[Connor stiffens in his seat, his eyes locked forward, brows pinching by the barest of degrees. It takes less than a second.
Calculating...
The numbers read clearly: lines of traced code only Connor can see, reinforced by each and every prior encounter with Gavin Reed thus far, all organized by statistical probability. His head turns, expression reading as sympathetic for how he thins his lips— letting them pull upwards just at the corner.]
No, Hank. [If being correct in terms of evidence and policework were a valid deterrent for Reed's presence, the man would probably have retired by now and fled at least three states over. Instead he's here, hands already folded across his chest, mouth twisted into a crooked line.] I don't think he will.
no subject
Calculating...
The numbers read clearly: lines of traced code only Connor can see, reinforced by each and every prior encounter with Gavin Reed thus far, all organized by statistical probability. His head turns, expression reading as sympathetic for how he thins his lips— letting them pull upwards just at the corner.]
No, Hank. [If being correct in terms of evidence and policework were a valid deterrent for Reed's presence, the man would probably have retired by now and fled at least three states over. Instead he's here, hands already folded across his chest, mouth twisted into a crooked line.] I don't think he will.