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Her chin lifts. “About?”

“You’ve been moving like you’re planning a siege.”

Her expression doesn’t shift. “Maybe I am.”

“Julie—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I work for you. That’s all.”

“No,” I growl. “That’s not what this is about.”

She stares at me, arms crossed. “Then whatisit about?”

I hesitate, because I don’t have a clean answer. Not one that fits in a meeting memo.

“You’re hiding something,” I say instead.

She doesn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

“Is it something I should know?”

“Are you asking as my boss or... something else?”

That pause is deliberate. And it burns.

I move closer. Close enough to see the lines of tension at the corners of her mouth. “Julie, talk to me.”

Her eyes search mine for a moment—like she’s weighing the risk.

Then she says, softly, “I heard Renault. In the conference cabin. He’s making moves. Real ones. He wants to rebrand. Strip it down. Build luxury units in the north quarter. Push out the original mission. Pushyouout.”

I blink.

The ground shifts under me.

“What?”

“I heard everything,” she says. “Including how he called me your distraction.”

A silence stretches between us, thick with everything I should have seen.

Julie exhales. “I’ve already started preparing a resistance. Gathering documents. Re-mapping logistics. If we’re going to stop him, we need a plan.”

“We?” I ask.

She meets my gaze again. “I’m not letting them take this place.”

I take a breath.

And then another.

Because she’s right.

And because the wave ofreliefthat hits me—knowing I’m not alone in this—is almost enough to bring me to my knees.

“Julie,” I say, quieter now, “I need you.”

Her eyes widen slightly.