“I don’t hide it,” I reply, stepping inside fully. “I control when it’s visible.”
He huffs once at that, not quite amused.
“Fair enough,” he says, then gestures vaguely toward the room. “You here to tell me something, or just critique my pacing technique?”
“I need information,” I say.
His expression shifts, just slightly.
“What kind of information?” he asks.
“The kind you don’t put in reports.”
That earns me a longer look.
“Dangerous category,” he mutters.
“Necessary one.”
He exhales slowly, then leans back against the edge of a console, arms crossing loosely this time instead of tight.
“Alright,” he says. “Ask.”
I hold his gaze.
“Do you trust your crew?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and that delay tells me more than the answer itself.
“I trust most of them,” he says finally.
“Not all.”
“No,” he admits, his jaw tightening slightly. “Not all.”
I nod once.
“There’s a leak,” I say.
His eyes sharpen instantly, all distraction gone.
“You’re sure?” he asks, pushing off the console.
“Yes.”
“What makes you say that?”
I tilt my head slightly.
“They matched our movement pattern without external broadcast,” I say. “They’re not guessing. They’re informed.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods once, sharp.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I came to the same conclusion.”
“Have you identified the source?”
“No,” he replies, frustration threading through the word. “And I don’t like not knowing.”
