Hrask’s jaw tightens slightly.
“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.”
“He asked about unlogged shipments,” I continue, keeping my voice low. “He thought the inconsistencies were deliberate.”
A subtle shift runs through him, tension tightening in his shoulders.
“That’s not small,” he says.
“No,” I reply. “It’s not.”
We stand there in close proximity, the space between us charged in a way that has nothing to do with the corridor.
“He was acting different too,” I add. “Distracted. Watching everything like he expected something to happen.”
Hrask exhales slowly.
“Yeah,” he says. “That part makes sense.”
“It shouldn’t,” I reply. “Not unless he already knew he was in danger.”
“No,” he agrees. “It shouldn’t.”
Silence settles again, but it feels heavier now.
“You’re closer,” he says.
“So are you,” I shoot back.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He steps closer, closing what little space remains, and I feel the shift immediately.
“Then what do you think he found?” he asks.
“I think he found proof,” I reply. “Something concrete enough that it stopped being theory.”
“And got him killed,” Hrask says.
“Yes.”
The word lands between us, heavier than anything else.
“You’re pushing harder,” he says.
“So are you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” I ask.
“Because I know what happens when this goes bad,” he says.
“And I don’t?” I fire back.
He tilts his head slightly, studying me.
