“And that is sufficient.”
“It’s not scalable,” I say.
The word hangs there.
He tilts his head slightly.
“Clarify.”
I exhale, running a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face.
“You can’t be everywhere,” I say. “You can’t see everything. So either people speak up when something’s off, or stuff breaks until it’s too big to ignore.”
“That is why structure exists.”
“And your structure didn’t catch it,” I say. “I did.”
Silence.
Not heavy.
Focused.
I watch him process that.
Not dismissing it.
Not shutting it down.
Actually—
Considering it.
“You are suggesting decentralized awareness,” he says slowly.
“I’m suggesting you let people think without punishing them for it,” I reply.
“That introduces unpredictability.”
“It introduces solutions,” I counter.
His gaze holds mine, steady, searching, and I realize something that makes my stomach twist just a little.
He’s not interrupting me.
He’s not correcting me mid-sentence.
He’s not shutting this down.
He’s listening.
“You assume people will act in alignment with the system,” he says.
“I assume most people don’t want everything to fall apart,” I reply. “Self-preservation’s a pretty solid motivator.”
“Not all individuals prioritize collective stability.”
“Neither do you,” I say.
