“You ever see where they come from?” I ask.
Renn shakes his head quickly.
“No,” he says. “They’re already there when we get them. Near the restricted corridors.”
I glance back at Hrask, our eyes meeting.
Same conclusion.
Same direction.
“This isn’t random,” I say.
“No,” he replies. “It’s organized.”
I turn back to Renn.
“Who’s running it?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says, panic creeping back in. “I never saw?—”
“Think,” Hrask cuts in, his voice sharper now. “Who gives the orders?”
“I don’t?—”
Hrask takes another step forward, and I move slightly, putting myself between them without fully blocking him.
“That’s enough,” I say.
He stops.
Not because he has to.
Because he chooses to.
“You’re soft on this,” he says quietly.
“And you’re too comfortable with it,” I reply.
“Comfortable?” he repeats, something sharper slipping into his tone. “You think Ilikethis?”
“I think you don’t hesitate,” I say.
“Neither do you,” he fires back.
“That’s different.”
“How?” he demands.
“Because I don’t default to violence,” I say.
He lets out a short, humorless breath.
“No,” he says. “You just pretend you’re above it.”
That hits.
Harder than I expect.
