“That’s not something I hear often,” he replies.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, stepping closer to the fence. “There are blind spots.”
His claws still against his gauntlet, the faint tapping cutting off completely.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head slightly. “Not random. They’re timed. Cameras stutter in intervals that repeat. Same gaps, same corrections.”
His expression changes, the easy edge pulling back just enough to reveal something more focused beneath it.
“That’s not sloppy,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “It’s controlled.”
He glances past me briefly, scanning the line, then returns his attention to me.
“I saw new security on our side,” he says. “Locked sections where there shouldn’t be any.”
“That matches,” I say.
The words settle between us, heavier now, carrying more weight than they should.
“You didn’t tell me everything,” he says.
“Neither did you,” I reply.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
“Fair.”
I study him, weighing the risk again even though I have already stepped into it.
“We trade,” I say.
His gaze sharpens immediately.
“Information?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“That’s a bad idea,” he says, though there is no real resistance behind it.
“I know.”
“And you’re doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
He watches me for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes as he considers it.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because no one else is asking the right questions,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And whatever this is, it’s not small.”
He exhales slowly, his shoulders shifting as if he has already reached the same conclusion.
“Yeah,” he says. “I got that impression.”
