Page 107 of Fractured Allegiance

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That’s the real question.

I don’t answer it out loud.

Instead, I step closer and sit across from her.

I say, “I haven’t made any moves yet.”

She lifts one eyebrow. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“No.”

“Good. Because it doesn’t.”

I glance at the paper again, then back at her. “Do I look like a man who comforts people, Lydia? Wreckage, remember?”

Foolishly, the corners of her full mouth twitch. “I’m not afraid of you, Silas.”

“I know.”

“I probably should be.”

“Probably,” I agree.

She lets that hang there.

She's quiet for a moment, then: "What happens when you confirm your suspicions?"

"Depends on who it is."

"And if it's someone inside Drazen's organization?"

I meet her eyes. "Then we have a bigger problem than I thought."

That hits differently. Not because of what I said, but because of the "we."

She heard it too. I can see it in the way her expression shifts—just slightly, but enough.

"We," she repeats, testing the word.

I don't take it back.

There’s a current between us now. It’s not new; it’s just finally showing its teeth.

She exhales. The sound is shallow and exhausted all at once.

Somewhere outside, a horn blares. A door slams. The city moves on, indifferent to the tension coiled tight in this apartment.

Neither of us breaks it.

She doesn't ask me to stay.

She doesn't ask me to go.

We just exist in this loaded silence where too much has already been said, and leaving feels like the only safe option left.

I move toward the door.

She follows, stopping a few feet back, arms crossed loosely.

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