I sigh.
She Amyed me.
There is nothing I can do about it.
I look at her for another moment. It’s probably the first time I've seen the hurt soul behind her perfect mask.
I sigh again, smile weakly, and then hold out a hand.
“Come,” I say. “Let’s cuddle up in bed and forget this day.”
It’s probably the most stupid thing I could do after everything, but when we lie in bed, her, cuddled up in my arm, and I stare at the ceiling, softly caressing her hair, everything feels as it should.
Almost like home.
12
JANE
PLAYLIST: BLOODSTREAM – STATELESS
Iopen my laptop on Monday morning, only to find an Email from the DCSA in my inbox. I open it, and the moment I do, my mouth drops open. The clearance for Amelie Degard.
So fast.
Mine took weeks to pass, and hers just went through in a weekend?
I already prepared for it being blocked, because something about her is different, secretive. And any trained agent would notice the very same.
But it went through.
“Huh,” I say, because it means that we can finally begin. It also means I can let go of my doubt. If she passed the DCSA tests, I have nothing to fear.
I email her to let her know the clearance went through and that we’re starting on Wednesday after lecture, in case she has already worked through the assignment.
I get an email back within five minutes.
Wednesday, 4 pm, your lab, confirmed. Assignment is done since Saturday—will report in person. ;)
Wednesday comes, and I wait for her in front of the corridor leading to the lab, because she can’t enter it without a key card.
“Hi,” she says, elated. I glance at my watch, it’s a minute to 4 pm. Punctuality is most important to me, and I am glad she came on time.
“Hi,” I say quickly back. I hate small talk, so I dive straight into the interesting topic. “Your key card,” I say, handing her the issued card as we walk to the lab. “You have read the etiquette of lab protection.”
“I did, and remembered it. I also read everything else you gave me,” she says as we enter the lab. She puts her backpack on a chair, takes her laptop out, and opens it. She types in a very long password, which signals to me she is responsible with her data—good.
“Here,” she says and turns the laptop for me to see. “I made a spreadsheet?—“
My eyes light up. I love spreadsheets.
“It is an overview of everything you gave me. I reviewed the available studies on the matter, classified them by reliability, and calculated the ranking. I also made notes because I think some of the assumptions could be flagged and challenged, especially the one about the neurotransmitter stimulation. There is actually strong proof that might not be the case?—“
My mouth tugs into a grin. The spreadsheet is everything. I knew the way she thinks was special, but seeing her in action, I am certain this was the right decision. She will be the one who takes my research to the next level.
“Are you still listening?” she suddenly asks me, and I find myself staring at her with my lips slightly parted.
“I—yes,” I say, caught completely off guard. “I am just amazed by your efficiency.”
