Caleb starts asking questions again.
Not all at once. Not like an interrogation. There’s no table between us this time, no closed door, no raised voice. The questions arrive folded into the ordinary shape of days, tucked between logistics and neutral updates, slipped into conversation with careful timing.
They aren’t accusatory.
They’re verifying.
“Where were you after patrol?”
“Who did you talk to before the meeting?”
“How long were you gone this morning?”
The first time it happens, my body reacts before my mind catches up. A small tightening in my chest. A reflexive urge to explain more than asked, to justify tone and intent and context. I swallow it down and answer exactly what he asked.
“I stopped by the north perimeter. Talked to Rowan and then Derek. I was gone forty minutes.
