***
We walk into the mess hall late. Much later than we usually do.
The place is full. Every table. Every bench. Everyone talking. Stan walks in, and the room feels like it lights up for him.
People call his name. He calls theirs back.
Someone claps him on the back. Someone else waves him over. He grins at all of them. Big and bright.
Frowning, I follow after him. Some of them know me by name. I know a few of theirs. He knows everyone’s.
Stan nudges me when my ears pick up on some noise happening in a corner. “Look at Sergio and Tomas over there,” he whispers.
Sure enough, Sergio and Tomas are standing and looking tenseover at the far wall. Jon’s out of his seat, jaw tight, and walking over to them. Their voices have an edge to them. The sort of tone that says this could go sideways fast.
“I’m saying this all feels like a setup!” Tomas snaps. “We’re all trapped! We’re all drugged! Swear I’m hallucinating again.”
“We all signed the same forms,” Jon says, joining them. “You’re not the only one who’s scared.”
Sergio looks like he wants to sink through the floor. “Not disagreeing here,” he says. “But I’m seeing weird stuff too, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
Stan slows a little to watch. I do too, but I pick up a plate and start filling it.
Idris is moving toward the group in the corner, tray in hand. “Morning,” he says as he steps between them. His voice is calm, but it carries weight in the room. “I’m hearing some concerns. Can I lend an ear?”
Jon exhales through his nose. Tomas crosses his arms and rubs his wrist. Sergio looks at Idris like he’s hanging on by a thread.
“It’s Kys, I think,” Sergio says. “My head’s too loud. Then too quiet. I keep seeing stuff I don’t think are real.”
Tomas adds, “I feel like a lab rat that’s stuck in a maze, but it’s in my mind. All I wanna do is crawl out.”
“I see,” Idris says. “Em and I expected some emotional interference. Your brains are working through old patterns and new signals at the same time. It can feel like a lot.”
“It feels like I’m losing it,” Tomas mutters, frowning.
“You’re not,” Idris says. “But if you try to handle it by arguing with each other, then I’ll have to get creative. Maybe suggest some trust falls. And none of us want that.”
That gets a bit of laughter.
“We’re all in the same boat,” Idris adds. “Same trial. Same side. Ifyou’re feeling too much, please come see me. I’d be more than happy to help.”
Stan jumps in with a shout. “Also, if anyone needs to punch something, I still volunteer!”
So many heads snap toward him. Mine does too. Almost gave myself whiplash.
My eyes widen at his antics.What the hell is he doing?
He puts his hands up, grinning. “I’m serious. Look at me. Prime punching bag material. Pretty face. Floppy hair. History of bad decisions. I’m like a walking therapy tool.”
Jon barks out a laugh he tries to smother. Sergio and Tomas smile.
“Plus,” Stan adds, “if you knock me out, the ship will be quieter for at least ten minutes. That’s a treat for everyone.”
“Stan,” I whisper, dragging him away from the spotlight he put on himself.
He throws me a wounded look over his shoulder. “Wow, babe, still zero faith in my ability to defuse tension?”
From the buffet table, I hear Idris talk loud and clear. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Please finish eating. Please drink some water.” He pats them on the shoulder. “If the feelings get bigger instead of smaller, you come find me or Em. We adjust. No one here is a lab rat. You’re people. You matter.”
