“One person who changed our outcomes,” I reply.
“One person who’s about to get us wiped out,” he counters.
Vihl moves closer, his presence sharp, dangerous. “That’s enough.”
Renn doesn’t back down.
“That’s not enough,” he says, his voice shaking slightly now, not with fear but with something closer to desperation. “You think the Combine shows up like this over nothing? You think they don’t know exactly what you did?”
“They know what I want them to know,” I say.
“Then why are they here?” he demands.
The question hangs there, heavy and unavoidable.
I step forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each step closes the distance between us, and I watch him track the movement, watch the moment where instinct tells him to step back and pride forces him to stay where he is.
“Because they think this is a weakness,” I say quietly.
“And it is,” he snaps.
I stop in front of him.
Close enough that he has to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact.
“Say that again,” I tell him.
His throat tightens.
I see it.
Feel it.
But he doesn’t look away.
“It’s a weakness,” he repeats, though the edge has dulled slightly.
I don’t raise my voice.
I don’t need to.
“You forget who you’re talking to,” I say, letting the words land slow and heavy.
“I remember exactly who you are,” he replies.
“No,” I correct. “You remember what I was.”
The distinction settles into the space between us.
“You don’t challenge me on my own bridge,” I continue, my voice dropping lower, colder. “You don’t question command in front of the crew. And you don’t mistake restraint for uncertainty.”
His breathing is faster now.
