Page 310 of Reaper Said Mine

I smile.

"Emotionally?"

"Yes."

His gaze sharpens.

"You nearly died."

No argument there.

"You're angry."

Also true.

"You're hurt."

Definitely true.

He steps closer.

"And you're allowing that to cloud your judgment."

There it is. The familiar tactic. The implication that caring deeply about something somehow invalidates your conclusions. That outrage equals bias. That concern equals irrationality. Years ago it might have worked on me.

Today it only makes me tired.

I activate a nearby display. A wall of documents appears between us, filling the air with projections of evidence. Thousands of records float in organized layers, each one verified, authenticated, cross-referenced, and supported by independent confirmation.

"Show me the error."

Dawson blinks.

"What?"

"The evidence."

I point toward the display.

"Show me where it's wrong."

Silence.

I continue.

"Show me the fabricated transaction."

Nothing.

"Show me the forged communication."

Still nothing.

"Show me the inaccurate reporting."

He can't. The facts are real. Every single one of them.

Dawson changes tactics again.