“For what?”
“Unauthorized contact activity.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“Contact with who?” I ask.
Paarson’s eyes flick back to mine.
“You’re asking questions you don’t want answers to,” he says.
“Try me.”
He shakes his head once.
“Doesn’t say,” he replies. “Just that it was outside protocol. Enough to get attention.”
“And then what?” I press.
“And then he disappears from the rotation logs,” Paarson says. “No transfer record. No reassignment notice. Just… gone.”
“That doesn’t happen,” I say.
“It does if someone higher up decides it should.”
I let that settle, the pieces shifting into place in a way I don’t like.
“Where was he flagged?” I ask.
Paarson’s gaze shifts again, slower this time.
“Near the border,” he says.
Of course it was.
“Figures,” I mutter.
“You didn’t hear that from me,” he adds quickly.
“I didn’t hear anything,” I reply.
He studies me for another moment, then steps back.
“Careful, Vardo,” he says. “This isn’t the kind of thing you poke at unless you’re ready for it to poke back.”
I grin slightly.
“Too late.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
I leave him there, the conversation settling into my head as I move back through the corridors.
Unauthorized contact.
Near the border.
No record of transfer.
