His silence confirms it.
“Why didn’t you stop it?” I ask.
That question lands differently.
It doesn’t bounce.
It sinks.
Kronin’s posture alters, not outwardly aggressive, not defensive, just… heavier.
“You think this is something you stop?” he asks quietly.
“I think someone should’ve tried,” I reply.
“And then what?” he counters, stepping closer now, matching my distance, his voice lowering. “You stop one piece, and the rest keeps moving like it was always going to. You think that changes anything?”
“It changes him,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “It would’ve.”
The admission slips through before he can stop it.
That’s enough.
“You’re deeper in this than you’re saying,” I tell him.
“And you’re deeper than you should be,” he shoots back.
“Then we’re even.”
He shakes his head once.
“No,” he says. “We’re not.”
I let the silence sit, then step back.
“This isn’t over,” I say.
“It is for him,” Kronin replies.
The words follow me out.
—
The neutral zone feels heavier when I come back through it, like the air has thickened with everything I just pulled out of that conversation. The corridors here carry sound differently, the echoes softer, more contained, but every step still feels like it travels farther than it should.
She’s already there.
Of course she is.
Jolie stands near the entrance, her posture tight, her attention snapping to me the moment I step into view. There’s something different in the way she holds herself now, something more focused, more anchored.
She’s committed.
“Talk,” she says.
No greeting.
