The door closed behind them with a soft, decisive click.
The corridor, the guards, the weight of diplomacy, and carefully measured words - all of it was cut off in an instant.
Chris exhaled sharply. Then the restraint he had worn so perfectly in front of Caelan finally cracked.
"The audacity of him," he said, pacing once before turning back toward Dax. "As if Ethan is a strategic asset to be scheduled. As if surviving that lab automatically enrolls him into some heroic narrative he never asked for."
Dax watched him in silence, letting it come. He had learned, long ago, that Chris needed space to speak when anger was the honest kind.
"He talks about choice," Chris went on, voice tight. "But men like him always assume the right choice will be made. The useful one. The one that serves justice, or optics, or history. Ethan doesn't owe any of that to anyone."
He dropped onto the sofa with a frustrated huff. "He owes himself peace. That's it."
