He considered. "Personal."
The word landed somewhere it didn't have a designated place.
Then Tav's phone vibrated.
They both looked at it.
Not from surprise, but the same way soldiers look at ordnance — with recognition.
SURVEILLANCE
WINDOW
MOVED.
CONFIRM
NO
THIRD-PARTY
INTERFERENCE.
Alistair read the message over his shoulder. Said nothing.
Tav found his face carefully. "You went still when I said the Dean's schedule changed."
"Did I."
"Yes."
Another silence. This one with edges.
"Alistair," Tav said. "Why were you assigned to Voss?"
The name detonated quietly between them, and Alistair studied him with something new in his expression: not deflection, not performance. The thing underneath both of those, briefly visible.
"You first," he said.
• • •
• • •
The first argument happened at six weeks.
Not a significant argument. Not the kind that produced lasting damage or redrew the apartment's social map. The small kind — the kind that revealed the shape of things that had been building below the surface.
It started with the phone.
Tav had been reading in the kitchen when Alistair came in from the bedroom he had been awake for a while thinking about something. He stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at Tav.
"You checked my phone," he said.
Tav set down the book. "Yes."
"Without asking me."
"Your phone was on the table. The screen activated when I walked past. The notification visible contained operational information relevant to the current assignment." He kept his voice even. "I read it."
