They’ve known.
“This doesn’t stay contained if it escalates further,” Driscoll says, his shoulders stiffening.
“It will,” Dadams replies, his voice quiet but absolute. “Because it has to.”
Silence stretches between them, heavy and deliberate.
“You’re losing control,” he says.
Dadams exhales through his nose, a faint, humorless edge creeping into his expression.
“No,” he says. “I’m maintaining it.”
The words land like a blade sliding into place, precise and final.
Beside me, Hrask shifts slightly, not enough to give us away, but enough that I feel the tension tighten through him. I glance at him briefly, catching the sharper line of his focus, the way his eyes track every movement with controlled intensity.
“…movement continues tonight,” Dadams adds, his voice lowering further. “No deviations.”
Driscoll hesitates, and that hesitation is louder than anything else in the corridor.
“This is going too far,” he says, his tone dropping.
“It’s already past that point,” Dadams replies. “You don’t get to pull back now.”
Driscoll’s shoulders rise slightly with a controlled inhale, then settle.
“Fine,” he says.
Agreement.
Not resistance.
Agreement.
I pull back slightly as they separate, pressing fully into the recess as both men step away from each other and move down the corridor. Their footsteps pass within a few feet of us, measured and controlled, and neither of them turns their head.
Neither of them suspects.
When the sound fades, I push off the wall immediately, my breath sharper than I want it to be.
“That’s it,” I say, turning toward Hrask as my voice tightens. “That’s everything.”
Hrask doesn’t move right away. His gaze lingers on the corridor they disappeared down before he finally turns his attention back to me.
“That confirms involvement,” he says carefully, his tone measured.
“It confirms coordination,” I snap, stepping closer, my hands tightening at my sides. “That’s not speculation anymore. We expose this now.”
He lifts a hand slightly, not touching me, but signaling restraint.
“Slow down,” he says.
“No,” I fire back, shaking my head as I pace a half-step away and then back again. “We don’t slow down. We push this out before they bury it deeper.”
“You push this out without control,” he says, stepping forward to match me, his voice lowering but sharpening, “and you don’t expose it—you blow it apart.”
“Good,” I snap, my voice rising before I force it back down. “Maybe it needs to blow open.”
