He stops.
Not fully, not enough to break motion completely, but enough that I feel the shift in him, the recalibration.
“What did you send?” he asks.
I meet his gaze.
“The truth,” I say.
“That’s not specific enough,” he replies.
“It doesn’t need to be,” I counter, turning forward again and continuing down the corridor, forcing him to move with me or fall behind.
He keeps pace.
“Explain,” he says.
I let out a slow breath, not rushed, not pressured, just enough to steady the transition from action into intent.
“I exposed him,” I say. “Not just what he did to me, but how he did it, who he used, where the money moved, which Combine channels cleared it.”
Tyrok’s jaw tightens.
“That’s going to hit more than him,” he says.
“I know,” I reply.
“That destabilizes internal networks,” he continues, his tone sharpening slightly.
“Yes.”
“That triggers investigation.”
“Yes.”
“That creates hesitation.”
I glance at him briefly.
“That’s the point.”
He studies me as we move, his gaze sharper now, more focused on me than the corridor ahead.
“You didn’t just escape,” he says. “You turned this into something bigger.”
“I corrected the scale,” I reply.
He huffs something low under his breath.
“Of course you did.”
We take another turn, the sound of pursuit growing louder now, voices echoing behind us, commands being shouted, less coordinated than they should be.
“They’re not organized,” Tyrok says.
“They’re distracted,” I correct.
“By you,” he says.
