The board had gotten worse.
Ink bled where she'd pressed too hard. Lines crossing. Cork shredded in two places. The center held a name. Everything leaned toward it.
Her hand was cramping. She flexed her fingers and felt it run all the way up her forearm.
"He started before Month One," Gilbert said. "Before the delays. Before Alyssa."
The marker bit into her palm. Alyssa was her mentor. The one who taught her to read a room. The one who died two years ago.
"He was building toward the same thing I was," Gilbert continued. "Without knowing I was doing it."
"And you didn't know he was," Julian said.
"No."
Her pulse was hammering. Had been for hours. Saying it out loud was different. Her voice was going rough at the edges. Her throat kept wanting to close.
