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Chapter 8

“I’m down.” Mitch shrugged.

Greg led them through the crowd back to where the others were standing near a lamppost. Abe had a homemade sign in Russian; Brandon couldn’t read it. Mitch looked around. “I’ve got to say,” he told Brandon, leaning in and murmuring into his ear, “your protest chants need better rhythm.”

Brandon looked up and tilted his head to the side. “Valid,” he decided after listening to the cadence rising up through the throng of people. “It’s heartfelt, though.” He introduced Mitchell to his friends, although it turned out that Mitch at least knew Clay’s work if not Clay himself. “Who knew that Mitch was a photography fan?” Brandon muttered to Greg.

“You could try socializing with your colleagues once in a while.” Greg suggested with a grin. “You never know what you might learn. Or who they might know. They might know the man of your dreams, you never know.”