“Then say it.”
There’s no hesitation. “Seane Brennan.”
The name lands. Harder than anything else in the room. She goes still for half a second. Not frozen, not broken, just hit.
Then the anger comes back. Stronger.
“You knew,” she says again, but now it’s not a question, not even an accusation. It’s a fact she’s forcing me to own out loud. “You knew, and you decided that what… what he did didn’t matter enough to do anything about.”
“I decided containment was necessary.”
Her head jerks slightly. “Necessary.”
“Yes.”
“Necessary for who?” she demands. “For you? For your council? For your son?”
All correct. But I don’t answer.
She steps closer again, close enough now that the distance between us is no longer neutral. “You chose him,” she says. “Don’t dress it up. Don’t bury it in language. You chose Dante.”
“Yes.”
She exhales once, sharp. “There it is,” she says quietly. “That’s the part you didn’t write down.” She looks at me like she’s recalibrating something fundamental. “You didn’thesitate,” she continues. “You didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t even pretend you were going to do the right thing.”
“I made the decision that held the system together.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine. “My father was part of that system.”
“Yes.”
“And you let him die to protect it.”
“Yes.”
She absorbs this, and this time it doesn’t settle cleanly. It fractures. Her hand presses briefly against her stomach again, harder this time, like she’s grounding herself through the contact.
“You sent him away,” she says, voice tightening. “Dante. You removed him.”
“Yes.”
“Remote holding,” she says. “That’s what you called it.”
“Yes.”
“Situation contained.”
“Yes.”
She lets out another laugh, but there’s nothing in it now except anger. “My father is dead,” she says, and her voice finally breaks. Not uncontrolled, but enough to make the words scrape her throat on the way out. “And your situation was contained.”
“Yes.” The word is uglier now. It should be.
She turns away, but not to count exits. To breathe. To not lose control in front of me. Her shoulders rise once, then settle. When she looks back, the anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s just… steadier.
Which is worse.
“Did you ever plan to tell me?” she asks.
