I hand out two beads to each of them.
[Leviathanic Beads: 8 → 2]
"Let's not improvise. Everyone pays their own. Each of you places your beads into the eye holes of a mannequin. Find the real ones. Not the copies."
Rhayne pushes herself up off Lola's lap. One arm hanging dead at her side, the other already moving. She walks the aisle slowly. Stops in front of a figure that rocks at the correct beat. Takes a moment. Sets both beads into the eye holes one-handed.
The mannequin deflates.
The white uniform collapses. Dark smoke drifts up and dissipates. The mask rests face-up on the bench.
Rhayne picks it up with her good hand, walks it down to the guard, and hands it over.
[Three passengers remaining to pay.]
My brain catches on the number a second too late.
Three.
We're four people. Two of us have paid. That leaves two.
Not three.
"Something's wrong," I say out loud. "We're four. Two have paid. Why three left?"
