“No,” I say. “He’s focused.”
“And that changes what?”
“Everything,” I reply.
I take another step closer, closing the space just enough to force him to hold his ground.
“You think he’s unstable now,” I say, my voice dropping. “You think he’s making emotional decisions.”
“And he is,” Lorens says.
“Yes,” I agree. “And right now, those decisions still have limits.”
His expression shifts again.
“And if you remove me?” he asks.
I let the question sit for a moment before answering.
“You remove the limit,” I say.
Silence settles, heavier now.
“You’re exaggerating,” he says, but there’s doubt in it.
“No,” I reply. “I’m the only one telling you the truth.”
He studies me, longer now, deeper.
“What are you suggesting?” he asks.
“That your survival depends on not doing the obvious thing,” I say.
“And what would that be?”
“Executing me,” I answer.
His brow tightens.
“You expect me to keep you alive.”
“No,” I correct. “I expect you to realize that keeping me alive is the only move that doesn’t end with you losing everything.”
He turns slightly, pacing once, slower now.
“You’re asking me to trust you,” he says.
“I’m asking you to trust the outcome,” I reply.
“And what outcome is that?”
“That you walk away from this with more than you started with,” I say.
He looks back at me.
“And how do I do that?”
I hold his gaze.
