Dax didn't react with surprise. He didn't snap or raise his voice. His expression didn't change much at all. But something in the room settled into a quieter, steadier tension.
"Chris," he said, and there was nothing sharp in the name, just focus.
Chris stood there, shoulders tight, breathing a little unsteady from fatigue more than anger. He knew he had crossed a line, but he also didn't have the energy to walk backwards from it.
"I'm not lying to you," Dax said. His tone remained level, almost measured. "I don't say things I don't mean."
Chris looked at him, tired and frustrated. "You say I won't disappear, but it already feels like I am. I don't speak the way I used to. I think before I say everything now. I watch myself all day. I don't feel like I fit anywhere here."
Dax stood slowly, just standing to meet him on equal ground.
"You are tired," he said. "And the court has been pressing you without pause. That is what you are feeling. Not erasure."
