The Fade

21

I kept forgetting I needed to post this update, lol.

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"That would... make sense with everything they're saying and the way they're acting," I say slowly. "They don't seem too upset about the fact that pretty much everyone has disappeared."

"And it would explain why they're trying to hunt down the people who didn't Fade."

A throat clears, loudly, and we both look up to find Hester Quill right in front of us, eyebrows even angrier than when she first found us in the lobby. "Perhaps you would like to share your thoughts with the entire group, since you cannot seem to wait to share them with each other?"

We both shake our heads frantically.

She turns to the disgruntled Working Group. "My dear friends, I believe your thrilling news may be met with more respect if we hold off until after our young guests here have had their say."

Crap, crap, crap, crap.

"No, really, that's okay," Sander says, shooting us a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. "They're done talking. No more talking. We'll all ears, really."

Hester raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? We would love to hear about your experience with The Fade."

Before any of us can protest any further, Hester calls to the guards at the door, "Please bring in five chairs for our guests of distinction."

Jamison grips my arm, mouthing, "What?"

Hester focuses her gray stare back on us. "Drink up. You do not want to become thirsty halfway through your testimony."

Something about her words doesn't sit right with me, but I don't have time to think about it because my friends reach for their glasses and Hester's glare makes me hurry to do the same.

I choke down the rest of my wine and then stumble after my friends to the strange, heavy-duty stainless-steel chairs the guards have just brought in.

The moment we sit down, panels on the armrests open and metal bands slide out to wrap around our wrists.

The natural response is to fight the restraints, but we quickly discover that the more you struggle, the tighter the bands become, and the more their sharp edges dig into your skin.

I stare at my clenched fist, fascinated by the tiny droplet of blood perching on my skin.

"Now that you are all settled, why don't you introduce yourselves?" Hester asks. Something in her eyes has shifted, like she's mocking us, enjoying our confusion and fear. She knows we aren't going to like what happens next.

I don't want to tell them my name, but I can also feel something, deep in my chest, compelling me to speak. "Halle Wells," I choke out.

Ori shoots me a dubious look but then blurts, "Oriana Greene."

"Cassian Kessler."

"Lysander Walton."

Jamison puts up the greatest fight, but even he too eventually says, "Jamison Monroe."

Yeah, Hester is definitely pleased with herself, the old bat. "You would not happen to be related to Miles Monroe, would you?"

His face takes on a pinched quality as he grinds out, "Yes."

"Your father?"

"Yes."

"He was one of the leading scientists on The Fade, you know."