“So what?” she demands. “We just let it keep happening because we’re afraid of the fallout?”
“No,” I say, stepping closer again, forcing her to hold my gaze. “We make sure we don’t make it worse.”
Her eyes flash.
“Worse than what?” she asks, her voice sharpening. “Worse than people being moved like cargo?”
“Worse than full-scale escalation,” I reply, my tone tightening as I hold my ground. “Because that’s where this goes if it breaks the wrong way.”
She shakes her head slightly, her expression hardening.
“You’re afraid,” she says.
“I’m realistic,” I reply.
“No,” she says, quieter now but sharper, her gaze locking onto mine. “You’re hesitating.”
“I’m thinking,” I correct.
“People like Tury didn’t get time for that,” she snaps.
“And neither will anyone else if this spirals,” I fire back, my voice rising slightly before I rein it in.
The tension spikes, heavier now, pressing into the space between us.
“You’re choosing the system,” she says.
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I reply, my hands tightening slightly at my sides.
“Then what are you doing?” she presses, stepping closer again.
“I’m trying to stop this from turning into something bigger than both of us,” I say.
“It already is,” she says.
“Exactly,” I reply, my voice dropping. “Which means we don’t treat it like it’s small.”
Her breathing sharpens, her shoulders rising slightly before settling again.
“You’re backing off,” she says.
“I’m adjusting,” I reply.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not.”
The space between us blurs, the tension no longer just friction.
It feels like separation.
“You said we do this together,” she says, her voice quieter now.
“We are,” I reply.
“No,” she says, shaking her head slowly as she steps back half a pace. “You’re pulling away.”
“I’m preventing escalation,” I counter.
