“That’s too flexible,” he says.
“That’s survival,” I reply.
Silence follows, thicker this time, pressing in from all sides.
I let it sit.
Let them feel it.
Then I shift the room again.
“We’re running another operation,” I say.
That pulls attention back into alignment.
“Smaller scale,” I continue.
“A test,” Vihl says.
“Yes.”
“With her approach,” he adds.
“Yes.”
“And if it fails,” someone asks.
I look at him directly.
“Then I take responsibility,” I say.
That lands clean.
No hesitation.
No space to question it.
The room settles, not comfortably, but enough to move forward.
“Prep the run,” I say.
Movement resumes, slower at first, then more structured as people fall back into roles they understand, even if the framework around those roles is shifting.
I don’t move right away.
I watch.
I track the way they adjust, the way they talk, the way they avoid looking directly at her while still being aware of her presence.
“They’re not going to like this,” Vihl says quietly.
“They don’t need to,” I reply.
“They might push harder next time,” he says.
“They will,” I say.
He glances at me. “You’re fine with that.”
