The commander ignores him.
His eyes stay locked on Clay.
And for the first time since I met him—
I see uncertainty flicker across Clay’s face.
Small.
Brief.
Gone almost instantly.
But I see it.
Because I’m watching him.
Always watching him.
The commander takes another slow step forward through the smoke-filled loading dock.
“She described you very accurately,” he says calmly. “Protective. Aggressive. Predictable where she is concerned.”
Every muscle in Clay’s body tightens.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
The answer comes too easily.
Too smoothly.
And suddenly my stomach twists hard because—
I don’t think he’s lying either.
Gunfire continues outside near the river, but it sounds farther away now.
Like the battle shifted deeper into the district.
Nobody inside the loading dock moves.
Nobody breathes too loudly.
Because whatever this conversation is—
It suddenly feels more dangerous than the firefight.
The commander studies Clay with unsettling calm.
“She warned us you would become emotionally compromised.”
That hits.
I see it hit.
Clay’s jaw flexes hard enough to ache while something dark moves behind his eyes.
