His grip loosens and he steps away from me. Heat rushes back to my fingertips in one giant wave. It was the answer he wanted to hear. Now he doesn't have to take responsibility for his own failed mission.

"Phillip took off the restraints?" he repeats.

I want to take it back. If only I could take it back. But its too late now.

"Yes, but he was in a lot of pain. I don't think he was thinking clearly. He's not usually…"

He holds up one finger again—my signal to stop talking—and I settle back down into my chair.

He turns away from me and reaches for his glass of something—probably vodka—on his desk. He stirs it with his finger and casually takes a sip. For him, it's just another day at the office. I can feel my heart pounding in my ear as I wait for him to speak.

"I have to admit I'm surprised." He finally says.

I look up at my superior, "About what?"

"You were right about Phillip all along."

By his smile I can tell he meant that as a compliment. It didn't feel like one.

"I told you. My reports were-misguided."

He shakes his head, "You should be proud of yourself. You have a strong sense of character. You knew him better than we did. Tonight proved that."

"Please, just let me talk with him. I promise you tonight was an extreme situation. It will never happen again."

"I see what's going on here." He says.

"You do?"

"This happens a lot." He says casually.

"What does?"

"You've lived together a few months. I'm sure you have some feelings for him. It's only natural. But you don't have to keep defending him. He's a grown man. He can take responsibility for his actions.

"Just let me handle this with him. Please. I don't want the center getting involved."

"Why not? We're here to make sure your missions go smoothly. We're here to help you."

"It will just make things worse."

"How could things be worse than they already are? Your mission failed. We don't have Wyle. And worse-he has seen your face and can describe it to every sketch artist in this city."

"I know that." I look down at my lap like a child.

He continues to pace around the room, "I want you to bring Phillip to me tomorrow morning."

"He's too sick. I can't do that to him."

He slams his glass down on his desk and I jump back in response to the thud.

He leans forward and lowers his voice to deep whisper, "You can do that. You are under orders."

I keep my eyes focused on his, "It can wait until he has healed."

"He will need to be questioned and evaluated. We need to be sure that he's in the correct mental state for his work."

"You mean you want to be sure he's not a traitor?"

"I'm sure the thought has crossed your mind as well."

"It hasn't, actually."

"But in your report..."

"I told you. I was mistaken," I insist.

"One of our agents let Wyle walk away from us and you don't question his motives?"

I can feel my blood rushing to my head. Another old man in a suit that thinks he knows what its like to be in the field. I force my hands into my lap to hide my clenching fists.

"With all due respect, I don't see it that way." I say.

He shrugs his shoulders, "How do you see it?"

I force my gaze directly into his, "One of your agents almost died last night trying to complete a mission while you sat behind a desk. That's how I see it."

"I want him in my office by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. That's final. We need to be sure this won't happen again."

"You're going to put him through retraining aren't you?"

"It's in your best interest. I assure you." He says.

"And not the pleasant kind, I assume."

"That's not your concern. Have him here tomorrow at eight."

"And if I don't'?"

"Then you'll both go through the same unpleasant evaluations."