“It cost them control,” I reply, cutting the playback and bringing the outcome metrics forward.
The numbers don’t lie, but they don’t tell the whole story either. Profit still rises, cleaner than before, more contained, but the efficiency dips where it shouldn’t, small fractures running through what should be a continuous line.
Vihl exhales slowly, dragging a hand across the back of his neck before letting it fall. “They’re not going to like this,” he says, not looking at me now, but out across the operations floor where movement continues in tight, controlled patterns.
“They don’t have to like it,” I reply.
“They have to trust it,” he says, glancing back at me.
“No,” I say, pushing off the console and letting the projection dim behind me. “They have to follow it.”
That draws a slight shift from him, one brow lifting just enough to show he heard the distinction.
“You’re not going to slow this down,” he says.
I step away from the console, the hum of the system dropping slightly as the load redistributes, and the change in sound makes the room feel wider than it actually is.
“No,” I reply.
He watches me for a moment, then lets out a quiet breath that carries more weight than the sound should. “Then they’re going to push harder,” he says.
“They already are,” I answer.
The air feels different as I cross onto the operations floor, warmer by a few degrees, the circulation uneven where bodiescluster and systems overlap. The scent shifts too, less sterile, more human, sweat and metal and something faintly acrid from overworked equipment that hasn’t had time to cool.
Conversations compress when I enter, not stopping, but tightening, voices dropping just enough to mark awareness without conceding space.
“You’re pushing too much at once,” one of the senior crew says, his voice cutting through the layered noise without waiting for the room to settle.
I keep walking until I’m close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders sit just a fraction too high, like he’s bracing for impact instead of conversation.
“Yes,” I say.
The answer lands wrong for him.
I can see it in the flicker of his expression, the momentary recalibration when resistance doesn’t meet resistance.
“That’s going to break something,” he says, his tone sharpening to compensate.
“It already is,” I reply, stopping just short of him.
That pulls more attention than if I’d argued.
Heads turn.
Movement slows.
The room tightens.
“You’re destabilizing operations,” another voice adds from the side, younger, sharper.
I shift just enough to include him in my line of sight without turning fully away from the first.
“I’m exposing where they fail,” I say.
“That’s not the same thing,” he pushes.
“It is if you intend to fix it,” I reply.
