Page 49 of Victorious

But as his hand drew the cash from his wallet, as his legs shifted him out of the booth, as he tipped his head to Jenny and wished her a good day, his mind was in a full-out sprint, racing to the truck, pealing down the road toward the cabin at the edge of the woods.

And Syd.

IIINOW. THEN.

2.5 YEARS AGO

EON

THE doors broke open like a seal, and Dr. Gray stepped into EON.

He was met by cool air, and white walls, and two figures in all-black uniforms, who took his phone, and proceeded to scan him—presumably for weapons—before ushering him down a doorless hall.

Gabriel had waited three days to call the number on the card.

At which point, he’d been provided with a day and time, as well as coordinates to a facility outside of Merit. Coordinates which, according to his GPS, led absolutely nowhere. And yet, as he’d neared the small red dot on the screen, a low, large structure came into view.

Now that he was inside, the building’s cool sterility was reminiscent of a hospital, but the staff moved with military form, and the air held a palpable tension, the nervous energy of those in a war zone, constantly bracing for a blast.

He counted the steps as they walked—ten, twenty, thirty—before his escorts turned a corner, and he saw Director Roy, waiting in her dark suit, her security detail at her side.

“Dr. Gray,” she said warmly. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

Gabriel reflected the smile, though he was fairly sure the offer hadn’t been as optional as it seemed. Given the level of secrecy surrounding EON—a search, first casual, and then persistent, had turned up nothing—he suspected he wouldn’t get far if he tried to disappear. (Amazing, how quickly Paul’s paranoia had become his own.)

Not that he wanted to run, when everything he wanted—needed—to further his research was here.

“Please,” said Helena, touching the wall behind her, which turned out to be a door, frosted glass set flush with the hall. “Follow me.”

Gabriel did, stepping into what he assumed was Helena’s office.

The room itself was … nondescript.

People in positions of power often felt the need to emphasize their station using decoration. An oversized desk. Framed articles of merit, and ornaments in iron, copper, steel.

The director’s office held none of these things. The desk and chairs were expensive but not ornate. There were no picture frames, no plants, no lamps. Clean white light seemed to permeate the room, and the only artwork on the wall was an abstract pattern that filled the space behind her desk, which was bare save for a tablet and stylus, which she now slid toward him.

Gabriel glanced down and saw his own name, at the beginning of an NDA.

He skimmed the document which, despite its length, managed to tell him absolutely nothing about the organization known as EON.

“I should warn you,” she said, as he lifted the stylus, “that breaking this agreement would incur penalties more severe than a lawsuit or a fine.”

Gabriel paused, as if weighing the threat, to show he understood. Then he swept the stylus across the bottom line, signing his name, and erasing his last chance—theoretical as it was—of turning back.

The director smiled.

She reclaimed the tablet, tapped the surface twice, and the pattern on the wall behind her melted into screens. Two dozen of them, live feeds of doors, and corridors, and rooms.

Not just any rooms, he realized.

Cells.

Gabriel’s attention sharpened. Cube-like spaces, each containing little more than a bed, and a person. Some looked like ordinary prisoners, pacing, or sleeping, or reading on their cots.

But on one screen, a man floated two feet off the floor.

On another, a girl sat, head resting on her knees, the air around her splintering with light.