You ask for access too quickly. The sentence is wrapped in procedure, please, routing, apologies, but the shape underneath is unmistakable: a grab, a shortcut, a hunger dressed up as efficiency. You tell yourself you are only trying to move faster than Blackridge's caution, only trying to keep pace with a market that does not wait for your self-respect to catch up. The excuse sounds reasonable until you hear it in Dane's voice in your head, flat and unfooled. Marc reads it once, then the silence changes temperature. You watch the little typing bubble appear, vanish, appear again, evidence of a mind rewriting itself before it commits to language. You can almost hear him thinking through the implications like a trader thinking through a bad fill: not dramatic, just bad. Bad because access is never neutral. Bad because a stranger asking for a door is either a colleague or a threat, and you have not earned enough reality yet to be the first. Your thumb hovers over the screen, tempted to send a follow-up joke, a softener, a retreat. Panic-texting reads like guilt. But his next reply will not be friendly. It will be careful. Careful is worse, careful means screenshots, careful means process, careful means you have just taught him to distrust your hunger. You set the phone face-down on the desk and breathe once, slow, as if oxygen could dilute consequence. --- **What do you do?** - **Hold your nerve**: Let him respond first. Silence is power. [[Marc Loses Patience|Hold your nerve]] - **Send a panic text**: Try to soften the request with a joke so you don't look like a threat. [[Send a Panic Text|Send a panic text]]