I went quiet.
Because I understood then.
Evan didn’t fear danger.
He feared embarrassment.
He’d always preferred comfort over truth. That was his religion.
“She won’t stop,” I said.
Evan’s voice sharpened. “Then I can’t protect you,” he replied.
I let the silence stretch.
Evan filled it with the line that told me he’d already crossed the line.
“You know,” he said casually, “people are asking questions about you again. About what you do. About who you trained.”
My blood turned cold.
“You leaked,” I said.
Evan didn’t deny it. “I mentioned you,” he said. “Just a little. Enough to remind folks that you’re not exactly a normal dad.”
I stared at the wall, breathing slow.
“You put a target on my daughter,” I said.
Evan clicked his tongue. “You always talk like she’s a saint,” he said. “But she broke a boy’s arm, remember? She’s not innocent.”
My voice dropped. “He cornered her.”
Evan snorted. “That’s what she says.”
And that sentence—that’s what she says—told me Evan hadn’t just betrayed me.
He’d sided with the same kind of people who always needed girls to be lying so men could stay comfortable.
I spoke slowly. “Evan,” I said. “If you ever speak about my daughter again—”
“Or what?” Evan interrupted, mocking. “You’ll do your black ops thing? Come on. You’re not in the field anymore. You’re just a dad with a scary story.”
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