“Because you would have died.”
“I might have accepted that risk.”
“Yes.”
Her voice rises now. “That was mine to decide.”
“No.”
Her entire focus sharpens. “No?” she repeats, stepping closer. “You don’t get to take that, too. You don’t get to decide what I risk.”
“No.”
“Why?” she demands.
“Because I caused it.”
The sentence stays in the room longer than expected. She didn’t expect it. Neither did I, until it was spoken.
“You caused it,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
Her eyes don’t leave mine. “And now?”
Now Dante is in the house. Now she carries my children. Now the council watches. Now the truth has crossed into her hands. Now there’s no path that leaves all structures intact.
I open the center drawer, remove the black file, and place it on the desk between us.
She looks at it. “What is that?”
“Everything.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but something in it tightens. “Define ‘everything.’”
“Dante’s confession. The full council vote. Witness notes. Vehicle record. Remote holding logs. Current restrictions. Current location. His schedule.”
She doesn’t breathe for a second. Her gaze drops back to the file. “You already had this. All of it. The entire time. And you’re just… handing it to me now.”
“Yes.”
She lets out a breath that almost turns into something sharper. “Why?”
I don’t answer immediately. Because the true answer isn’t singular. Because I should have given it to her before. BecauseDante crossed the north corridor. Because she’s pregnant. Because she knows now. Because the debt has accrued beyond containment. Because my son is a danger I named too late. Because she deserves a weapon not chosen for her. Because I cannot undo Seane Brennan’s death, and any explanation would only try to make me smaller inside it.
Instead, I say, “Use it however you need.”
Her head lifts. “That’s it?” she asks. “No condition? No instruction? No version of this where you tell me how far I’m allowed to go?”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?” she says. “That you’d just give this to me and step back?”
“I won’t stop you.”
She looks at me. “He’s your son.”
“Yes.”
