That gets me a real snort, brief and unwilling.
Then his expression shifts again, seriousness settling back over him. “Vol’s people reached out.”
Everything inside me stills.
“What?”
“Not directly,” he says quickly. “Not cartoon-villain directly. A logistics review officer. Friendly voice. Too friendly. Asked whether I’d be willing to clarify in a supplemental statement that wartime routing complexity can produce ‘perceived irregularities’ without malicious intent.”
I stare at him. The overhead lights seem suddenly brighter, harder. “They wanted you to muddy the water.”
“Yep.”
“Did you?”
His face hardens. “No.”
The breath leaves me all at once. I hadn’t realized I was holding it.
Garran watches me catch myself. “They’re rattled, Selene. You can hear it in the wording. Nobody leans that hard on ambiguity unless they’re scared of clarity.”
I look at him, then hold out my hand. “Your original routing packet.”
He’s already reaching for his compad. “I brought it. Personal mirror backup. Before they locked half my access.”
The file transfer hits my device with a soft vibration. I open it immediately. Headers, timestamps, route hierarchy, signature ladder. The projection reflects faintly against my fingertips as I scroll.
Protected convoy authorization.
Priority shielding geometry.
No civilian corridor displacement authority.
No override class.
Nothing in the packet that lets him touch the evacuation line.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He watches my face the way people watch med-tech monitors, hoping for something readable. “That helpful?”
“It’s useful,” I say. “Which is better.”
He leans one shoulder against the wall and folds his arms, mirroring me without seeming to realize it. “You look like hell.”
“Charming.”
“I mean it with concern.”
“I receive it with suspicion.”
This time the smile lasts a second longer. Then he says, more softly, “What happens now?”
I look down at the files in my hand, at the whole ugly architecture of them—civilian telemetry, convoy route logic, Coalition fragments, signature traces tightening around Vol with every clean connection.
“Now I make it impossible for them to call this an accident.”
He studies me, brow furrowing. “You always get like this when you cross from scared into dangerous.”
