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“That one wasn’t a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I shift my weight. My left hand stays inside my pocket.
“Did you call Mack in to talk about next year?”
Silas’s face closes a little.
“That conversation is between Mack and me.”
“I know.”
“Then leave it there.”
“He got a conversation.”
Silas watches me for a moment.
Then the sentence gets broader.
“We need to understand where the medical side lands before we make commitments.”
“Before you make one to me.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After the next medical update.”
“Which one?”
“Aris Guerra. Maren. Whoever has the current evaluation when we sit down.”
“And if they don’t like what they see?”
Silas takes his glasses off and sets them beside the folder.
“Then Quinn and I have a different conversation.”
Not retirement.
Not a contract.
Not even no.
His phone lights on the desk. He turns it face down without checking the screen.
“I should have called you sooner,” he says.
I look at him.
“You should have.”
“Yes.”
Nothing follows it.
