She scowls.
“How much bigger?”
I step closer, closing the gap enough that the conversation feels contained.
“Those routes aren’t just logistics,” I say. “They’re smuggling lanes.”
Her gaze sharpens immediately.
“Across sectors?”
“Across both sides,” I confirm.
She exhales slowly, her gaze dropping for a fraction of a second before lifting again.
“That requires coordination,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “And protection.”
“From who?”
“That’s the part nobody’s saying out loud,” I answer.
“That’s not good enough,” she says.
“It’s what I’ve got,” I reply. “But it points somewhere specific.”
Her eyes narrow further.
“Where?”
I hold her gaze.
“Think about who shut it down,” I say. “Fast. Clean. No investigation.”
Her expression hardens.
“Dadams.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“He controlled the report,” she continues, her tone sharpening as she works through it. “Closed it before anyone could question it.”
“That’s not caution,” I say. “That’s control.”
Silence settles between us, but it carries weight instead of emptiness.
“You’re sure,” she says.
I nod once.
“Yeah.”
She studies me, her gaze searching in a way that feels different than it used to. The immediate resistance I’ve gotten from her before isn’t there now, replaced by something more deliberate.
“You’re trusting my read,” I say.
“I’m trusting the pattern,” she replies.
