.
“It wasn't one moment,” I said finally. “It was gradual. Small betrayals. Little compromises. Watching good people get chewed up by a system designed to protect itself rather than deliver justice.” I paused. “At some point I realised I had a choice. Keep participating in something fundamentally broken, or walk away and try to fix things from outside.”
“And you chose outside.”
“I was forced out. There's a difference.”
“Was it force or was it relief?” Dom's eyes stayed level. “Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you wanted an excuse to stop playing by rules you'd stopped believing in.”
“That's a very judgemental assessment.”
“That's an observation. Not judgement.” He tore his own bread. “I did the same thing. Left a system I'd spent years serving because I realised it wasn't serving anything except its own perpetuation.”
“Military?”
“Yeah. Had all the structure, all the rules, all the certainty about right and wrong.” His jaw tightened fractionally. “Then I saw what those rules actually produced in practice and decided I'd rather be accountable to myself than to institutions that valued obedience over morality.”
“So how do you do it?” I asked. “How do you work for Adrian without feeling like you're just trading one system for another?”
“Because Adrian's honest about what he is. Doesn't pretend to be noble or righteous. He's a fixer who operates in grey spaces, and everyone who works for him knows exactly what they're signing up for.” Dom's voice stayed level. “There's freedom in that clarity. No illusions. No pretense. Just agreements between adults who understand the stakes.”
“And when those agreements conflict with your conscience?”
“Then I renegotiate or I walk. Adrian respects that.” He studied me. “You could have that too if you stopped trying to do everything alone. If you let people help without assuming they'll eventually use it against you.”
“People usually do.”
“Some people. Not all people.” He pushed the hummus toward me. “Eat more. You're still half-starved.”
I ate. The food was excellent—rich, flavourful, satisfying in ways that made me realise how long I'd been running on inadequate fuel. Dom watched me with expression that was part satisfaction, part concern.
“Better?” he asked when I'd slowed down.
“Better.” I leaned back, let my body actually process food for the first time in days. “Happy now?”
“Getting there.” But his mouth curved. “Tell me about risk tolerance.”
“What about it?”
He drank more water. “You strike me as someone who takes risks that would make normal people reconsider their life choices.”
“Risk is relative. What looks reckless to outsiders often makes perfect sense when you understand the tactical picture.”
“That's a very elaborate way of saying you're reckless.”
“That's me saying I calculate risks and accept consequences.” I met his eyes. “What about you? You followed me tonight without knowing where I was going or what I was doing. That's not exactly cautious behaviour.”
