[His arms fold, a faint smile ghosting across his face— not one of amusement, but recognition. Dehya's instincts are sharp. She sees the flaw in waiting, in clinging to the hope that someone else will deliver salvation. Char has long since abandoned such illusions.

His voice drops lower, more deliberate, words meant only for her ears.]

I agree. Sitting idle, trusting in a miracle... that's not survival. If Father wants us obedient, then waiting is the surest way to give him exactly that.

[He glances aside, briefly, as if measuring whether to say more. When his gaze returns, it's steady, probing.]

I've been considering... alternatives. If this is a play, then the script isn't immutable. Scripts can be rewritten. But rewriting demands risk.

[He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice further.]

Tell me, Dehya— are you willing to gamble on striking first? On cutting at the root, rather than waiting for the next trial to claim someone else?