The kitchen smelled of woodsmoke and bread. Sofia was slicing a loaf, Chang’s laptop cast a blue glow over the table. Raj and Amara came in together, brushing snow from their coats, still laughing at something unheard.

Alias froze. His jaw clenched before the words were out.
“You think this is a game?”

The laughter died.

“Two of you walking in like that,” Alias pressed on, voice rising, “like nothing matters. Like the world isn’t watching. Affection gets people compromised. Patterns get people caught. One slip is enough.”

Amara stiffened.
“We were late, that’s all.”

But Alias’s voice had already broken loose.
“Love doesn’t scale. Love doesn’t encrypt. Love makes you predictable. It gives them leverage. You think you’re different? They’ll use it against you, same way they use everything.”

For a moment his eyes weren’t on them at all.
Ava — the warmth of her shoulder against his, the way her words had carried Pegged further than code ever could. He had wanted her, and that wanting was dangerous. Desire made her visible. Desire made her vulnerable.

He slammed his fist onto the table.
“We can’t afford weakness. Not here. Not ever.”

The silence was thick. The fire in the stove ticked.

Amara said only:
“Enough.”

Alias’s eyes flicked over each of them, dark with fury. Then he shoved the chair back, the legs screeching on the floorboards.
“I need air.”

He pulled on his coat and boots and slammed the Hut door behind him. Snow swallowed the sound of his steps as he strode down toward the valley, a dark figure vanishing into the morning.

For a long moment, no one moved. Then Chang closed the laptop and said, flatly:
“Breakfast, then.”