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“Why that?” I asked.
Her eyes stayed on the display. “Because perfect records get audited.”
I studied her profile. “Imperfect records do not?”
“Ordinary imperfections don’t.” Her voice held the flat certainty of experience.
Interesting. She caught my expression and shook her head without looking up. “Stop looking impressed.”
“I am evaluating,” I said.
“You’re impressed.” This time she glanced over, one eyebrow raised.
“Possibly.” The corner of my mouth twitched.
She offered a faint smile in return, then the distance returned to her eyes—not harshly, just enough that I felt the space between us again. That was going to take time. I accepted that.
We reached a small service alcove where the transfer route split from the main corridor. I checked the entrance while Talia checked the system—different instincts, same goal.
“Wait.” She leaned closer to the display, her shoulder brushing mine.
“What?”
“This evidence module.” Her hand moved toward the inside of her jacket.
I raised my hand without touching her. “Wait.”
She paused, fingers hovering near the hidden pocket. “What?”
“If we carry both copies together,” I said slowly, “one capture loses everything.”
She stared at me, understanding dawning in her expression. That had been my concern from the beginning. I waited.
“Do you want to separate them?” I asked finally.
Her eyes changed—a small thing, but again. “Yes.”
“How?”
She looked around the alcove, then pointed to a sealed biological courier slot built into the wall. “That.”
I followed her gesture. “Sample dispatch.”
“Yes.”
“You want to send evidence through medical logistics.”
“I want to send a duplicate into a dead-end holding route under a false specimen code.” Her voice gained momentum as she explained.
“That could be traced and recovered.”
“Eventually.”
“And if we need it?”
“We know where it is.” Her chin lifted slightly.
I considered for three full breaths. Good plan. Risky. Her plan.
