“Yes.”
The word settles between us, heavier now.
We reach a junction, and I slow slightly, scanning the path ahead before choosing right instead of left, cutting toward a secondary access corridor that leads back toward the landing zone.
“Your broadcast,” Tyrok says, his voice quieter now, more deliberate. “What exactly did you say?”
I tilt my head slightly, considering the question even as I keep moving.
“I didn’t accuse,” I say. “I demonstrated.”
“That’s worse,” he replies.
“Yes.”
“How many channels?” he asks.
“All of them that matter,” I answer.
His gaze sharpens.
“You targeted internal divisions.”
“Yes.”
“Deliberately.”
“Yes.”
He lets out a slow breath, something like realization settling into place.
“You’re not just exposing him,” he says. “You’re forcing them to choose sides.”
I glance at him again.
“Now you’re keeping up.”
He almost smiles.
Almost.
“That’s going to slow their response,” he says.
“It already is,” I reply.
We pass another set of guards, but they’re not focused on us, their attention split, comm units active, voices overlapping in confusion.
“…verify source?—”
“…can’t confirm chain?—”
“…if this is real?—”
They don’t even look at us.
Tyrok notices.
“They should have stopped us,” he says.
