1 hour ago
“It’s not just losing him,” Riley said. The words came slow, like she had to haul them up by hand. “It’s… I didn’t keep him safe.”
Once it existed, the sentence felt ugly. Worse because it was true.
Her eyes slipped off the camera—half a second to flinch, to hate herself for needing this—then snapped back. “You told me—over and over—that Security protects life. It doesn’t matter if they’re good or evil, or if you like them, or if they deserve it. We protect life.”
Her hands were knotted in her lap. She could feel her nails through her own skin. “And I keep hearing that in my head. I keep thinking that if I’d done my job right… he wouldn’t have been alone out there.”
Torres held her through the screen for a long beat.
[You’re right about the principle,] he said. [Security protects life. All life. The person you don’t trust. The person who might be trying to hurt you.]
Riley’s stomach tightened.
[But protecting life isn’t the same as guaranteeing safety,] Torres continued. [It means you make choices that reduce harm while preserving the mission and the people around you. It means you don’t let anger—or fear—or pride—turn you into another weapon in the room.]
Riley didn’t move. She listened hard enough that her jaw started to ache, and the ache was the point—because she could name exactly where those three things had been in her hands that night, even while she called it “professional.”
“To be fair,” she said, and it sounded like an excuse the second it left her mouth.
She didn’t let herself retreat from it. “Protecting Tomer’s life… wasn’t my priority.”
This time she held the camera’s gaze like it was a punishment she’d earned. “Not until it looked like he might already be dead. Before that I was thinking containment. Risk. Control. Keep him from hurting someone else.”
Keep him from hurting us.
“And then it shifted,” she added, voice rough. “The second it felt real—like we’d lost him, like he’d bled out in some accessway—I couldn’t stop thinking about how alone he would’ve been. How that would’ve happened on my watch.”
Torres stayed quiet long enough for her to hear her own pulse in her fingertips.
[Good,] he said at last. [That’s honest.]
Riley blinked, thrown by that being the first thing he offered her.
[Now listen closely,] Torres said. [What you just described is the trap. You treated him like a problem to manage until the cost of failure became a body.]
Her throat tightened. Because it fit. Because it was clean and merciless and correct.
[Security protects life,] Torres went on, steady. [That doesn’t mean you stop seeing threats. It means you hold two truths at the same time: someone can be dangerous, and someone can still be your responsibility.]
Riley’s fingers tightened together until her knuckles went pale.
[If you wait to care about their life until they’re dying, you’re already late,] Torres said. [Not morally. Operationally. Because the moment you stop accounting for their survival, you start making choices that raise the odds of exactly that outcome. Escalation. Corners. Panic.]
Riley drew a slow breath, forcing it down into her ribs. She’d come here for practical. This was practical. It just hurt like hell.
“How do I fix it?” she asked. “Not… the past. I mean the next time.”
Torres didn’t hesitate.
[You write two plans,] he said. [One for the suspect as a threat. One for the suspect as a life. And you execute both at the same time.]
Riley stared at him.
[Containment and preservation,] he clarified. [Positioning that protects your team and keeps them alive. Procedures that keep the suspect from disappearing—and keep them from getting killed because you treated them like disposable cargo.]
Something in Riley’s jaw set. Not softer. Straighter.
Two truths. Same time.
Torres watched her for a beat, then his expression changed—subtle, but she felt it anyway.
[Now answer my earlier question,] he said. [Which part is eating you alive—losing him physically… or realizing you didn’t start treating his life as part of the mission until it looked like you’d already lost it?]
== TBC ==
Once it existed, the sentence felt ugly. Worse because it was true.
Her eyes slipped off the camera—half a second to flinch, to hate herself for needing this—then snapped back. “You told me—over and over—that Security protects life. It doesn’t matter if they’re good or evil, or if you like them, or if they deserve it. We protect life.”
Her hands were knotted in her lap. She could feel her nails through her own skin. “And I keep hearing that in my head. I keep thinking that if I’d done my job right… he wouldn’t have been alone out there.”
Torres held her through the screen for a long beat.
[You’re right about the principle,] he said. [Security protects life. All life. The person you don’t trust. The person who might be trying to hurt you.]
Riley’s stomach tightened.
[But protecting life isn’t the same as guaranteeing safety,] Torres continued. [It means you make choices that reduce harm while preserving the mission and the people around you. It means you don’t let anger—or fear—or pride—turn you into another weapon in the room.]
Riley didn’t move. She listened hard enough that her jaw started to ache, and the ache was the point—because she could name exactly where those three things had been in her hands that night, even while she called it “professional.”
“To be fair,” she said, and it sounded like an excuse the second it left her mouth.
She didn’t let herself retreat from it. “Protecting Tomer’s life… wasn’t my priority.”
This time she held the camera’s gaze like it was a punishment she’d earned. “Not until it looked like he might already be dead. Before that I was thinking containment. Risk. Control. Keep him from hurting someone else.”
Keep him from hurting us.
“And then it shifted,” she added, voice rough. “The second it felt real—like we’d lost him, like he’d bled out in some accessway—I couldn’t stop thinking about how alone he would’ve been. How that would’ve happened on my watch.”
Torres stayed quiet long enough for her to hear her own pulse in her fingertips.
[Good,] he said at last. [That’s honest.]
Riley blinked, thrown by that being the first thing he offered her.
[Now listen closely,] Torres said. [What you just described is the trap. You treated him like a problem to manage until the cost of failure became a body.]
Her throat tightened. Because it fit. Because it was clean and merciless and correct.
[Security protects life,] Torres went on, steady. [That doesn’t mean you stop seeing threats. It means you hold two truths at the same time: someone can be dangerous, and someone can still be your responsibility.]
Riley’s fingers tightened together until her knuckles went pale.
[If you wait to care about their life until they’re dying, you’re already late,] Torres said. [Not morally. Operationally. Because the moment you stop accounting for their survival, you start making choices that raise the odds of exactly that outcome. Escalation. Corners. Panic.]
Riley drew a slow breath, forcing it down into her ribs. She’d come here for practical. This was practical. It just hurt like hell.
“How do I fix it?” she asked. “Not… the past. I mean the next time.”
Torres didn’t hesitate.
[You write two plans,] he said. [One for the suspect as a threat. One for the suspect as a life. And you execute both at the same time.]
Riley stared at him.
[Containment and preservation,] he clarified. [Positioning that protects your team and keeps them alive. Procedures that keep the suspect from disappearing—and keep them from getting killed because you treated them like disposable cargo.]
Something in Riley’s jaw set. Not softer. Straighter.
Two truths. Same time.
Torres watched her for a beat, then his expression changed—subtle, but she felt it anyway.
[Now answer my earlier question,] he said. [Which part is eating you alive—losing him physically… or realizing you didn’t start treating his life as part of the mission until it looked like you’d already lost it?]
== TBC ==