I rub one hand over my jaw. The stubble there catches against my palm, rough with the hour and the day and all the previous days stacked beneath them.
“And if oversight buries it too.”
“Then we reassess,” she says. “With infrastructure. With copies in place. With enough reform channels live that disclosure doesn’t immediately become a free-for-all between war factions.”
I nod once.
The decision settles badly, which is how I know it is probably honest.
“Fine,” I say.
Selene studies me. “Fine?”
“I defer public disclosure.”
The words taste like iron and ash and compromise.
I keep going anyway.
“I agree to pursue controlled oversight channels rather than broadcast exposure. For now.”
For now matters. She knows it. I know it. The cabinet knows it.
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
Neither of us looks pleased.
Good.
I pull the slate back toward me and open a new file—not a disclosure, this time. A controlled continuity memo. Closed routing only. No press. No open channels. Just enough to document the existence of the Senate ratification material and recommend sealed oversight review tied to archive reform design.
Selene watches as I draft.
“Don’t make it sound noble,” she says.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t use the phrase ‘moral imperative’ anywhere.”
“That seems personal.”
“It is.”
I type anyway, the keys clicking softly in the quiet apartment.
By the time I finish, the rain has eased again. The windows hold only the city glow now and the faint mirrored shape of us at the table, both older than we were a few hours ago.
I encrypt the memo, route it to no one yet, and save it offline pending morning review.
Then I close the slate.
Selene leans back, exhaustion reclaiming ground inch by inch. “I hate governance.”
“Yes.”
“I hate strategic thinking.”
“No, you don’t.”
