“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is right now.”
I let that sit, something settling in my chest that I don’t push away.
“Alright,” I say. “Then we move on him.”
She nods once.
“We don’t go direct,” she says. “Not yet. We need confirmation.”
“Agreed.”
“And we assume he’s not alone.”
“He’s not,” I reply. “No way this runs without layers.”
Her posture changes slightly, tension sharpening into focus.
“Then we map those layers,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “We follow the routes back up.”
The silence that follows feels steadier, more controlled, like something has clicked into place between us.
I watch her for a moment, taking in the way she holds herself, the way her attention stays locked even when the space between us tightens.
“You’re not arguing,” I say.
“I don’t argue when you’re right,” she replies.
I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s new.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Her gaze flicks to mine.
“You’re distracted,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting,” I reply. “Because I was about to say the same thing about you.”
“I’m focused.”
“Yeah,” I say. “On the investigation.”
Her eyes narrow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
