Agreement with Nia's right to decide how she answered it. Okay. Nia blinked. Okay. I won't storm Wellington.
Thank you. Tonight. Nia almost smiled. Naomi, I'm joking. You're terrible at it.
I haven't slept. That excuse is becoming your entire personality. For a moment, the pressure broke. Only a little. Then Naomi noticed a new notification on Nia's phone.
Trevor Hale. The name lit the screen. Naomi's expression hardened. Open it. Nia hesitated.
Then did. The message was short. My family paid for half that building. Nobody there is choosing you over me. The diner seemed to become quieter.
Naomi read it twice. So that's what this is. What? He doesn't think he's untouchable because he's popular. Nia looked toward the rain.
He thinks he's untouchable because somebody taught him he is. Naomi leaned back. Eyes narrowed. Who's his family? I don't know yet.
Find out before you do anything else. Nia glanced at her. You're giving me instructions now? Suggestions. That sounded like an order.
Occupational damage. Nia studied her sister. Naomi had said that phrase before. Occupational damage. Usually when she noticed exits first.
Usually when she positioned herself where she could see a whole room. Usually when something fell and she caught it before anyone else moved. Nia had learned not to ask too many questions about those years. Especially about Daniel Reeves. His name had come up only a few times.
Master Sergeant Daniel Reeves. 46 when he died. Naomi's mentor. The man whose photograph had once sat inside Naomi's apartment beside a worn black and silver coin. Nia remembered asking about him after the funeral.
Naomi had said only. He taught me restraint before life gave me reasons to need it. Then she had put the photograph away. Nia looked at her now. You were thinking about him.
Naomi's eyes lifted. Who? Reeves. A long pause. Why would you say that?
Because you get the same look every time you're trying not to do something. Naomi almost laughed. Instead, she turned her coffee cup slowly between her hands. He used to say strength is cheap if everybody can see it. Nia waited.
Naomi's eyes drifted toward the diner window. He believed the hardest kind of control was the kind nobody applauded. For a moment, the exhaustion fell away from her face. Something older replaced it. Memory.
Grief. Then Naomi closed the door again. You don't need my history tonight. Maybe I want it. Another time.
Nia knew not to push. The waitress brought fresh coffee. Neither sister had ordered it. She simply set the pot down and said, you two look like you need more than one cup. Naomi smiled.
Thank you. When the waitress walked away, Nia reopened the Wellington folder. I'm going to report this officially tomorrow. Naomi nodded. Screenshots?
Yes. Original files? Yes. Dates? Yes.
Witnesses? Nia's expression changed. That part may be harder. Naomi understood. Silence protected people too.