Page 93 of The Grumpy Defenseman
It wanted competence.
“Yes,” I said. “The choice was mine. The sync was accidental. The choice wasn’t.”
Silas held my gaze for one beat longer, then nodded.
“Fine.”
I blinked. “Fine?”
“You named the error correctly,” he said. “That makes it fixable.”
Silas glanced at the screen.
“Delete the mirrored path. Keep or destroy the local copy on your own conscience. It does not enter another system.” His eyes came back to mine. “And Samantha.”
The full name.
Never a good sign.
“Yes.”
“The reason this stays contained is that I am choosing to treat it as judgment under pressure rather than bad faith.” His voice stayed quiet, which was more effective than volume ever could have been. “Do not make me regret that distinction.”
The professional line appeared.
The professional line.
Clear.
Intact.
Still, somehow less brutal thanI deserved.
“I won’t.”
Silas studied me for half a second. Then Sandra. Then the dead queue on the monitor.
“Good.”
He turned to go, then stopped at the door without looking back.
“Walsh will ask for replacement options. Give him something excellent enough that he stops missing this one.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Sandra let out a slow breath.
“Well,” she said. “That was practically a hug.”
Sandra reclaimed her coffee and made a face after tasting it.
“Cold.”
“Tragic.”
She set it down again and looked at the laptop screen, where Frame 187 still sat in the local folder, waiting to become either memory or evidence.
“You know,” she said, “for what it’s worth, if Walsh had gotten that imagecleanly, he would have run it into the ground.”
