Aton packed his kit. At the door, he looked at Vane. One glance. The kind that carried a whole conversation in the space between blinks. Vane returned it. Aton nodded once and left.
The door clicked shut.
Quiet.
"Tell me what happened."
I told him. Emma. The story about Priya. The route that stopped making sense. Emma's tears, her apology, the shove. The sealed door. The locks disengaging one by one.
His fingers tightened on his own forearm, knuckle by knuckle, as the story went on.
"She was crying when she did it," I said. "She kept saying someone made her. That she'd lose her job."
Vane's eyes sharpened. "Someone."
"She said 'they.' That's all I got before the door blew open."
A muscle ticked under his jaw. He filed it. Didn't push. But I could see it land.
I paused at the part
