“I’m sorry.” Samson’s voice, barely above a whisper, sounded like a gunshot for the way everyone’s attention jerked in his direction. The craftsman’s hands had stilled, though they clutched at his trinket so fiercely that his knuckles looked all but seconds away from bursting out of his skin. “I’m. . . I’m sorry, I. . . I. . . I should have triple checked the specs or I should have. . . Or I should have—”
Samson’s breathing picked up, and instantly Jo was reminded of Yuusuke, of how occasionally the stress would get to him, manifesting in ways beyond his control. It usually had to do with his family, or a job gone wrong, but it always ended the same. Jo could see the same symptoms of a panic attack rearing its ugly head in Samson, and, much like she would have with Yuu, she was across the room in a flash.
“Hey, hey.” Jo winced internally at how her voice shook, hoping it wouldn’t diminish the comfort she was trying to give. Not that it would be enough. The tense line of Wayne’s shoulders and Eslar’s closed off expression said as much. Takako’s crumbling demeanor, beyond any comfort at all—despite the way Nico continued to rub soothing circles into her back. So Jo focused on the only thing she could do, because if she didn’t dosomething, the weight of her own hopelessness would crush her too.
“Your machine did exactly what it was supposed to. This is just a stupid politician’s fault for thinking that he knows better—hisprideknows better—than actual science, not yours,” Jo said, placing both of her hands over Samson’s and doing her best to keep her voice steady. Confidence was beyond her at this point, but she could at least get the words out and make sure Samson knew that this wasn’t his fault. If anything, this was the prime minister’s.
Or hers.
“I failed, I. . . I could have. . . I could have done better, I—” Samson stammered, hands shaking beneath hers. Somewhere behind her, Jo heard a sound of frustration, probably from Wayne.
“We’ll think of something else. We’ll find a different way to convince everyone. We’ll come up with a Plan C or—”
“Plan C? Are you joshing with us, dollface?” Wayne bit out, and the coldness in his tone made Jo cringe. For the first time since her first few days in the Society, the sound of his nickname for her left a bitter taste on the back of her tongue.
“We only have two weeks left,” Nico said into the tense quiet that followed. Jo’s heart ached at the sound of defeat in his voice, but she couldn’t deny the claim. When Jo looked over at the Italian, his eyes were shining, lost. Takako had stopped shaking, but she still hadn’t lifted her head from her hands.
“So then we have time,” Jo tried, but Eslar just shook his head. “It’s something.”
“That’s two weeks until the incident itself. If we plan to get everyone evacuated in time, that barely gives us—”
“From our initial assessments, forty-eight hours.” Takako’s voice was muffled from behind her hands, but even so, Jo could hear the scratch in it. It was the sound of someone desperately trying not to scream, or cry, or most likely some mix of both.
Forty-eight hours. They only had two days left.
What sort of Plan C could they come up with in that time? Despite how Jo’s mind raced, it already felt like a losing battle. Like pushing a boulder uphill just waiting for the eventuality of her foot slipping, her strength crumbling, and the boulder crushing her beneath its inevitable roll back down.
“We’ll think of something,” Jo eventually whispered, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her own words.We have no choice.
“Takako, wait!” Nico was suddenly on his feet, startling everyone out of their thoughts. By the time Jo followed Nico’s stare to the Four-Way, Takako had already stormed off in the direction of the briefing room in an almost exact mirror to how the whole wish had begun.
Jo was torn, instinct telling her to stay with her team (with Samson, specifically), but when she caught the craftsman’s eyes, he seemed to have found his resolve. He didn’t say anything, just motioned towards the hall with his chin.
Jo was on her feet and following Takako at once.
Before anyone could object, Jo glanced back over her shoulder. “Start thinking up a plan,” she called, already half-turned back around. “I’ll be back with Takako as soon as I can.”
Chapter 24
Target Practice
JO SKIDDED TO a stop, pin wheeling her arms and struggling to keep her balance as she bounded through the doors to the briefing room behind Takako.
Awkwardly, she gripped a chair for balance, panting softly. How Takako had managed to cross the mansion without so much as breathing heavy, Jo did not know. But there she stood, poised and still, right in front of the Door. Her dark eyes searched Jo, the only thing that betrayed any sort of emotion in her otherwise rigid pose.
“Takako. . .” Jo’s words failed her. What was she really going to say to her? What could she say? “Where are you headed?”
“Trying to stop me again?” Takako looked back to the Door, as if contemplating making a run for it.
“No, not this time,” Jo said softly. Her voice was barely more than a whisper and her resolve just as thin and fragile “Why would I be?” She folded her arms over the top of the chair, sinking into the back. Jo rested her chin on her forearms and stared listlessly at the room.
“Trying to get me to go back and help with the wish then?”
“I probably should,” Jo admitted. “But I don’t have any ideas, do you?”
Takako shook her head.
“Then, let’s go wherever you were headed,” Jo suggested. It was pointless, but perhaps they both needed some pointless right about now. Perhaps she’d headed after Takako because she, too, was looking for a momentary escape. It was all she seemed to do these days—slave over the wish, or run as fast as she could away from it.
