“You’re both terrible liars,” I say finally, not bothering to soften it.
The first soldier stiffens as his gaze snaps back to mine.
“We’re not lying,” he says.
“No,” I reply, stepping closer until I am just inside their personal space. My voice drops, forcing them to focus on me and nothing else. “You’re just not telling me anything useful.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” the second one insists, though the conviction in his voice does not quite match the words.
I study them for another moment, letting the silence stretch until it becomes uncomfortable. They know something, or at least they know enough to know they should not speak on it. Pushing harder here will only shut them down completely, and that would leave me with even less than I already have.
“Relax,” I say, easing back a step and lifting one hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not writing a report.”
Neither of them relaxes, and that tells me more than anything they could have said.
I turn and continue down the corridor, my footsteps echoing behind me while my thoughts stay anchored to that hesitation, that glance, that uneven rhythm in their responses. Something has shifted, and it is not subtle enough to ignore.
Further down, the corridor opens into another junction, and the shift becomes impossible to miss. A different unit stands guard here, heavier armor, tighter formation, their attention fixed inward toward a sealed access point behind them. The door itself is newer than the surrounding structure, the plating reinforced, the seams cleaner, the locking mechanism upgraded in a way that does not match anything else in the corridor.
I slow as I approach, letting my gaze sweep over them before settling briefly on the door.
“What’s this?” I ask, nodding toward it.
“Restricted,” one of them answers immediately, his stance adjusting just enough to block a clearer line of sight.
“Everything’s restricted,” I reply, stopping a few feet away. “That doesn’t narrow it down.”
“Orders are orders.”
I step closer, not aggressively, but with enough presence that they cannot ignore me.
“New orders?” I ask.
The soldier’s posture shifts, his gaze holding mine a fraction longer than it should.
“Standard rotation.”
The answer comes too quickly, too smoothly.
“Doesn’t look standard,” I say, letting my eyes drift deliberately over the door again, taking in the fresh plating and the lack of wear.
“It is.”
The buzzing of the corridor fills the silence that follows, low and constant, pressing in around us.
“Since when do we lock down maintenance access like it’s a command vault?” I ask, my tone still even but edged now.
“No access,” he repeats.
I smile slightly, though there is nothing friendly in it.
“I didn’t ask for access,” I say. “I asked a question.”
“And I answered.”
Not really.
But I let it go, for now.
