Brunch, Banter, and Big Questions

The café was busier than I'd expected for this time of day, but it didn't matter. I wasn't here for the atmosphere. Brunch felt like a decent apology for my oversleeping, and George wasn't one to turn down food.

By the time I got back to the flat, the shower was running. I set the bags on the table and opened the containers, the smell of coffee and eggs wafting up. "George?" I called, glancing toward the bathroom.

No answer, though the sound of running water assured me he'd heard. I muttered to myself as I sat down, "If you don't want it now, you can eat later. I'm starving."

The papers on the desk caught my eye—half-finished notes from last night, still a mess of disconnected thoughts. Among them was the starfish charm, glinting faintly in the light. I turned away before I let my thoughts linger too long.

George emerged a few minutes later, towel slung over his shoulder. "Brunch?" he asked, eyeing the spread.

"Brunch," I confirmed, gesturing toward the food. "Sit. Eat. We need to talk."

He grabbed his plate and joined me at the table, looking at me expectantly. "What's on your mind?"

I took a bite, chewing slowly before answering. "You said Emma and the director had some kind of conversation this morning. Something about a call?"

George nodded, setting down his fork. "Yeah. It was weird. They didn't see me, but I caught enough to know it wasn't casual. Emma looked—well, she didn't look like herself. And Matt... he looked worse."

"What exactly did they say?" I pressed.

George leaned back, thinking. "Matt asked Emma if she got a call. She said yes. Then he said something like, 'We don't have much time.' After that, they just stopped talking. Like someone flipped a switch. They walked away in opposite directions."

I frowned, tapping my fork against my plate. "That's... strange. Did she seem upset?"

"Upset? She looked scared," George said firmly. "And Matt wasn't far behind her. It was like whatever that call was, it rattled them both."

I mulled it over, the pieces refusing to connect. A call? From who? And why would it shake both of them?

"Do you think it's about the murder?" George asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," I admitted. "It could be, but we don't know enough yet. Emma, Matt... I barely know them. It's too early to say what kind of people they are, let alone what they're hiding."

George nodded slowly. "Fair. But if they both got calls, it can't be a coincidence."

"No," I agreed, "it can't. But if we start poking around now, we'll spook them. If they're hiding something, we'll need to figure out what without tipping them off."

George sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is turning into a mess, Will. First the murder, now this? What are we even looking for?"

"I don't know yet," I said, setting down my fork. "But whatever it is, it's got them scared. And scared people make mistakes."

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between us. Finally, George stood, grabbing his empty plate. "Well, I hope you've got a plan because this is way over my head." He paused at the sink, looking over his shoulder. "Actually, scratch that. We need an idea."

Before I could respond, he returned to the table, two laptops under his arm. "Let's see what the internet has to offer. Everyone leaves a trail. Maybe we can follow theirs."

He pushed my laptop toward me and opened his own. "You take Emma, I'll take Matt. If they've got skeletons in their closets, the internet's bound to spill at least a few bones."

I hesitated, but then the screen flickered to life, and I started typing. Search results blinked back at me—profiles, posts, articles. Most of it mundane, but every so often, something stood out.

"Wait," George said suddenly, his tone sharp. "Look at this."

I turned my screen toward him, confused. "Look at what?"

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "That. Right there. Do you see it?"

I followed his gaze, and my stomach sank. The image on my screen wasn't just unusual—it was impossible.

And yet, there it was.