“Things,” he repeated, leaning back.
“People. Equipment. Response networks.”
Linda waved her hand as if I had embarrassed her.
“She always talks like that now,” she said. “Very serious. Very secretive.”
Silas chuckled and reached for his coffee.
“You know what I think?” he said.
I did not answer.
He took that as permission.
“I think you got yourself some fancy government desk and forgot where you came from.”
The rain grew harder against the window.
The kitchen light buzzed faintly.
I could hear the secure line in my phone, not as words, but as presence.
A room somewhere far away had gone quiet.
“I remember exactly where I came from,” I said.
That was the first mistake, if you believed in avoiding conflict at all costs.
I did not believe in that anymore.
Avoiding conflict had been my mother’s religion.
She worshiped at the altar of not making it worse.
