Page 85 of Psyop Kings

I peek to discover one of her “girls” sitting in a chair as Ava fusses over her makeup. The black-haired girl stares at me—blank and empty inside.

Why is she dressing them up?

I don’t like the idea of this strange woman dolling these girls up when men like Solomon Grayhawk prowl about, without his wife in tow, no less. Backing away from the salon, I turn on my heel and slip out the doors of the wellness center. A quick peek into the gym windows yields nothing aside from an array of unused machinery. The next stop is the cinema.

Before I reach the light-colored wooden door, I stop to listen first. Beyond the door are voices, this time male. One is recognizable. Caius. I turn the knob and open it a bit to listen in.

“…I know, Ted. I’m being careful.”

Ted’s here?

The mysterious, I’m-friends-with-everybody-including-my-dad, Ted?

“We better get going before we’re seen alone together,” Ted says lowly. “Too many eyes of people I don’t know or trust around here.”

Realizing they’re about to come out, I hurry back the way I came, nearly busting my ass when my poor shoe choice slips on the floor. I scramble toward the stairwell, but since the elevator door is open, I dip inside there instead, quickly mashing the button to take me back to the floor where our room is on.

Male voices grow closer, but the elevator doors close before they reach me. My heart hammers wildly in my chest. I can’t believe I almost got caught spying on them. What were they even discussing anyway? What does Caius need to be careful about?

My original thoughts of Ted being with the CIA resurface. Maybe Caius is undercover and their clandestine meeting wasto go over their next steps. I roll my eyes at my runaway imagination. Caius isn’t a good man. Definitely not some government plant. That means Ted must be an equally bad guy, which I already figured considering the company he keeps. Unfortunately, my own father was seen with the guy, and I don’t know what to think of that. For now, I lock it away to ruminate over for another time.

The elevator dings when I reach my intended floor. When the doors open, I find myself staring straight into the beady eyes of none other than Solomon Grayhawk. His face splits into a wolfish grin that sends a tremble of fear through my spine.

“You look lost,” he says, stepping closer, stopping the door from automatically closing with his foot. “Need some help, Miss Langston?”

I force a polite smile, though I can feel it wobbling. “No. Popped into the wellness center to check it out, but it was full. Headed back to our suite to get ready for dinner tonight.”

He studies me silently for an uncomfortable long few seconds before giving me a nod. “Very well. I look forward to seeing you soon then.”

I brush past him, disgusted when our bodies touch, trading places with him. He steps into the elevator and watches me intently until the doors close. As soon as he’s gone from my presence, I’m able to breathe more easily. I start for our suite but then have a new idea.

Maybe I’ll find something in his quarters.

What am I even looking for?

Nothing in particular. Just more puzzle pieces. It’s all a vague collection of parts, but eventually, I’ll collect enough that it all makes sense. This feels like an opportunity I may never have again. Without a second thought, I rush toward his side of the yacht.

The hallway takes me to a crossroads. To the left is a small lounge with big windows and access to the deck. Straight ahead looks to be the way into the bedroom suite. On the right is a neat, pristine office with a modern, light wood desk in front of a high-back white leather desk chair. The gray and white rug is artfully sewn into a cursive G. Two sitting chairs are opposite the desk. Behind the desk is an enormous painting of a child peeking out of a wicker box, both eyes blackened like that of a panda bear.

What the hell?

Knowing what I do about Solomon, the picture makes me nauseous to look at. It may be an artist’s rendering of something imagined. Or it could be a replication of a real person. Either way, the whole thing feels sick and wrong.

Focus.

I notice chest-high built-in cabinets behind the desk. There might be files or photos or important papers. Quickly, I hurry over to them. To my dismay, they’re cavernous and empty. With a disappointed sigh, I close the doors and then inspect the desk. A sleek MacBook Pro sits in the center, closed and probably password protected. To be sure, I flip it open to look. A bright neon green sticky note sits to the side of the trackpad. I mash buttons until the screen comes to life and am not surprised it asks for a password.

Instead of trying to hack into a computer I know I won’t get into, I study the writing on the sticky note.

CUP FAIL X 4

3 RETURN/1 FEE

I’m not sure what any of this means, but it seems important. CUP represents only one thing I can think of. Crowne Unity Project. What does it mean that 4 failed? Was Megan one of them?

Sickness roils in my gut at the implication of Megan failing their program. Could she end up beaten and killed like that girl I’d seen Solomon carrying?

I need to speak to her.

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