Chapter 2

CYNTHIA CORVILLE

"What do you mean the disease has now been confirmed to have spread beyond Corville and Dal?"

Of course, Cynthia already knew what it meant; the disease was becoming a pandemic. But she needed to hear it from someone else. In this case, the intern Seven Valentine, who had been tasked with delivering an envelope of compiled documents of research from doctors across Waverwell.

She stopped pacing and stood behind her desk chair, bracing her palms on its back.

Seven tensed, rocking on his feet. He cleared his throat before responding, "I... well, uh. Th-the doctors have said positive tests have come back from the Underdown and Cat's Cradle. They are, uh, guessing it won't be long until... until the disease has spread into the rest of Waverwell." Seven's mouth twisted into a sad smile.

"Have there been any confirmed deaths?" Cynthia pushed her chair out of the way and reached for the envelope. She opened it and flipped through the documents, skimming each one. She'd analyze every word later, but a cursory read would give her the big details for now.

"I... I don't know." Seven ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. "I, uh, don't know all the details and, like, ninety-five percent of what I know is what's on the news and stuff. What the average citizen has access to, you know. Sounds like-like s-some people are really, really sick, but I-I don't know if anyone has died from the disease."

Cynthia hummed. "I know, I know," she sighed. "I'm just... thinking out loud, I suppose. All of the still-unknowns about this disease are making it far more difficult to figure out what the right course of action is."

"I would bet that does. Sounds pretty tough, your job."

"Sometimes it is quite tough and hard decisions need to be made," Cynthia said, "and other times it is... very fulfilling and I find myself unable to imagine doing any other job."

"Yeah, yeah," murmured Seven, ducking his head as he worried his lip. "I can get that."

They were both silent for several long moments, and just before Cynthia could speak up and ask if he needed anything else, Seven snapped his gaze up.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "One more thing: Harold said he, Delta, Linda, and Gabriella were all coming to your office in, like, half an hour." Seven looked at his watch. "Nope, scratch that. Like, ten to fifteen minutes, give or take 'cuz they might be running a bit early or late."

Cynthia gave a slow nod. It wasn't unlike Harold to arrange a meeting without conferring with everyone that would be involved and give such a short notice, especially when he had an agenda he wanted moved forward. All that was required by Waverwell law was a sufficient notice beforehand, which could be interpreted at will and didn't give a time frame on what sufficient meant. Cynthia felt at least twenty-four hours was good, with the exception for emergency situations, but Harold, it seemed, felt thirty minutes at the time of informing Seven fit the requirement of sufficient notice.

"I see," she replied. "Did he give any indication as to what this meeting will be about?"

Another requirement in regards to meetings between Waverwell government officials, but it could be fulfilled in the vaguest of terms.

Seven shrugged. "Not really. I mean, he said it was important and that you shouldn't miss it."

Important technically fulfilled the requirement, even though it gave next to no information.

"Thank you, Seven. I'm assuming the meeting is taking place in here?"

"No," he said after taking a sharp breath. "It's taking place down the hall... the, uh, second meeting room?"

"The second one, as in the biggest one on this floor?"

Seven nodded. "Yeah, that one."

"Alright, thank you. I will head there momentarily." The you may leave now was unspoken, but Seven seemed to understand the message.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Pre- uh, s-sorry! Cynthia. Have a nice meeting."

"Thank you. Please, let me get the door for you." She walked out from behind her desk, crossing the President's Room and walking across the plush, circular carpet centered in the middle.

Seven sputtered a hesitant no, let me get the door for you and reached for the handle, but he gave an appreciative thanks when Cynthia got to it first, holding the door open for him.

"I would've gotten it for you. You're the President."

Cynthia smiled. "I know. But just because I'm the President doesn't mean I'm not a person. I don't mind getting the door for someone."

Seven opened his mouth, as if to disagree, but all he said was, "I guess. I hope your meeting goes well."

Cynthia bid him farewell, and they each went in opposite directions, Seven heading for the grand staircase to the next level down and Cynthia making her way toward the meeting rooms.

xxxx

The meeting room was relatively simple in its design: a rectangular room and two windows offering a view of Corville's sprawl. But it was elegantly furnished. A large table sat in the middle, and its golden legs were carved with intricate designs that ended in little paws at the ends. Plush chairs were tucked neatly beneath the marble tabletop, seats stuffed until they looked as though they were about to pop. Several paintings hung in elaborate frames, done by artists from all around Waverwell.

Delta, Linda, and Harold were already in the room. Dressed in a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Delta lounged in one of the chairs, tapping away on his phone. Cynthia narrowed her eyes when she saw him hold out his arm and make a face for a selfie, but she held her tongue. There were more pressing matters.

Harold wore a green, plaid suit. Cynthia briefly wondered who made his outfit choices but didn't voice the thought. It fit better than the buff suit from a few weeks prior did and didn't make his skin look yellow, but it still gave him a sickly appearance. Harold offered a welcoming nod when Cynthia walked in the room, looking up from an array of papers arranged in front of him on the table.

Linda got up from where she sat at the head of the table furthest from the door. Her heels clicked on the floor, and her tight-fitting blazer shifted with every step. She looked like she was walking down a runway. "Welcome, Cynthia," she said, offering her hand.

Cynthia took it and gave it a firm shake. "Thank you, Linda. I'm glad to be here."

"Please, have a seat." Harold gestured to the chair at the head of the table closest to the door. "Shall we get started?"

Cynthia sat down, setting the documents and notebooks she had brought on the table. Linda returned to her seat.

"Gabby's not here," Delta murmured, squinting at whatever was on his phone screen. "Dunno where she is."

"It's Gabriella, not Gabby, Delta. She has told you that many times," Cynthia said.

"Huh?" Delta looked up at her.

"Gabriella does not like being called Gabby, which she has told you many, many times."

"Gabby's cute."

"It does not matter if you think Gabby is cute. Gabriella doesn't like the nickname, and Gabriella wants to go by just Gabriella. Respect her wishes, Delta. It's not that hard."

"But-."

Cynthia fixed him with a stern look and held up a finger. He fell silent. "We're not going to have this conversation right now, Delta. There is no debate here. It's simply a matter of being a decent human being and giving a baseline level of respect." Cynthia turned her attention to the rest of the table, where Harold and Linda had been looking on quietly. "Now, does anyone know where Gabriella is?"

"I saw her earlier this morning, but that was a few hours ago." Linda shrugged, twirling a pen around in her fingers. Sunlight streamed through the windows, reflecting off the metal surface of her pen.

Before Harold could reply, the door to the meeting room opened.

"Apologies," Gabriella huffed. Cynthia turned around to greet her. Gabriella's cheeks were tinged with red, and she placed a neatly manicured hand to her chest as she took a deep breath. "I had to rush over here from a different meeting that finished later than expected. But I am here now, and I hope I didn't hold you all up for too long."

Gabriella sat down in the chair next to Cynthia, across from Harold, and ran her hands down her thighs to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. The layers of silk on the skirt whispered across each other.

"No worries," Harold said. "Let's get started."

"Linda, will you be taking the notes for today's meeting?" Cynthia asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Thank you." Cynthia gave Linda a moment to ready her pad of paper and pen. "Today's meeting has been arranged by Harold Morris. In attendance are myself, Cynthia Corville, Harold Morris, Gabriella Torres, Delta Bass, and Linda Machowski, who is taking notes."

Cynthia gave Harold a nod, silently telling him to begin.

"Alright. I called for this meeting so we can discuss the disease. I'm sure you all are well aware of it. It does not seem we're yet at the point where we know enough about it to have more answers than questions, but I do know that we should do something about it. It will not look good for Waverwell government if we just sit back and relax as this disease, whatever the doctors decide to name it, infects the citizens." Harold jabbed his pointer finger into the table as he spoke.

"I agree," Cynthia said, keeping her voice calm. "What are your thoughts on what should happen?"

She wished there had been more time between when Seven dropped off the documents about the disease and this meeting; there hadn't been enough time for her to read them all, and so she was going into the meeting not knowing everything.

"Well, I know Dal is considering shutting the city down and enforcing a quarantine."

Cynthia nodded. She had heard that and had agreed with it. With so little known about the disease, keeping people away from each other as much as possible was a relatively simple thing to do to help keep citizens from getting infected: if people weren't near each other, they couldn't spread the disease as easily. Although, from her brief look at Muse, many weren't happy about it.

Linda perked up, lifting her gaze from her notepad. "Oh, I believe that order just got made. It goes into effect tomorrow morning, I believe."

"Really?" Delta frowned, dropping his cheek to his fist. "I was gonna go visit there. Do some shopping at the Valleyfield Market. There's this one booth that sells these shirts. I've got no clue how they're made, but they're the comfiest shirts I've ever found. Fashionable, too. I wear them literally all the time. Funnily enough, though, not today." Delta chuckled, plucking at his shirt.

"Online shopping's a thing, Delta," Linda murmured as she returned her attention to her notes. "You can find just about anything there and have it delivered straight to you. No need to leave your home."

"Not the same."

"No breaking stay-at-home orders," Linda countered.

Delta grumbled but didn't reply.

"I'm sure you can find an equally great shirt elsewhere, Delta. You can also wait until it is safe to return to the Valleyfield Market, whenever that may be," Gabriella said.

"So," Harold butted in, finishing the conversation Delta had started, "I disagree with lockdowns and stay-at-home orders. People need to be out in the world."

Gabriella rolled her eyes, sighing as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Light from the window glittered on her necklace of intricately placed gems strung together in a network that mimicked a spider's web. "And what makes you say that, Harold?"

"People need to work. Companies need their employees."

"Money needs to be made?"

"Yes! Exactly!" Cynthia was surprised Harold didn't leap out of his chair and start dancing. "That's exactly what I mean. Waverwell will cease to be the Waverwell we know if people cannot continue going to their jobs."

"Waverwell will cease to be the Waverwell we know if everyone gets sick. And then we have a similar issue in that no one can go to work because they're all sick." Gabriella's expression was flat, but her tone was cross.

"There haven't been any reported deaths, and people can work when they're sick."

Cynthia flinched. "There's a big difference between can and should, Harold. Just because you're capable of being upright and moving doesn't mean you should be upright and moving. When you're sick, you should be resting. And the disease is still very new. There may be deaths caused by the disease we are not yet aware of, and there may be deaths in the future, although I hope with all my heart that is not the case."

Harold narrowed his eyes, mulling over his next words. "Yes, sure. In some instances people should be staying home as opposed to going to work, but when it's just a little sniffle that doesn't always require taking time off of work."

Linda stared at Harold, placing her pen down next to her notebook. "Since you're against lockdowns, Harold, what do you propose instead?"

"I think we should be continuing on as we have— people going to their jobs, everyone helping to keep the economy running. The economy is what I ran for and I said I would do my part to keep it thriving, and I do not wish to stray from my promise to Waverwell. This disease is terrible —no one can truthfully say otherwise— but it does not need to be the reason our country falls apart.

"However, those who are very sick should stay home or go to a hospital to receive treatment, just like they would any other ailment. Besides, this disease hasn't caused any deaths."

Cynthia couldn't help the snort that she gave. "Causing deaths is an awfully low bar. Just because you don't die doesn't mean it's not serious, Harold. This disease is so new to us, and we currently know so little. There may already be deaths caused by it that just haven't been confirmed to be from the disease yet. The disease may also cause lasting effects, even after you've recovered from it."

"That doesn't mean lockdowns are necessary, Cynthia."

"Do you have a medical degree, Harold?" Gabriella asked, lips twisting into a disapproving frown. The question was rhetorical— everyone already knew the answer.

"I do not."

"Then why are you trying to decide what should or shouldn't be done in regard to the disease? Having your opinions is one thing, but saying something isn't necessary when you are not an expert in that subject is, quite frankly, naïve."

When Delta choked on a huff, Gabriella turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow. Cynthia had seen the look Gabriella gave Delta before. It was a dark expression, unamused. Saved for the moments she was furious on the inside but wasn't going to lash out. Saved for when she would remain stern but civil. Stand beside what she believed in but not become who she was working to stop.

"Do you have something to say?" Gabriella asked.

"Isn't being nice, like, your thing?"

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"My thing, as you say, is treating people with the respect they inherently deserve."

"Yeah, so being nice."

Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "Is it safe to assume that your statement regarding what I stand for in Waverwell government relates to this discussion we are all having here and how I have been, according to you, not nice?"

"Yeah." Delta nodded.

When Cynthia opened her mouth to tell Delta to either be quiet or leave, Gabriella shot her a glance, silently telling her that she had it under control.

"I am under no obligation to ensure everyone likes me. In fact, I do not want everyone to like me. If everyone likes me, I am doing something wrong. There is no world in which everyone is liked by everyone. If me standing my ground makes you upset, that's a you problem. And if me stating my opinion and disagreeing with someone bothers you, that's also a you problem. Being nice does not mean rolling over onto your back and taking what everyone says at face value without hesitation."

"I never said that," Delta protested, huffing a breath and shaking his head. He curled his lip and looked away with an expression that reminded Cynthia of a petulant child.

"Words can have an impact beyond what you might have meant," was all Gabriella murmured in reply before turning her attention to Cynthia. "Shall we continue?"

Cynthia nodded. "Sure."

"I still don't see how a lockdown will help. There haven't been any deaths, and people will still get sick regardless of whether they're at home or at work," Harold said. "In my opinion, we shouldn't follow what Dal has done and put into place a lockdown, either of just Corville or the entirety of Waverwell."

Cynthia watched as Gabriella took a deep breath, visibly calming herself down. "Harold," she said, voice a sickly sweet that dripped with venom, "you are, technically, correct in that people will get sick regardless of a lockdown, but fewer people will get sick with a lockdown— it's a lot harder to spread something if people aren't interacting so much."

"I'm not quite sure what it would look like since the idea just crossed my mind, but what if we were to somehow assist companies and businesses in making many jobs able to be done from home. Obviously that cannot be done with all jobs, but many, at least."

"I feel like we need to get back on track," Harold said.

"I agree." Gabriella chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"Linda, can you please read back to us what you have so far?" Harold asked.

Linda took a moment to skim through her notes, flipping between the pages. The rustling of her notebook was the only sound in the room, save for the low drone of cars passing by in the streets below the Waverwell government building.

"Alright, so Dal is implementing a lockdown that starts tomorrow. Gabriella is in favor of a lockdown, either in Corville or in all of Waverwell, as is Cynthia. Harold, you disagree and think we should keep things how they are. Delta, you have not given much of an opinion. So far, we haven't come to much of an agreement."

"So basically nothing?" Delta asked.

Linda nodded. "Yes."

"So we need a compromise, then, it seems."

Harold chewed on his lip for a few moments. "I'd be willing to work out a compromise."

Gabriella met his gaze and held it. "I think we can work something out."

"I think we can as well," Cynthia said.

Something would get figured out.

The looming possibility of deaths from the disease hung over her head, weighing on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. And who knew if there had already been deaths? How many would get infected, how many would wind up with lasting health problems, how many might lose their lives before the disease could be fully understood?

The doctors and scientists knew the disease, and they studied it relentlessly. More was learned each day. More was understood, more was known, more was discovered. They were the ones who would know exactly how to treat the disease, how to prevent it from spreading, how to minimize the risk of getting seriously ill if infected.

There weren't many guidelines that had been shared yet— too little was known to give any specific advice on how to help on a national or city level. But the doctors had agreed with Dal's lockdown, and they had said they recommended it. People distancing themselves made it harder for the disease to spread. Until more was understood about the disease and more specific guidance could be given, stay-at-home orders would help slow the spread of the disease.

Cynthia knew she had the Presidential power to make a decision and enforce it upon all cities in Waverwell, but she also knew it had to be at the right time, if it came to that. She would get pushback no matter when she did it, but it could be minimized and have the greatest impact when done in the right way.

"Dal's lockdown starts tomorrow, right?" Delta asked.

"Yes." Cynthia nodded. Her brain twisted, trying to figure out where Delta's train of thought was headed.

"Let's just wait and see how that goes. We can make a decision later based on how well it worked. Maybe... like a month or something."

"No, absolutely not." Gabriella shook her head, sending a thinly veiled glare Delta's way. "We're not that far behind Dal in confirmed cases, and there are, undoubtedly, many more unconfirmed cases. I'm not going to allow us to sit around and let more people get sick with a disease we can hardly claim to know even a percent about! We might not have enough knowledge to do much right now, but we are going to do something right now."

"I'd be willing to wait a month," Harold murmured, rubbing his fingers together in thought. "We can see how things are, and then make a decision based on those facts."

"What about two weeks?" Linda offered. "Gabriella wants to do something now, and Delta and Harold want to wait a month. We could split the difference."

"I will never agree to that," Gabriella said, voice an icy blade. "We hardly have any capacity to test even a fraction of enough people to give us an accurate idea of how many are infected, much less have any sort of way to properly treat those who are sick. How can we hope to do either of those if we do not understand the very thing we are trying to stop?" Light flashed in Gabriella's eyes, and Cynthia knew the last of her nerves were dangerously close to getting far too treaded on. "How can we hope to put an end to this disease if those in the highest levels of power are unwilling to do their part?"

Harold gave the beginnings of a scowl, but his expression never went any further. "I never said I was unwilling to act, Gabriella. I just want to ensure that any action I take is warranted and is taken at the correct moment in time. I will not apologize for wanting to make sure I am not wasting any taxpayer dollars."

Cynthia held up a hand, preventing Harold from continuing further.

She had hoped that the conversation would've gone more smoothly, that a productive dialogue could've been had, despite the stark differences in beliefs. But she'd been wrong. Yet she still had hope. She knew getting Harold and Gabriella to agree could be like trying to force two magnets of the same pole to touch, but one could hope, right? One could hope that, with the right set of circumstances, perhaps things would be different, and that a meeting about something that could be so seemingly polarizing could go well.

She took a breath— she needed to choose her next words carefully. She was treading a thin wire.

Linda had set down her pen to join in the rest of the Waverwell government officials in watching her, awaiting her response.

"I think you're both right, in some ways, Gabriella and Harold. We need to do something, but we can't be wasting taxpayer dollars. The money is there to be used, but it needs to be for the right thing and used for the right purposes."

"Yes, thank you, Cynthia. See, Gabriella? This isn't the thing to be using that money for." Harold jabbed his forefinger on the table, backing up his point.

Gabriella just crossed her arms across her chest, giving him a distasteful look. The silky folds of her dress scrunched up as she tightened her grip, flexing her fingers ever so slightly. "I do not believe Cynthia was done speaking, Harold. I do not know where you got the idea that I am in favor of wasting taxpayer dollars, but that belief is a false one— I would never be in favor of doing so. The citizens of Waverwell put their trust in us to do the necessary things for this country, and I will not betray that trust. I'd like to think that's a desire that all of us at this table share."

"But you'd be in favor of shutting everyone inside their homes for a disease that hasn't yet caused any serious illness, much less death? It's been like a sneeze— annoying, a bit of a drag, somewhat sucky, but otherwise harmless."

"Gabby-."

Gabriella raised an eyebrow, silently stopping Delta in his tracks. Her dark eyes glowed, hardening like lava cooling into obsidian. "My name is not Gabby."

"Gabriella. Sorry, it's just hard to remember. Gimme a break— I'm trying, don't you know?"

"Try harder, then. I will not give you a break for being unwilling to put in the effort it takes to remember a name."

Delta rolled his eyes but didn't say anything further.

Linda scratched down a few more notes, keeping her gaze on her pad of paper. She reminded Cynthia of someone listening in on a conversation they weren't quite sure they should be listening to but that couldn't step away from either. Cynthia felt the same way.

She wasn't quite sure what she could say. She knew she didn't have all of the information.

She wanted to do something, but what could she do?

Those were the things that kept her up at night. Left sleep just out of reach and her staring up at the ceiling, tracing designs she could find with her eyes as her mind relentlessly pondered all that she might be able to do for problems that had so many layers.

"You were saying," Gabriella said, returning her attention to Harold, "about your response to shutting down the cities."

"Yes," Harold replied, "I am not in favor of spending the money necessary to do that over a disease that hasn't killed anyone."

"Yet," Linda added. She dropped her pen to the table and rapped her knuckles against its marble surface a few times in quick succession. "It hasn't killed anyone yet. Knock on wood —real wood, though— it never does, but it very well may. It very well may have already, although I pray it is not the case."

"Like I said before, no one's died. It's like a little sneeze. Annoying, but harmless."

Linda drew in a sharp breath. "But what about those where that sneeze doesn't go away? Where that sneeze puts them at death's door. Where that sneeze gets better but never all the way and it sticks around for months or years or forever. Where they're already ill with a different condition and where that sneeze —even just a mild illness from it— can send them to the hospital, put them at death's door, or even worse. Where they're already so sick and cannot risk even being momentarily exposed. What about those people? Is it so harmless then?"

"Yes, what Linda said. I will not allow that blood to be shed. Not when it was so easily avoidable." Gabriella stared down Harold, back straight and eyes glittering.

"We're not going to agree, Gabriella, and you know that." Harold leaned back in his chair, and his expression flattened into something unreadable, although Cynthia was almost certain there was a wisp of smugness tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Cynthia held up a hand to silence Harold. "I do not have the time for this back-and-forth that will go nowhere. We were discussing the possibility of a compromise of sorts, so let's return to that."

"Let's have another meeting in two weeks and see how things are," Delta said. He spun his phone in his grip, gaze flickering to the door. "We were talking about that before, and I don't see anything wrong with it. Sometimes it's better to just not act right away."

Linda narrowed her eyes, working over the offer.

"No. I will not agree to that." Gabriella shook her head. "We don't even have the beginnings of a grasp on what this disease is. What makes you think we will in two weeks while all but Dal does nothing?"

Harold huffed. "Because it is being researched as we speak. There are brilliant minds doing nothing but research it and study it. We know more than we did yesterday, and we'll know more tomorrow than we did today. And it's only a matter of time before someone has a breakthrough."

"One week?" Linda said. "Instead of waiting two weeks, we wait one. Seven days to see how things progress?"

"I can do that," Delta replied.

Gabriella and Harold stared each other down.

Cynthia mulled over waiting a week. A lot could change in just seven days. Without having a good guess as to the number of cases currently in Corville and Dal —and anywhere else the disease might have spread so far, beyond the Underdown and Cat's Cradle— no one would be able to accurately say

But she also knew that there might not be a better compromise. Less would change in one week than in two or more.

If she agreed, it would be three to two, and Cynthia knew Gabriella would agree, even if she wanted to act now, which would make it four to one. Harold would be forced to agree or say no and still wait a week— majority still ruled, even if it wasn't an official Waverwell government vote.

"I agree," Cynthia said. She hoped it was the right choice, not asking for a shorter wait time or fighting to make a decision right then. She wished she could get a brief glimpse into the future. See what a week from now would look like. How many cases? How many new cases? Were there any deaths? What were things like? Did people think the government had been doing the right thing?

"I will agree to that." Gabriella's voice was laced with reluctance.

I wish we could do something right now, Cynthia thought, but we aren't going to get a better deal. And I don't know enough to know if it's the right decision to use the Presidential power force the country to act on my orders.

Harold chewed on his lips. Cynthia could almost see the wheels turning in his head, but she couldn't take a guess as to what he was thinking about.

"I will agree to that as well," he murmured.

"Wonderful." Cynthia laced her fingers together on the table, leaning forward. "So shall we meet here at the same time a week from now?"

"Very well," Gabriella replied.

"It's already in my calendar." Delta's fingers flew across his phone screen, tapping away. He held his arm out to take a selfie, then returned to typing.

Cynthia wrote herself a couple of reminders on a sticky note— meet Charlotte for dinner instead of lunch, organize her desk, the meeting next week, check in with Larson Hotch and Asa and Azrael.

She bid everyone farewell before ducking out of the meeting room and into the hallway.

After forcing herself to walk —not run— to the President's Room, she closed the door firmly behind her, although she knew it didn't lock, not unless there was an emergency. Still, the visible barrier between her and the hallway provided a sense of comfort. She sent a quick message to Charlotte, saying she loved her and that she would need to take a rain check on lunch but that they could meet for dinner— she just needed a few minutes to herself.

She kept moving, pacing in circles along the edge of the rug in the middle of the room to try to ease her mind and keep herself from thinking too hard and getting caught up in a spiral of panic about the disease.

Knowledge was power. At least, that's what her father had always told her when he gently pressed her to explore her interests. If you want to change the world, you need to first know the world you live in, Benedict had said. How can you change something you don't know?

Cynthia perched herself on the edge of her chair and read through the documents Seven had dropped off, weighing each word and thinking it over. Only once she had begun to be able to quote it did she stop.

But her mind didn't quiet, and she began pacing again.

It was only a matter of time before someone came knocking at her door, demanding answers, a comment, her thoughts and opinions on one matter or another.

She wanted to give answers and information. She wanted to help lead her country through this time. It was what she had signed up for when she ran for President of Waverwell. And when she won and earned her spot as President, she had sworn she would provide everything her country needed, that she would keep her country stable, that she would guide her country through anything it may face.

It fell on her to make the right decisions about the disease, about Ashley Baok's murder, about anything and everything that fell in the hands of Waverwell government. Officials could help —and they did— but the final decision rested in Cynthia's hands.

Cynthia sat down against the wall, directly beneath the massive map of Waverwell that blanketed that side of the President's Room. She pulled her knees to her chest and took a breath.

What was she supposed to do? She knew there were a slew of answers to that, a myriad of things she could do.

But how was she supposed to make sure she got it right every time?

Cynthia had a lengthy support system. Every President of Waverwell did. Assistants to notify them about new developments. Interns that would ferry around documents when they weren't learning. Other officials to discuss possible new laws, responses to current events.

But many things fell on her shoulders, and she was the face of Waverwell government— good or bad, she was the one people looked at for what happened.

Cynthia wanted people to trust Waverwell government. She wanted them to believe that their government would be there, would be helping in whatever way possible.

No, she told herself, you're getting caught up in everything. Deep breaths, Cynthia, just breathe. Panicking won't help anything. Take a deep breath and a moment to settle yourself. You can't make any good decisions when you're stressed and spiraling. Calm down so you can make the best decisions.

Cynthia was counting her breaths —in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four, repeat— when her phone began ringing.

The sharp sound cut through the relative silence of the President's Room, save for the low drone of the bustling streets below and the faded chatter from within the Waverwell government building.

It took Cynthia a moment to locate where the sound was coming from, but when she did, she frowned. She hadn't been expecting any phone calls right then. But still, if the call had made it to her own phone, the caller had made it past the security that ensured only vetted people had access to her like that. Or it was someone she had given her direct line to, but still only after careful examination.

She unfolded her legs and stood up, crossing the room until she reached the phone.

"Hello?" She asked after answering it. "Who is this?"

"Hello, Mrs. President. This is Larson Hotch, from the Moonfall Precinct. I'm calling with an update on the investigation into Ashley Baok's murder."

"You have an update?" Cynthia echoed. She couldn't quite keep the hope from her voice.

"Yes," Larson Hotch replied. "Although, I am afraid it's not the update I'm sure everyone was hoping for. We do not yet know who did it, and we do not have any suspects as of now. But we are still looking, and we will not stop looking until we have all the answers."

Larson's words sounded like those any detective would say to the public or to a grieving family — we won't stop looking, not the update I'm sure everyone was hoping for. But he still sounded honest, and Cynthia found a measure of comfort, despite not having any real ties to Ashley Baok. She had barely known him, and she knew nothing about Ashley Baok outside of his involvement in the Silverlight Forest Protection Unit.

"We believe there were three people involved in Ashley Baok's murder, not including the witness, whom we believe to have not been involved. A very unlucky person in the worst place at the worst time. We still have not found them, but we are hoping we will soon, or that they will come forward."

"Three?" Cynthia echoed. Her voice sounded distant, alien. Like someone else was speaking through her.

How could one person be evil enough to commit such an unthinkable crime, much less three? Her stomach sank through her toes, and she wasn't quite sure how she couldn't see it seeping through her shoes.

"Yes, three," Larson confirmed.

"Three people murdered Ashley Baok," she whispered, before adding: "And you're sure of this?"

"I cannot say for sure, as we do not have all of the information and evidence yet, but I do believe so. We managed to get three separate footprints from the scene, along with a few clumps of fur we were able to identify as fake fur used in costumes. Disguises of some sort, perhaps. We are still looking into where it came from and what it was used in and what the three people may have used it for. The evidence we have so far —apart from the fact we still do not know who is responsible— will not hold up in court, but by the time we are done and have caught those involved, we will have an airtight case against them."

Cynthia shook her head. Everyone responsible would be caught and brought to justice. President of Waverwell came with significant power, and she'd use it.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said.

"Thank you, I will."

Cynthia found herself speaking, despite not having fully thought through what she was going to say. "What do you think of this case?"

Larson sighed, and Cynthia heard shuffling in the background— him moving his chair and sitting down. "I think it'll be one that goes into the textbooks. This is a big case. I'm guessing it will become one everyone knows by name. I mean, at the Precinct, everyone's started calling them the Trinity."

"The Trinity." Cynthia ran the words over her tongue, testing them out. The name fit. Three of the worst of the worst, three who didn't have a line that was too far, three who hid behind masks because they were too cowardly to stand beside what they had done and tell the world who they were.

"The Trinity," Larson confirmed.

"Do you think Ashley Baok's murder was their first?" The question was meek, quiet. In her heart, Cynthia already knew the answer, but she didn't want to think it through, put together the pieces she knew went with each other, because she didn't like what it meant.

Larson was silent for long enough that Cynthia almost checked to see if her phone still had a connection. "No," he said, voice tight, like he was giving up a painful secret. "I don't believe it was their first time killing. Whether together as a group or apart, I cannot say at this time, but I do not believe Ashley Baok's murder was their first. They may have been arrested as suspects before for a different crime —murder or otherwise— or they might never have been caught, either because they got away or because it was a crime none of the Precincts ever knew about. It's unfortunate, but it does sometimes happen."

"Will they stop?" Again, another question she knew the answer too, but needed another's opinion to take the edge off the blow, even just a little.

"I..." Larson exhaled, and Cynthia caught the hitch in his breath. The physical manifestation of the stress. "I cannot see any way this will be their last murder without them being caught.

"They're good, Cynthia. Real good, and that makes them all the more dangerous. They're not just out on a spree, killing when the desire washes over them. They think each attack through, they plan it out, they clean up to minimize the evidence we have to work with. They're smart, they work together well, and they seem to have no qualms about any form of torture or killing.

"This is just the beginning for the Trinity."