“They would have,” I reply, “if they knew what mattered more.”
“And right now, that’s not us,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “Right now, it’s each other.”
We push through the final corridor leading toward the landing platform, the air shifting again as we near the exterior, cooler, sharper, carrying the residual heat of his ship still idling where he left it.
“You just destabilized a Combine-backed narrative,” Tyrok says, his tone quieter now, almost reflective.
“I destabilized certainty,” I correct.
“That’s worse,” he says again.
“Yes.”
We reach the exit, the platform opening up in front of us, the strike vessel still positioned exactly where it landed, engines humming low, ready.
But I don’t move toward it immediately.
I stop.
Tyrok notices instantly.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice sharpening.
I look back at the estate, at the structure that already feels different than it did when I arrived, less certain, more… fragile.
“They’re hesitating,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies. “Because of you.”
I nod slightly.
“Good.”
He studies me, something shifting behind his eyes.
“You’re not done,” he says.
“No,” I reply.
“What else did you send?” he asks.
I let out a slow breath.
“Enough to make them question every command they receive in the next hour,” I say.
His expression tightens.
“That affects more than this operation.”
“Yes.”
“That affects the entire sector.”
“Yes.”
“That affects us,” he says.
