There.
Gone.
“You believe this is unnecessary,” he says.
“I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than my root system,” I reply.
“And yet,” he says, “you continue to provide variables worth assessing.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “I feel special.”
“You are not,” he says immediately.
“Shame.”
But I see it.
The way he doesn’t leave.
The way he stays right there, attention fixed, not drifting, not dismissing.
He’s listening.
That realization settles into place slowly, like something I don’t quite trust yet.
“Walk,” he says.
I sigh under my breath. “Of course.”
We move along the path again, the same damp stone, the same thick air, but it feels different now. Less like being led to something. More like… a continuation.
“You have been speaking with others,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s called talking.”
“About me.”
I glance at him. “You’re hard to ignore.”
“That was not the question.”
I shrug. “People talk. They always do.”
“And what do they say?”
“That depends,” I say. “You want the polite version or the honest one?”
“Honest.”
“They’re scared of you.”
“No.”
I blink. “No?”
“They are conditioned to respond to authority,” he corrects. “That is not the same as fear.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Okay, sure. If that’s the story you want to tell yourself.”
