Her voice lowers.
"If that happens, we might lose Waldo and three years of research along with him."
"So the information in the collar could prove he's choosing those routes deliberately."
"It could show a consistent pattern," she says. "I need to document his choices and demonstrate that his instincts could make the difference between survival and extinction for the entire herd."
"What happened to Dr. Brine?"
Her face closes.
"He had a heart attack last winter. He was …"
She stops and draws a breath before trying again.
"I promised him I'd finish the research."
There it is.
Obligation to the dead, not simple academic curiosity.
I understand that weight. Promises made to people who can no longer hold you accountable are often the hardest ones to break.
"He'd be proud of you for seeing it through," I say.
She looks up, surprised by the plainness of the statement.
"Would he?" Her gaze drops to her bowl. "I'm sitting here eating around meat I'm too squeamish to touch, working with a man he would have …"
She trails off.
"Would have what?"
"Nothing."
Her mouth tightens.
"It doesn't matter."
But it does.
I see it in the way she refuses to meet my eyes.
Whatever turned her against hunters is her own. It sits bone-deep, and now she's caught between her principles and the promise she made.
"He mattered to you," I say.
"He was everything I wanted to become. Patient. Methodical. Completely dedicated to the work."
She eats another spoonful of vegetables, leaving the meat untouched.
"He believed science could save the world if you applied it correctly."
"What do you believe?"
The question catches her off guard.
She considers it seriously before answering.
