Chapter 22: The Observers (2)
EL'S POCKET – 3:30 PM
He checked the card again.
Stop looking for the exit.
Gone.
Just empty space.
Sweet dreams, El. Still there. The symbol. Still there.
The entrance is where you first found me. Still there.
Remember the flowers. Still there.
But the first words—the ones that started everything—were gone.
El stared.
Why? Why did it disappear? What does it mean?
He didn't have answers.
But the questions kept coming.
---
NEAR THE WINDOW – 5:15 PM
El stood by the window, watching the city below.
Coffee in hand.
Lukewarm now.
Mira appeared beside him.
"Long day?"
He turned.
She stood close—not too close, but close enough for conversation.
"The usual."
She nodded.
Looked out the window.
"The Q3 projections look good. You're ahead of schedule again."
"I like patterns."
"Noticed." A pause.
"You've seemed... different lately. More distracted. But also more focused. It's strange."
El didn't know how to answer.
Mira glanced at him.
"If something was going on—not that I'm asking—but if there was, you know you can talk to me. Right?"
"Thank you, Mira."
She nodded once.
Walked away.
Demi appeared.
"WHAT DID SHE SAY. WAS IT ROMANTIC. DID SHE CONFESS SOMETHING."
"She said the Q3 projections look good."
Demi deflated.
"That's so boring. Why can't she ever say something interesting?"
"Because she's our boss."
"She's a WOMAN, El. With FEELINGS. Probably."
El's eyebrow twitched. "You're impossible."
"I'm ACCURATE. There's a difference."
---
EL'S APARTMENT – 10:15 PM
El sat at the kitchen table.
Card before him.
Cracker warm in his palm.
Coffee beside him.
Sweet dreams, El.
The symbol.
The entrance is where you first found me.
Remember the flowers.
Stop looking for the exit was gone.
He remembered it. Every word. But the card had moved on.
Why? Why now?
The cracker glowed faintly.
You'll need sustenance.
For what?
He didn't know.
He drank his coffee.
Lukewarm now.
Tomorrow, he'd tell Demi everything.
Again.
And then—
He looked at the card.
The entrance is where you first found me.
The playground.
Friday.
He was running out of time.
---
DARK CONFERENCE ROOM – SAME TIME
A long table.
Polished dark wood.
High-backed chairs.
Aletheia sat at the head, fingers steepled.
Her glasses caught the dim light, hiding her eyes.
Beside her, Vesper leaned back, expression unreadable, trailing the faint scent of expensive clove cigarettes.
She looked bored, but her eyes missed nothing.
Across from them, Lyra stared at her tablet, data scrolling endlessly.
She hadn't looked up once.
At the far end, Sloane sat with arms crossed, gaze cold enough to freeze coffee.
She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Aletheia smiled.
"He noticed," she said.
"The words are gone."
Vesper uncrossed her legs, leaning forward slightly.
"He's paying attention now."
Aletheia nodded.
"He'll go back to the playground. He has no choice."
Lyra finally spoke, not looking up from her tablet.
"The garden won't last much longer. Projected timeline: seventy-two hours. Maybe less."
Sloane uncrossed her arms, placing her hands flat on the table.
"And if he's too late?"
Aletheia's smile didn't waver.
"Then we find another way."
Silence.
Tink.
A sound.
From the corner.
Tink. Tink.
Everyone turned.
Caelum sat in the shadows, half-hidden, legs crossed, fingers twirling a spoon against a saucer.
Espresso cup untouched beside her.
Her eyes were wide—too wide—dark circles underneath.
She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
Tink.
She caught them staring and grinned.
"Don't mind me," she said, voice light, almost singsong.
"Just here for the show."
Sloane's eyes narrowed.
"How did you get in here?"
Caelum waved the spoon vaguely.
"Doors. Windows. Imagination. Same thing, really."
Vesper's expression hardened.
"This is a private meeting."
"And yet, here I am." Caelum's eye twitched.
"Funny how that works."
Aletheia studied her.
Unreadable.
"You have something to add?"
Caelum tilted her head. The spoon stopped moving.
Silence.
Then—
"He won't be late."
Her voice dropped.
No longer playful.
No longer light.
"He won't be late," she repeated.
"He's stubborn. Annoyingly stubborn. The kind of stubborn that walks into walls and calls it 'pattern analysis.'"
A pause.
Her eyes twitched again.
"I've seen it."
Lyra finally looked up from her tablet.
"Seen what?"
Caelum smiled—a jagged, broken thing.
"The ending."
She picked up her espresso.
Drank.
Made a face.
"Always too bitter," she muttered.
Then she went back to twirling her spoon.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
Aletheia watched her for a long moment.
Then she turned back to the table.
"Proceed."
The meeting continued.
But in the corner, Caelum kept smiling.
Watching.
Waiting.
Entertained.