“You don’t move like that again,” he said.
His voice wasn't raised, but the weight behind it was staggering. I didn't respond. The realization was finally starting to sink in.
“They were already here,” I said quietly.
“Yes.”
“You knew that.”
“Yes.”
“And you still—”
“I accounted for it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
The silence pressed in again, sharper than before. I looked at him closely. His control hadn't snapped, but it had come closer to the breaking point than I had ever seen.
“You didn’t expect it to get that far,” I said.
He paused.
“No.”
That was the admission I needed. I exhaled slowly, the adrenaline beginning to fade into a heavy, dull ache.
“They were close,” I said.
“Yes.”
Another pause. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely disturbed the air:
“Too close
