The official meeting is ending. The real meeting is about to begin.
The official meeting, where Robert Thorpe revealed to all present that someone was creating a virus specifically engineered to kill metahumans, and where David Bernard revealed that they were going to use magic to simultaneously infect every male on the planet with it, ends with scientists milling about in a buzz of tense, excited conversation. None of them will sleep tonight: most won’t even bother going home to try. They will, instead, be organizing ad hoc meetings of their own, where they’ll brainstorm the best ways to approach the problem.
Grif lay on one of the couches in the Wardroom, face covered by a damp cloth, a half-empty bottle in one hand, a half-filled glass in the other. Amys, Morgan, and Cyrus sat in chairs pulled up close, each staring at him in astonishment. Ktk stood nearby, fidgeting.
Grif reached up with the hand holding the bottle and pulled back a corner of the cloth, exposing one eye. He focused on Amys.
“No,” he said, voice muffled slightly under the cloth. “He wanted to offer me employment. That’s very different.”
January in Fullerton Heights is usually a fierce month, and this January is no exception. It started snowing the last week of December, really let loose early in the month, and every few days it snows just enough to undo all the work everyone did the days before to clear it. Today’s snowstorm hit early, so it got dark early. It’s even darker now.
Heat blows fiercely out of floor vents, but the house is still cold. It always feels cold these days. Elijah knows it has nothing to do with the weather.