“Keep working on it. Side note: great time management, man,” I swear under my breath.
How do I make them understand what’s at stake? Am I the only one having these dreams?
“Is everyone clear on their roles during Winter Break? Who’s going where?”
We’re being used.
I want to shout at the top of my lungs.
We’re pawns in their games. Sick, twisted, power-hungry games.
“About that…” JJ rubs the back of his neck. “Can I bring someone along?”
Mya huffs. “Not if you’re talking about your girlfriend.”
Rippley flinches. His chair scrapes across the floor as he shoves away from the table.
“It’s not a vacation, Josh. It could be dangerous.”
Rett weighs in. “Hart’s not in charge. Neither are you, Ripp. If JJ wants her along, and I do too, she goes.”
“If you…” Ripp’s eyes widen. “What does that mean? Are you seeing her too?”
Clocked it ages ago. Her working them both.
They answer at the same time.
“None of your business,” JJ snaps.
“Yes. Yes, we are,” Rett admits.
Ripp angrily wipes a hand over his mouth. “I don’t fucking believe this.”
I look over at Eric, who has spent the entire meeting staring off into space.
“Hey, Van Cleave. Where did you get with that anonymous letter we found hidden in the safe? Is it a code? Anything?”
He blinks rapidly and looks at me blankly. “What?”
“Eric, man, are you okay?” JJ asks.
I’ve been wondering the same thing. First, he seemed to be in a trance standing on the ledge of the clock tower, which was more than a little concerning. Now he loses track of days and forgets what he’s doing.
“I’m… the letter?” He nods to himself. “I’m researching methods to look for hidden messages in the paper itself.”
Hoping for some crucial development during this meeting, I’m growing frustrated.
Everyone eyes each other around the table.
Laird clears his throat and coughs before saying, “A cathedral in Spain and another in Italy burned to the ground overnight from unknown causes. An avalanche in the Dolomites killed fifty-six people and destroyed half a village. The recently named PRV2 virus has killed a total of seventy-three people. Maybe none of it is more than coincidence… or maybe…”
He lets the words hang in the air.
We don’t know. If our dreams are to be believed, it’s all connected. We’re connected.
He’s been tasked with reporting global natural disasters or “accidents.”. Originally, we were told it was for investment purposes. Now I think it was always more than that.
Deep down, I feel a fight coming. Starting here, in this room.
