Hard.
“I don’t mix things,” I say.
It sounds right.
Feels right.
It’s a lie.
Russ studies me.
Long enough that it starts to get under my skin.
“You sure about that?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Too—
Yeah.
He heard it.
Of course he did.
“You hesitate out there,” he says quietly, “you get someone killed.”
“I don’t hesitate.”
“No,” he agrees. “You don’t.”
That’s not a compliment.
That’s a warning.
Silence stretches between us.
Heavy.
Because we both know what’s really being said.
“You’re not pulling me off this,” I add.
Not a question.
Not a request.
A fact.
His expression doesn’t change.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
That—
