CHLOE POV

Danny locks the analytics room behind us, the echo of the metal bolt sliding into place sounding too final, too sharp. Like a line being drawn.

Like a line we can’t cross back over.

He doesn’t speak as we walk — he stalks, jaw flexing, eyes storm-dark as he heads toward his office with the encrypted drive clutched in one hand like a weapon.

I match his pace, breath shallow.

“Danny,” I murmur when we step inside his office and the door shuts behind us, “we should talk ...