The fluorescent lights in the A.R.G.U.S. conference room buzzed overhead as Amanda Waller laid out the next phase of the operation. Her tone was cold, clipped, and absolute. No one dared interrupt her—no one ever did.

Except you.

Something about the plan didn’t sit right with you. Not the danger. Not the logistics. It was the morality of it.

When Waller mentioned using a civilian town as bait, you felt your jaw tighten.

“Wait—hold on.” You took a step forward. “You’re seriously going to go through with that? There has to be another option.”

A few agents stiffened. Murn shot you a warning look. Economos muttered something under his breath.

And Emilia Harcourt… slowly closed her eyes like she was begging the universe to save you from yourself.

Waller raised her head, expression unreadable. “Agent… are you questioning me?”

“I’m questioning the plan,” you fired back. “Because it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

There were seconds—seconds—of dead silence.

Then a hand grabbed your elbow.

Firm. Controlled. Not asking—pulling.

“Move,” Emilia muttered.

She dragged you down the hall, away from Waller’s office, away from the cameras, away from anyone who might hear. The moment you were alone, Harcourt spun on you.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed.

You lifted your chin. “It needed to be said.”

“It needed to be shut up,” she snapped. “You can’t talk to Waller like that. That woman ends careers between sips of coffee.”

You frowned. “So what? We’re supposed to stay quiet even when she’s wrong?”

Harcourt’s jaw tightened. Not angry—worried.

“Listen,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m not telling you to stop thinking. I’m telling you to stop signing your death wish in front of the entire task force.”

You blinked. Emilia almost never showed concern, but it was there—buried under the usual irritation and steel.

“You’re good at what you do,” she continued, voice rough. “Better than half the agents here. Don’t throw that away because you want to play hero.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she cut in. “That’s the problem. Waller hates people with consciences. Makes her itchy.”

You let out a breath. “So what do I do?”

Harcourt leaned against the wall, arms crossed, giving you that sharp, assessing look she always used right before deciding if someone was a liability.