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“And then what?” he demands, his eyes locking onto mine. “You think that ends clean?”

“I think it ends with the truth out,” I say, stepping into his space.

“And everything else collapsing with it,” he shoots back, his hand cutting slightly through the air in emphasis.

“That’s not a reason to bury it,” I say, my voice tightening.

“That’s a reason to handle it right,” he replies, his tone dropping, controlled but edged.

I step closer again, closing the gap until there’s barely space between us.

“They killed him,” I say, each word sharper than the last. “They’re moving people off-record, and you want to be careful?”

“I want to be smart,” he says, holding his ground.

“Careful isn’t smart when people are disappearing,” I snap.

“And reckless isn’t smart when it gets more people killed,” he fires back, his voice tightening.

The words hit, and I feel it.

“You think I’m being reckless?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but more dangerous.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before dropping it.

“I think you’re reacting,” he says.

“I’m responding,” I counter, my chin lifting.

“To what?” he presses, his head tilting slightly. “Anger? Guilt?”

“To reality,” I say.

“Reality is bigger than what you saw in that corridor,” he replies, his tone steady but firm.

“And you think that makes it less important?” I ask.

“I think it makes it more dangerous than you’re accounting for,” he says.

The tension spikes again, sharper now.

“You’re hesitating,” I say.

“I’m thinking,” he replies.

“People like Tury don’t get time for that,” I snap.

“And neither will you if you push this wrong,” he says, his voice dropping lower.

I hold his gaze, something heavier settling in my chest.

“You’re not going to back me,” I say.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes shift slightly, like he’s weighing something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“I’m not going to rush this without a plan,” he says finally.

“That’s not the same thing,” I reply.