Page 162 of Brutal
She steps closer. “You go still. Like you’ve already made a decision you’re not telling me about.”
She’s not wrong. That doesn’t mean I’ll confirm it. “I’m thinking,” I say.
“No,” she says. “You’re editing. You’re deciding how much to tell me. Just enough so you’re not lying but not enough that you’re telling the whole truth.”
I hold her gaze. “You want everything in real time?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is if I’m part of it.”
“That doesn’t mean you get every piece the second I see it.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t trust what it means yet.
Because I don’t trust what I’ll do with it.
“Because not everything is ready to be used,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “Another one of your non-answers.”
“It’s the one you’re getting.”
Then—
“Right.” She steps away. “You don’t trust me.”
Her tone isn’t loud or emotional. That makes it worse.
“This isn’t about trust.”
“Then what is it about?”
I rise and step toward her. Close the distance she created. “It’s about timing.”
“Then you’d better figure out the right time”—she pauses a moment—“before I do.”
She turns and walks out of the room. I hear her shuffle back up the stairs.
I stand there for a second longer than I should. Then I bring the system back up just long enough to look at the data again.
At the pathways.
At the structure.
At the name I didn’t say.
Nathaniel.
This just got worse.
Not outside.
Inside.
