What if our slot was changed too? What if the newspapers are already printed?
"Do we have a new one too?" I ask in a panic.
"It's possible," he replies, stressed. "The plan is on my desk; you can check for yourself. I'm really needed elsewhere now." He breaks free from my grip, adjusts his jacket, and disappears through the door.
I hurry to his desk, where the production plan lies on top. I quickly run my finger over the machine assignments.
TheRyktesspegelnis on there, butSanningens Ögonblickisn't. Immediately, I understand what this means. The changes were not implemented.
"Damn," I mutter as I search for the timeline on the production plan—and seconds later, I freeze.
Our slot begins in five minutes!
I dash out of Ragnar's office in a flash, rushing past the receptionist who's shouting something at me.
"Ragnar didn't have time," I reply and charge toward the entrance of the production office. "I'm supposed to handle it myself."
The receptionist might say something, perhaps even explain that visitors aren't allowed in the production area, but I don't care.
I fling the door open and storm into the hall, where five printing presses clatter away with deafening noise. The smell of ink and machine oil is overwhelming, and it's hot and stuffy.
My head is on the verge of exploding from excitement, fear, and the question of how I'll manage to turn things around within—once again, I check the clock: three minutes!
Scanning the area, I look around. Back there, by the smaller machine, is an employee. I start waving to get his attention as I approach.
"Ragnar sent me!" I yell over the noise when I reach him. "We need to go over theRyktesspegeln'sprinting data again. Also, the edition needs to be split."
He grimaces. "Too late. It's already loaded."
A wave of nausea washes over me. "Then we need to change it," I reply sternly.
"Pfff," the employee scoffs, rolling his eyes. "It's always the same here."
He's doing it?
"Where's the new file?" he asks. "And what do you mean by splitting the edition?"
He's doing it!
"I sent it by email," I reply, wiping sweat from my forehead. Only now do I realize that I've been feeling like I've held my breath for hours. Finally, I exhale.
Done.
My heart rate calms down. My muscles feel heavy, and so do my eyelids.
He signals for me to follow and shuffles to the back of the hall, where a small office is filled with newspapers and magazines piled on shelves along the walls.
We swap the article and input the data forSanningens Ögonblick.
"We'll print the special edition first," I say to the production worker.
He shrugs. "It's the same format anyway."
Finally, something goes smoothly. I wait as the first newspapers roll off the press. I can't sit still because adrenaline floods my body again.
This was just the first part of the plan. The easier part.
What lies ahead is much more challenging. Sky has to readSanningens Ögonblick, and I can't leave that to chance.
At least I know exactly where to find her.
She’ll be at the selection show for Chloe Morrigan's Oscar dress. Since it was her idea to enter the competition, she's guaranteed to be there.
And I'll be there too, with a freshly printed stack of the best edition ofSanningens Ögonblickever.
