I didn't answer right away. The city roared softly below us, indifferent to moral debates.
"It's better," I said finally. "Not perfect. Not pure. But better. And better matters in a world that rarely offers clean choices."
She held my gaze, searching, then nodded slowly.
"Spoken like someone who understands systems," she said. "And the cost of pretending they don't exist."
"Yes," I said immediately. "Because they choose it. They can leave anytime. That's not a cage—that's employment."
The word immediately wasn't accidental. It came out clean, unhesitating, the kind of answer you give when you've already had this argument in your head a hundred times and buried the counterpoints in shallow graves.
"Employment where the product is themselves." Her tone wasn't accusatory. It was surgical. Catherine didn't argue like most people. She placed ideas on the table and watched to see what bled.
