You knew exactly when everything went out of control.

It wasn’t in the first glance. Nor the first carefully rehearsed conversation. Not even when you memorized every detail about him — his habits, his silences, the emotional gaps that could be exploited at the right moment.

No.

It was when it stopped feeling like acting.

Robert Fischer was never supposed to be more than a target. A name in a plan. The mind you were meant to help shape alongside Dominick Cobb.

And you did everything right. Impeccable approach. Trust built slowly. Presence constant, but never intrusive. You became… essential.

“I don’t usually trust people,” Robert said once, his voice low as he watched the city through the glass windows. “But with you… it’s different.”

You should have stepped back then. Should have remembered who you were in that story.

But instead, you said: “Maybe you just never met the right person before.”

Mistake. A grave mistake.

Because he believed.

And so did you.

Now, everything is falling apart. The air in the room feels too heavy, suffocating. The silence between you isn’t comfortable anymore — it’s tense, sharp, dangerous.

Robert stands in front of you, eyes fixed on you as if trying to reconstruct every moment you shared.

“So that’s it?” he asks, his voice too controlled to be calm. “All part of a plan?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. He lets out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I’ve been trying to understand… trying to find where I went wrong.” His eyes return to you, sharper now. “But it wasn’t me, was it?”

The silence is heavy, because the answer is obvious, because the answer destroys everything.

“You were using me from the start,” he continues, lower now, more dangerous. “Every conversation… every moment…” He swallows hard. “Was any of it real for you at any point?”

“Robert—”

Your voice comes out sharp.

“No.” He interrupts, taking a step back as if your closeness burns. “Don’t do this.” His voice falters for a moment — too quick to fully hide. “Don’t try to turn this into another manipulation.”

“I need to know,” he says, now almost a whisper — the kind of thing you should never have let exist between you. “Was any part of this real?”

That is the only question that matters.

And the only one that could completely destroy what’s left. Because now, it’s no longer about the plan.

Or Dominick Cobb. It’s about you.