He turns, and he starts walking, and he expects me to follow. I do. We move through the yard toward the ops block, and he doesn’t hurry and he doesn’t slow for me. He walks like the world adjusts to him or it breaks.
As we pass the camera pole near the weld bays, he speaks without turning his head.
“That note changes nothing,” he says.
I keep my tone even. “It shouldn’t.”
We reach the back stairs, and he stops at the door. He finally turns and faces me. “If someone wants me to doubt you,” he says, “they picked a bad method.”
I keep my face calm. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
His gaze drops to my mouth again, then lifts. “You’re going to keep working those mismatches,” he says. “Keep bringing clean findings to O’Driscoll, and keep your head down.”
I nod. “Understood.”
His mouth twitches. “Then go to your room.”
I turn to leave, and I keep my pace steady as I walk away from him. I make it halfway down the corridor before my burner vibrates inside the signal sleeve. I get inside my quarters, lock the door, and only then do I pull the burner out.
One message.
Answer me.
No greeting.
No question mark.
I type fast.
First day went fine. System runs tight. They’re watching new hires. I’m moving slow.
The reply comes too quickly.
Are you close to him yet?
My fingers hover before I type a reply.
Yes.
Another reply.
Did he touch you?
I stare at the screen.
He’s testing everyone.
A pause.
You don’t forget why you’re there.
I read it twice, then I lock the burner and shove it back into the sleeve before moving to pour a drink. The only thing I can see is his hand on my arm and the way he didn’t let go until someone forced the moment to break. I set the glass down and pace once, then twice, then I stop.
Opening my laptop, I pull up the schedule dashboard, and I make myself work. I refine the mismatch list and tighten the pattern notes. I strip out anything that points to high-risk lanes, and I keep the language clean.
When the report is ready, I copy a smaller version for my father, and I leave out names and numbers that would get men killed fast. My thumb hovers overSend.
I don’t send it yet.
