“I care,” she says, her voice low. “I just care more about stopping it than protecting myself from it.”
That lands.
Deeper than anything else she’s said.
I hold her gaze, something shifting in my chest that I don’t bother trying to name.
“That’s not how this works,” I say.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” she replies.
I let out a breath, slower this time, the tension pulling tight and then settling into something else.
“You’re not wrong,” I admit.
Her expression shifts slightly, like she didn’t expect that.
“But you’re not entirely right either,” I add.
“Then fix it,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Fix what?”
“The part where we both know something’s wrong and everyone else is pretending it isn’t,” she says.
I watch her for a long moment, weighing it, turning it over.
“They told me to stand down,” I say.
“They told me the same thing,” she replies.
“And you’re ignoring it.”
“Yes.”
I let a faint grin pull at my mouth.
“Yeah,” I say. “So am I.”
Her shoulders ease just a fraction, the tension shifting.
“That’s not a plan,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
“Then we need one.”
“We do,” I say.
She studies me, something steadier settling into place behind the intensity.
“This stays off record,” she says. “No reports. No patterns they can track.”
“Agreed.”
“We verify everything.”
