Chapter 7 #2
I open the modified seam with a scalpel, controlling the pressure so the blade cuts adhesive without contacting anything beneath.
The casing separates into two halves. Inside, the functional charge sits where the inert fill should be, wired to the training circuit connector through a detonator soldered with clean, precise joints.
It's the same technique as the B because of course it does.
She stops beside me at the railing, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her arm near mine, close enough that the smell of thyme from the soup is still on her skin.
She doesn't say anything, doesn't ask what's wrong, doesn't offer analysis or solutions.
She just stands there, looking at the water, and the silence she gives me is different from my own.
Mine is a locked room. Hers is an open door, and I don't know what to do with that because nobody's ever offered me silence that didn't come with strings.
"After the dive," I say, and I don't know why I'm telling her this because I've never told anyone the full version, "Holden went dark.
Not operationally. Internally." I stare at the water.
"I was the one who sat with him through that.
His apartment at 0200, his kitchen floor in the dark. Night after night."
The words come out stripped and rough and nothing like the way I talk, which is how I know they're real. My jaw aches from the effort of pushing them past the part of me that keeps this locked down.