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“That will require limitations.”

“Fine.”

“I want someone independent reviewing whatever we flag.”

“Agreed.”

“Human assignment histories included.”

“They will be.”

“Original compatibility data where it still exists.”

“Yes.”

“Sample-chain records.”

“Yes.”

I took a slow breath, felt the dry air catch in my throat. “And if something’s been changed, I want both versions preserved.”

Anik gave a single sharp nod. “Agreed.”

I paused, my eyes dropping to the slate between us. The silence felt heavier than it should have. When I looked up again, his attention hadn’t wavered.

“And I want the right to stop.”

Something in his posture tightened—not resistance, but recognition. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Just held very, very still.

“If I decide I don’t want to spend the next several years living inside this mess… I want to be able to walk away.”

His eyes narrowed slightly—not in refusal, but reassessment. Then, quietly: “Yes.” No hesitation. No caveats.

My throat closed. I swallowed around nothing and managed a nod. “Okay.”

“That is your answer?”

I glanced at the screen once more—all those red markers and voided lines—then toward Veyr. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a warmth in his eyes now, a clarity that felt like being seen for the first time. Not approval—he didn’t need to approve—just understanding.

I turned back to Anik. “Yes.”

A faint breath left him—not quite a sigh. “Then we will build the role around that.”

How many things in my life would have been different if the people controlling them had started with that question?

What do you want?

Anik closed my file. “One remaining matter.”

The warmth disappeared. I knew. “Your brother.”

His face changed. Barely.

“Yes.”

I looked at Veyr, then back at Anik. “You know who the identifier belongs to.”

“Yes.”