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“I think you chose not to contain me,” she corrects.

That lands differently than most things she has said so far, because it shows she is not just reacting to what I do, but interpreting why I do it.

“Why would I do that,” I ask.

“Because you wanted to see what I would do,” she says.

I don’t answer immediately, because she is right again, and acknowledging it would shift the dynamic in a way I’m not ready to give her.

“What did you see,” she asks.

“Control,” I say. “Not the kind people fake.”

She exhales quietly, the sound almost neutral, but it carries something that suggests recognition.

“You didn’t escalate,” she says.

“That disappoint you?” I ask.

“No,” she replies. “It complicates things.”

I push off the table and step closer, closing some of the distance without crowding her completely.

“What did you expect,” I ask.

“A brute,” she says. “Efficient. Predictable.”

“And now,” I prompt.

She studies me for a second, not avoiding the question, but not rushing to answer it either.

“Now I don’t know yet,” she says.

That is where I want her.

“What did you do before this,” I ask.

“Before what,” she replies.

“Before you walked into a negotiation and turned yourself into leverage,” I say.

Her expression stays controlled, but something tightens just beneath it.

“I trained,” she says. “Observation, adaptation, negotiation.”

“That’s the Academy answer,” I reply. “I want the real one.”

There is a brief pause, just enough to register as hesitation without becoming avoidance.

“I painted,” she says.

That shifts something in me in a way I don’t immediately explain.

I don’t move, but my focus sharpens.

“Say that again,” I say.

Her eyes catch the change this time.