“No.”
“I’m not something you control,” I finish.
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“No,” he says again, quieter this time.
I let that settle.
Then—
“I’m something you work with,” I say.
He nods once.
“Yes.”
“And that means,” I continue, my voice lowering slightly, more deliberate now, “that what happens next isn’t about where I fit into what you built.”
He watches me closely.
“It’s about what I build inside it,” I finish.
That lands.
Deep.
He exhales slowly, something shifting in his expression, not resistance, not challenge?—
Recognition.
“You’re defining your own position,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply.
“And you’re doing it now,” he adds.
“Yes.”
He lets out a short breath, something almost like approval, but not quite.
“Good,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow slightly.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“What were you expecting?” he replies.
“Resistance,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
I consider that.
“Because that’s how power usually works,” I answer.
He shakes his head slightly.
