As Nico poured, Jo caught a glimpse of a different expression. Her grip went slack and she had to focus on holding her mug. The casual atmosphere was a front for them all, a sort of self-preservation that they were indulging in while worry gnawed at theirinsides.
“Careful it’s—” Nico tried towarn.
Jo took a large swig of coffee, well knowing it was still scalding hot. It burned all the way down, searing her foggy mind to clarity. “I neededthat.”
“It’s nice to finally have someone here who shares my love for a good cup.” That smile was back, the one she’d been foolish enough to believe was genuine. “Such a fantastic invention. I couldn’t have been happier the first time I saw a coffee shop open inFlorence.”
“When was that? The coffee shop?” Jo played along while the back of her mind was already at work, spinning through heroptions.
Nico thought a moment. “The first was in Venice. . . then after that. . . it must’ve been mid- to late1600s.”
“Such a rich history for such a rich drink.” She forced a smile as well. Fake smiles allaround.
Samson walked in bleary-eyed, just in time for Takako’s breakfast of choice to be served. It was white rice, broiled fish, and misosoup.
“I hope it’s to your taste,” Takako said to her. “It’s what I used to make.” There was an unspoken “before I was at the Society” that lingered after the sentiment. “It’s just something simple and quick.” There were no anecdotes about her home or how she learned to make it, and Jo didn’tpry.
“It’s delicious. Reminds me of what my friend would make for me. . . when he was feeling particularlykind.”
Takako gave her another small smile and Jo wondered if the woman knew she was speaking of Yuusuke. Either way, the expression was the truest thing Jo had seen all morning. It seemed that Takako was the only one of them that seemed to wear sincere emotions no matter what, good orbad.
Jo turned to Samson. “So, youcook?”
He startled so violently that his spoon nearly fell from his hands. The orange-haired man passed it back and forth awkwardly. “Ido.”
“Can you teach me,sometime?”
“Very well,” he said, voice so soft she could barely hearit.
Silence stepped in to fill the void of their conversation. It soured the sweetness of peace that the offering of food had been seasoned with, and wore at Jo’s patience for pleasantries. She knew the easy fronts were “for the sake of the team,” but they wore on her. It may have been easier if they’d screamed at her for abit.
“Where’s Snow?” she asked delicately. She’d ease herself into this topic and find what she was lookingfor.
“Snow?” Nico cocked a head in thought. “Snow doesn’treally. . .”
“Snow would have you believe he has more important things to attend to.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “Who knows, though. When he requires our assistance, he will seek us out, but for the most part, he leaves usbe.”
It didn’t seem too unusual for a leader (especially one like Snow) to be “too good” for eating with the peons. But after a few hundred years of solitude, she would’ve thought that attitude might have given way. Whatever Snow’s reason, Jo ignored it for now. Asking about Snow was a diversion to get to her realtarget.
“What aboutEslar?”
Everyone seemed to still atonce.
“Working with Snow on the wish, I think,” Samson squeakedout.
Jo looked to Wayne. He diverted his eyes. No luck there, one way oranother.
“It was delicious, Takako, thank you.” Jo stood, both hands on the table. “Nico, may I help myself to anothercup?”
“Oh, ofcourse. . .”
“Thanks.” She’d need the caffeine-inducedfocus.
“Where are you off to,doll?”
“Recreation room.” If she lied it’d look suspicious. “Want to see how Yuusuke did.” That was believable, and the mere mention of how she’d botched their Severity of Exchange successfully silencedthem.
Jo took another sip of coffee—careful to only burn her insides and not her whole face as shewalked.
