Page 120 of Split Decision

After I hang up, I sit with it for a moment. It matters. Just not in the way it would have mattered two weeks ago.

What it tells me is that Carrington's name is moving. Syndi's friend encountered it casually—a dinner conversation, professional gossip, the kind of thing that circulates in governance circles without anyone realizing its weight. Which means the name isn't as sealed as Carrington has kept it. It's surfacing. Either she's becoming less careful, the network has expanded beyond what she can fully control, or both.

I call Andi. She picks up on the first ring.

"Syndi just mentioned Carrington," I say. "By accident. Dinner conversation through a governance contact. Doesn't know what she handed me."

A silence. The kind that means she's adding this to something she's already building.

"Her name is circulating," Andi says.

"Yes. Casually. Without weight. That means it's moving through networks she didn't put it in. Syndi said she’s a local name now."

"Or networks she thought she controlled and doesn't anymore." A pause. "Luke, that changes the timeline."

"How?"

"She's been invisible for thirty years because she managed information flow. If the name is surfacing independently, she knows it. She's not careless. If she's becoming visible,it's because the operation is expanding faster than containment can keep up." Andi's voice is precise and quiet. "She's going to move. Not because we're close. Because her own network is getting loose."

I look out the window. The Atlanta dark outside, ordinary and unconcerned.

"We need Daniel before she repositions," I say.

"We needed him yesterday," she says. "But Luke, there's something else."

I wait.

"Brandon called me this afternoon," she says. "He said Marin called him last night. Asked to meet. He went." A pause. "He said the conversation was honest. More honest than anything she's said to him before. She admitted she came in through him deliberately because he was the least resistant access point."

I think about that admission and how Brandon must’ve felt.

"He asked her who the recommendations worked for," Andi continues. "She said they worked for us. He accepted it." Another pause. "He's not sure he should have."

"He's close," I say.

"He's very close. He's been there for a while—he just hasn't pushed the last door open." Her voice is careful. "We can't push it for him. He has to arrive on his own. But I think he's going to arrive soon, and when he does, he's going to need someone who can hold it with him."

"Me," I say.

"You," she agrees. "Not me. Not yet. He'll hear it differently from you."

I think about my brother sitting outside Marin’s building—because that’s how my mind arranges it. Brandon stalled in a parking lot, engine off, nowhere to go yet.

I know how he processes things. He does it in parked cars and kitchen tables, in the quiet that comes only when motion stops. He stays close without moving forward, as if proximity alone might solve something that thinking hasn’t yet untangled.

He’ll be sitting there now—near a door he hasn’t figured out how to open, turning the same problem over and over, waiting for it to change shape.

"I'll call him," I say.

"Not tonight," she says. "Let him come to it. He's almost there."

A pause.

"Luke?"

"Yeah."

"The name is in motion. Brandon is almost at the door. Daniel is somewhere we can't reach yet." She pauses. "We have to trust the timing now. We've done everything we can. The next move isn't ours to make."