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“I’m saying it because I believe you believe that.”

His hand closed around the utensil. Then opened. Then closed again.

I added, more carefully, “But I understand enough to know that following an order and disappearing from your own life are not automatically the same thing.”

His jaw tightened. “I had no life to return to.”

“That sounds convenient.”

The words came out too fast. His eyes hardened.

I immediately regretted the phrasing. Not the idea. The phrasing.

“I didn’t mean convenient like easy.”

“You said it.”

“I know.” I took a breath. “What I mean is... duty gives you a reason.”

“A reason for what?”

“To stop asking what you want.”

He stared at me. I could feel the temperature of the room change. Not literal. Something underneath.

Tension.

Anger.

Maybe both.

“You assume I wanted something else.”

“I assume everyone does.”

“That is not evidence.”

“There are things other than evidence.”

He almost scoffed.

“I know,” I said. “Terrifying concept.”

His eyes narrowed. Then his attention dropped to my mouth. Only for a second.

My pulse changed.

The air did too. Different this time.

I should have looked away. I didn’t. Neither did he.

There was something dangerous about how still he became when he was deciding whether to move.

I had seen it in corridors. In doorways. Before violence. This felt nothing like that. And somehow exactly like it. Then the silver-white lines beneath his wrist brightened faintly. I saw them. So did he.

His hand closed.

The light disappeared.