Chapter 19

CYNTHIA CORVILLE

Getting into politics and all that pertained to government work, Cynthia Corville knew there would be a lot on her plate. Lots to do. Lots to keep track of. Lots of places to be all at once. A high-stakes juggling act of countless flaming batons that she couldn't drop. Waverwell's well being rested on her ability to keep everything from falling.

Even still, she had never quite gotten accustomed to the feeling of what bordered on too many things happening that she had to deal with. Statements to be made. Laws to be passed. Emergency procedures to be put in place. Responses to be given. Disagreements between members of Waverwell government with vastly differing views on what should be done about any given issue that needed to be worked out, either through compromise or taking it to a vote. Maintaining the balance of communication with news outlets and reporters who toed the line of stalker-ish when they pressed for personal information. President of Waverwell was not an occupation that allowed for much privacy, but Cynthia tried to retain some personal information that she wished to keep from the public, especially when what she was sharing in a press conference or other meeting had nothing to do with herself.

And so, sitting at her desk and looking over the update Asa and Azrael Smith had sent her about Ashley Baok's murder, news of an outbreak of an unknown disease in Corville and Dal was not a part of Cynthia's plan of how a good day would go.

The team investigating Ashley Baok's murder was still in the process of gathering every piece of evidence they could and assembling a timeline to better understand the events that occurred in the weeks leading up to his murder and formulate a list of witnesses, people of interest, and anyone who might hold important information. There wasn't too much that was new to her, but Cynthia still appreciated the update.

It was Delta Bass who first alerted her to the existence of the disease. He strolled into the President's Room, eyes glued to his phone. Loose clothes hung over his frame, slightly wrinkled, though Cynthia was certain that had been an intentional choice during the making of the outfit, the doing of some fashion expert at a designer clothing brand. He didn't look up as he spoke.

"Cynthia," he murmured, frowning at whatever was pulled up on his phone. "You happen to be on Muse in the last... like, five minutes?"

"No, I have not. Is there something I should be aware of?" Cynthia closed the folder containing the update on Ashley Baok's murder to give Delta her full attention.

President of Waverwell required listening and giving all a certain level of decency, even when one didn't necessarily want to be polite. Delta was walking on thin ice, as his actions toward many —especially women— in Waverwell government had offended people and were far from the high expectations of how government officials should carry themselves. But what he had said to Cynthia had been little more than calling her Cindy and asking one too many times to go out for dinner, which had stopped after she started dating Charlotte. Nothing that broke any laws, not that that made it ok. Cynthia knew she wouldn't be able to convince anyone that Delta should be removed from Waverwell government just based off of her experiences with him, but she had no doubt there were others. He was a sweet talker who knew he had the looks, money, and power.

"You know Leviathan Inc.?" This time, Delta did look up.

Cynthia nodded, steeling her features into something that resembled a carefully distant expression. "I do know about Leviathan Inc. They are one of the most successful companies in Waverwell. What about them?"

"Some person is claiming that a new disease in Corville and Dal was their fault."

Cynthia blinked, refraining from showing the true depth of her shock. She had yet to hear of this. If this was some conspiracy theory found in some far-off corner of Muse, Delta would have wasted her time and she would be extremely frustrated. If this was real, though, she would need to figure out why she wasn't already made aware of it and ensure she was staying on top of it. A disease outbreak meant a threat to the public health of Waverwell and she would need to take the appropriate actions to minimize the impact.

Cynthia mulled over Delta's words for several long moments. "There's a new disease in Corville and Dal, and someone has claimed Leviathan Inc. is at fault?" She echoed his statement.

Delta looked up at the ceiling, chewing on his lip for a few seconds. He lowered his gaze and shrugged with a nod, slipping his hands and phone into his pockets. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

Cynthia narrowed her eyes. "Where did you hear this from?"

"It's, like, all over Muse now. Like, literally everywhere. But I think the original was on Waverwell News. Might've been on Did You Hear?!"

Coming from Waverwell News —or even its gossip offshoot— gave the story a little more credibility that perhaps it was true than an anonymous person making up what would certainly be a juicy story. Clickbait going viral at its finest. But a post, however popular it was, did not give a guarantee of validity. Cynthia would need to gather all the facts, do her own research, and talk with experts to ensure she was making the right decisions. Waverwell's wellbeing rested on her ability to keep a level head and think everything through.

"Thank you for letting me know about this, Delta," she said. "I will be sure to look into it."

Delta nodded, picking up on her unspoken message: you can leave now.

"You're welcome," he replied. "I realize I have not always taken my job seriously, but I want to prove that I really do want to be a part of Waverwell government. It's an opportunity to serve Waverwell that I do not want to give up."

Cynthia rested her elbows on her mahogany desk and laced her fingers together. She had no interest in continuing to talk with Delta; she had a lot on her plate, potentially far more if the disease panned out into something real. But she couldn't stop the sentences that spilled from her mouth, not even if she'd tried.

"You can say anything you'd like, Delta. Anyone can. That's part of the magic of language. It's easy like that. Use your voice, drag a pen across a sheet of paper, pick your preferred method, and you're communicating. You can craft the most palatable, sweet-sounding sentence ever to be imagined. But until those words are backed by concrete actions, they are nothing more than words and are not inherently true. Language is easy, but it is also very easy to manipulate.

"I am not saying that I believe you are lying. I am instead saying that it is not me that you have to convince, because you know exactly what I believe. Those beliefs will not easily change— they are backed by actions that you yourself have taken. Prove to everyone else that you are not just speaking empty words. Prove that you truly believe in what you're saying."

Cynthia held Delta's gaze. Money and looks could get a person somewhere, but she wanted him to know that she would not be swayed by either. Waverwell government was something that required true dedication, the belief that this was what one was supposed to be doing, the desire to create change and give everything to fight for what one believed in, the knowledge that there was no other job that could even hold a candle to what one was doing as a government employee. She had yet to see even a hint of that in Delta, but she could not yet remove him. Any legal battle she started now she knew she would lose.

Besides, she thought. Not taking a job seriously isn't enough to remove someone from Waverwell government, so long as everything that needs to get done is completed.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times, Delta shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. "I just thought you should know about the claims regarding Leviathan Inc., Cynthia."

"And I appreciate the thought," Cynthia replied.

Delta didn't move, despite Cynthia lacing her words once more with the second message of you can leave now.

"Do you have anything else you need to share or discuss with me? If not, I have a lot of work to do, and I know you do as well. I have a meeting in just over ten minutes that I need to prepare for and lots of paperwork and documents to complete." It wasn't a complete lie. Cynthia did have a meeting. It was just really in about twenty minutes, which was just over ten minutes compared to a length of time such as an hour, and was less of a meeting and more of a semi-formal discussion, but the exact definition of what a meeting was could be argued and did hold some amount of personal opinion.

"Nah, that's it. Decided to swing by and let you know about those claims."

Cynthia gave a tight-lipped smile and offered a terse thank you.

She slouched back in her chair after the door closed behind Delta, exhaling a long sigh.

The silence was almost deafening as Cynthia gave herself a minute to settle her thoughts and breathe.

But no sooner had she begun to feel the tension seep from her body than the door Delta had just walked through opened and someone walked through. She sat up straight took a sip from her water bottle on the corner of her desk, well away from the stacks of important documents she needed to go through.

"Hello, Mrs. President Corville."

Cynthia studied the person in front of her. They looked familiar, but she couldn't quite pin down where she'd seen them before. Shaggy locks of dark brown hair fell over their forehead, color bordering on black, and their crisp dress clothes hung loosely on their thin frame, as if just a little too large. They rocked on their feet, fingers gripping a folder and worrying the edge.

"Hello," she replied. "May I ask your name, please? You seem familiar, but I'm afraid I cannot place that familiarity."

The person laughed, but a hint of nerves bled through. "I-it's alright. We haven't met, but I believe you met my brother a few days ago? Sedge Valentine?"

Cynthia nodded. "Oh, yes. The assistant lead detective at the Moonfall Precinct. Yes, I did meet him."

"I'm his brother. My name is Seven Valentine. I'm doing an internship to see what it's like in Waverwell government since a Waverwell government official is a job I'm interested in pursuing as a career, so I'm helping out with stuff and learning about what goes on here."

"It is very nice to meet you, Seven. I hope your internship gives lots of good insight into what it's like working here. Myself and everyone else here would be more than happy to answer any questions. We are all busy, as I'm sure you have probably noticed, but we'd be able to find some time to talk with you. May I ask what your pronouns are, though? I would like to make sure I refer to you correctly. Mine are she, her, and hers."

Surprise flickered across Seven's face, but it was gone a split second later. "Uh, y-yeah, sure. Uh-. He, him, and his."

"Thank you," Cynthia said. "I will be sure to remember those."

There was a long pause. Seven stood in place, eyes fixed on the sprawling, blue carpet in the center of the President's Room. His shoulders hunched up, and he licked his lips, opening and closing his mouth a few times. He held the folder close to his chest.

"You don't need to be nervous, Seven. I'm a person, just like you are and just like everyone else in Waverwell is."

"Yeah," Seven murmured, voice soft. "But you're the President."

"It's a job, and I'm still a person." Cynthia repeated. President of Waverwell was a big job and a very important one, but she was still a person. A human being, just like everyone else. She still went to bed every night like everyone else, ate meals, breathed air, drank water, felt the range of emotions. Joy, sadness, anger, frustration, love.

Seven was quiet for several long moments before he huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "I apologize," he said. "I'm wasting your time. I got nervous cuz you're the-the President and I haven't met you before. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize, Seven. It's ok. What do you need?"

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I almost forgot. Here, uh, this folder is for you. I was told to give it to you. It's-it's, uh, some documents about a new disease." Seven scrambled forward, nearly tripping over his shoes as he all but shoved the folder into Cynthia's hands.

She held back her surprise, taking it from him. "Are you alright, Seven? It looked like you almost fell."

"N-no. I'm ok, Mrs. President Corville." He stepped back until he was in the middle of the rug, equidistant between Cynthia and the doorway.

"Please," she replied. "Call me Cynthia. Mrs. President Corville is a mouthful, and I'm really not that formal."

Seven hesitated, clearly not about to disagree with her but unable to fully agree. "I-I..." he trailed off. "I was told to-."

Cynthia held up a hand, and Seven immediately fell silent. "I apologize for interrupting. I'm sure you were told to call me Mrs. President Corville; everyone is. An unspoken rule on etiquette when interacting with those in Waverwell government, if you will. But I prefer to go by Cynthia in most situations. I feel it allows me to have a deeper connection with those I am speaking with. It makes it more like we're just two people talking."

"You're the President of Waverwell, though." Seven's voice was a whisper, so soft it was almost inaudible. As close to an argument as Cynthia thought he was willing to go. His gaze flickered to hers before falling off to the side.

"While that may be true, I feel that going by my first name can help it feel like I'm just another person, like I'm on the same level as everyone else. I might be the President, but I am still a person, just like everyone else in Waverwell is."

Seven nodded. "Yeah, I think I can, uh, g-get that."

Cynthia smiled. A glance at the melting clock on the corner of her desk said that she had only a few minutes until her meeting. "I have greatly enjoyed our time talking with each other, Seven, but I have a meeting in just a few minutes. I would love to continue our discussion, but I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave." She stood up, walking around the side of her desk.

"No-no! I-it's ok, Mrs. P- Cynthia! I'm so sorry. I-I... It was an honor, Cynthia. Thank you so much. I'll leave. G-good luck with the-the, uh, meeting! I hope the folder is helpful. It was so dope-. I mean cool! Awesome! It was great to-to meet you! I... I'm going to stop talking." Seven gave a sheepish grin and ducked his head.

"It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Seven. Good luck with your internship, and I hope you find it to be an enjoyable experience. If you decide to pursue a career in Waverwell government, I have no doubt that you will be able to do so. I am certain that you will achieve amazing things."

Cynthia offered her hand, and Seven stared at her for several long moments, before a grin spread across his face. He shook her hand, trembling slightly, before he stumbled back a step with a soft chuckle.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Thank you so much, Cynthia. You're awesome." He looked around for a moment, before huffing another laugh to himself, hand coming up to cover his mouth as he walked out the door, seemingly floating on his feet.

xxxx

Two minutes before her meeting and just as she had finished thumbing through the pages in the folder, Cynthia got a briefing on the disease.

Cases were steadily rising, but with so much unknown, doctors were not yet able to be certain how close the number of documented cases were to the actual number of cases. All documented cases were in Corville and Dal, but some doctors believed it was likely elsewhere, too.

Cynthia exhaled. There were protocols in place for a big outbreak of a disease. Cities could be shutdown, stay-at-home orders put in place, quarantines implemented, makeshift hospitals built, research centers pausing non-essential work to focus on the disease. As the President, she could force cities to follow the protocols, even if they hadn't chosen to do so.

But at what point was the outbreak severe enough to where she could implement the protocols? Too early, and the choice to shut everything down could seem far too extreme. But too late, and the delay could cost many lives and seem as though she did not care.

And, of course, there were the vastly different views in Waverwell government on what the proper response to a disease outbreak would look like.

Cynthia rubbed at her forehead, twirling a pen between her fingers. She could already feel a headache forming.

At least Delta hadn't been telling me about some clickbait conspiracy theory, she thought to herself, although a conspiracy theory was false, and that would've been much easier to deal with. A brief report, print it out, file it away, and be done with it.

Cynthia thanked the officials who gave her the briefing on the outbreak as they left and told them to keep her updated; she needed to know the second anything changed.

xxxx

Harold Morris wore what Cynthia thought was likely the ugliest suit she had ever seen, not that she would tell him. It simultaneously looked both too tight and too loose on him. An overall terrible fit on his round frame, along with a buff color that was too close to his skin tone and gave him the appearance of having turned yellow.

But she held her tongue, steeled her features into something both polite and neutral, and reached out to shake his hand, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of her desk for him to take. "Hello, Harold. How are you doing today?"

He sat down, straightening his suit jacket and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. He set the folder he held in his lap. "I am doing well, Cynthia. How about yourself?"

"Fine as well, thank you. You said you wished to discuss the Silverlight Forest Protection Unit?" She pulled a pad of paper from a drawer and plucked one of the pens lined at the front of her desk from the stand. It was cool beneath her grip, smooth metal gleaming in the light.

Harold nodded. "That is correct."

"In your letter requesting a meeting, you said you believed you had a better idea of how the Silverlight Forest and Silverlight Forest Protection Unit should be managed?"

Harold nodded again, echoing his previous statement: "That is correct."

Cynthia took a breath, pausing to take a moment to think through her reply.

But Harold continued before she could speak. "Now," he said. "Before you jump to a no, please allow me to explain my reasoning."

"Please do explain your reasoning," Cynthia replied, writing out a heading on the pad of paper, then adding her name and Harold's below it, with the date and time the meeting started off in the corner.

"Our job in Waverwell government is to keep Waverwell running smoothly, to keep the economy going, and, most of all, to represent the interests of Waverwell's citizens and their desires. Many enjoy Silverlight Forest, and the section that is open to the public draws countless people to it every year, but the majority of the Forest is off-limits, as you know. Close to ninety-five percent is closed to everyone but verified personnel. The Silverlight Forest Protection Unit patrols that ninety-five percent and enforces the anti-poaching and hunting laws, which they have been reasonably successful at."

Cynthia jotted down what Harold said in bullet points, although nothing he said was news to her. She could sense a but coming and had a guess as to the direction Harold was going.

"Silverlight Forest can make a lot of money," he continued. "Ninety-five percent of it is off-limits to all but a select few. And out of those select few who do have access to the Forest, it's really only six —er, five, I guess now— who interact with the Forest on any sort of routine basis. There is money to be made in Silverlight Forest. Opening up the Forest to visitors, like what has been done in the public section. Camping, hiking, lodging, things like that. The Silverlight Forest Protection Unit wouldn't need to exist —or could exist on a much lower level— if the Forest was open to the public. Why should something so big be closed off to all but five?"

Cynthia waited until Harold's silence became clear he was looking for a reply and not pausing to think over his words, finished her next bullet point, and then set down her pen.

"Ninety-five percent of Silverlight Forest is off-limits to the public so that the Forest can remain virtually untouched. Look at the rest of Waverwell," she said, gesturing to the massive map sprawling against the wall to the side of her desk. "Nearly all of it has been developed. Sure, there are a few places here and there where the land is close to how it was before we built on top of it, but those areas are small and few and far between. Ninety-five percent is almost all of Silverlight Forest, but the remaining five percent still allows for people to explore the Forest and everything it can offer. Five percent is a small fraction, but it is still plenty for people to experience Silverlight Forest for themselves. I don't believe I have ever heard of any issues surrounding overcrowding or anything that would suggest a need for expanding the public section of Silverlight Forest. The only complaints I can ever recall hearing about anything regarding Silverlight Forest were about Myway Highway getting backed up, and those complaints happened because of an accident, not because of the road itself."

Harold straightened up in his seat, planting his feet firmly on the floor and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair

"Silverlight Forest is teeming with resources. Tourism and outdoor activities for visitors, and lumber and raw materials for companies. It's money just waiting to be made. We are not doing our job if we do not utilize what the Forest is offering. We need to do something with it. Expand the public section, develop the land, turn Silverlight Lake into a park, bring mining down from Cloverleaf and Spider Ridge. Scientists believe there is oil beneath Silverlight Forest, and quite a lot of it, too. That will boost energy production and the economy. Lower prices for energy bills and gas. Here," Harold said, taking out a stack of papers stapled together into several packets and setting them on the desk. "I've had graphs and charts made. The top packet is the estimates on the monetary value of different aspects of Silverlight Forest. Lumber, land, oil, etc. The second one is graphs of predictions on the economy and what that will look like in different scenarios. Turning the Forest into a woodland park, developing the 95 percent untouched, developing some of it and mining where the oil it, along with several others. There's about a dozen scenarios."

Cynthia pulled the packets toward her and flipped through them. She knew where Harold was coming from. Looking at things from a monetary perspective, the biggest boost to the economy, using resources to the biggest advantage possible, how to increase the next paycheck and add those next few zeros. A capitalist and consumerist point of view.

"I am aware that there are a variety of ways that Silverlight Forest could be developed and that a lot of money could be made by doing so. I would also venture to guess that you would be in favor of removing the Silverlight Forest Protection Unit as well." Cynthia set the packets back down on her desk, off to the side where she could take a closer look at them later.

Harold nodded. "That is true. We are not currently using the ninety-five percent of Silverlight Forest that they patrol and protect, and yet we give them money and resources to be able to function. I realize that what I am saying may be falling on deaf ears; I know you were the original supporter of the Silverlight Forest Protection Unit. Ferris Dipper reached out to you with the idea of the group, and you were the one who secured funding and government support for them. And it was your father who got the Silverlight Forest sectioned off. To 'preserve the natural world for generations to come,' in his words."

Benedict Corville, Cynthia's father, had always held the firm belief that humans were no different from any other life. Humans were just another species trying to survive, so what gave humans the right to take and take and take? Every other creature —plant, animal, fungi, bacteria, or anything else— had just as much right to the land as humans did. He had instilled that belief in Cynthia as well, teaching her about the natural world from nooks and crannies in Waverwell government building, couches in lobbies of whatever office spaces he was needed at, stolen time in between meetings he was being ushered to next.

The Benedict Corville Silverlight Forest Act had been passed by her father, and when Cynthia became a part of Waverwell government —first as an official and then as the President— she continued her father's work in protecting the wild spaces in Waverwell.

"You have barely seen the Silverlight Forest," Harold said, interrupting Cynthia's train of thought.

"Does that mean that I cannot form an opinion about it?"

"It means that you haven't seen the Forest much in person. How much can you really know without seeing something?"

Cynthia set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "I could ask the same of you."

Harold frowned. "I've driven through the Forest and have seen it."

"Driving on Myway Highway isn't the same as actually walking through it. Virtually everyone in Waverwell has driven through Myway Highway. And a view from a distance —say, from up on the bluffs in Cat's Cradle or on the slopes of Spider Ridge— isn't the same as being there in the Forest. Yes, I have not spent very long in Silverlight Forest, and I acknowledge that it does not give me the same insight that someone who had spent a lot of time in the Forest would have. But please do not question my opinions on Silverlight Forest if the same can be done to you."

Harold shifted ever so slightly under Cynthia's gaze. Asking questions and searching for bias was one thing, but this was different. Cynthia knew what Harold wanted and she knew that he knew she wouldn't side with him.

And she knew that he knew there were two ways he could go: talk with other Waverwell government officials and take it to a vote once enough were on his side that Cynthia wouldn't be able to refuse. Majority ruled, even against the President. Or the easier route: get Cynthia to agree. A vote would still occur, but it would be more symbolic than for actual necessity.

"I don't need to have visited Silverlight Forest for very long to know that there are far better uses for it than leaving it empty and out of reach of all but a very select few."

"I don't need to have visited Silverlight Forest for very long to know that protecting the Forest is the right decision. Not everything needs to have a use that generates money," Cynthia replied.

Harold narrowed his eyes, sucking on his teeth as he thought over his words. Cynthia gave him time, taking a sip of water and giving the melting clock on the corner of her desk a quick glance. Early afternoon. The evening was still several hours away, which gave her plenty of time to get lots of work done, but it still felt far too short. Too much that she needed to get done. A never-ending and always-growing list.

She could almost feel the grey hairs sprouting from her scalp and the wrinkles creasing her skin.

"Silverlight Forest can have a use that generates money, though. Many are outlined in the packets I gave you." Harold gestured to where they were stacked off to the side on Cynthia's desk. "I know you want to preserve Silverlight Forest. To 'preserve the wild spaces that still remain untouched by humanity,' in your words. There are ways to do that and have the Forest generate money. Jobs would be created, as well, and it would be a boost to the economy."

"I assume one of the ideas you have would be to turn the entirety of Silverlight Forest into something similar to the public area that currently exists?"

Harold nodded. "Yes, that is one of them."

Cynthia hummed.

"There are other ways to create new jobs and generate money," she said. "I absolutely believe in helping the economy, but Silverlight Forest is the last space in Waverwell that is virtually untouched by the human hand. I cannot in good conscience agree to something that would develop land such as that. Even if it were just creating some trails, soon it would become a lodge. Then some stores, and eventually a town. Where would it end? While it might not be overnight, Silverlight Forest would eventually fall, and it would become just like the rest of Waverwell. We would lose the landmark that is the Forest. I don't have to have visited the Forest for very long to know that I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I agreed to anything that would result in damage to Silverlight Forest. Or any untouched piece of land, for that matter."

"You know, Cynthia," Harold said. "I knew your father."

Cynthia narrowed her eyes and just managed to resist the urge to scowl at him. "I am aware of that. For several years you and my father worked together in Waverwell government."

"We did. Your father was a great man, Cynthia. He was firm in his beliefs and worked hard for what he believed in. I know he taught you all about his beliefs, including his thoughts on Silverlight Forest. You see, I had the opportunity to speak with him many times. Benedict Corville wanted Silverlight Forest protected, which is what you're doing here. But he-."

Something in Cynthia snapped, and she stood up, chair skittering back and nearly tipping over. She slammed her palms down on the table. "Do not," she snarled, "use my father against me. We do not have to agree, and in many circumstances we will not, including this one. But do not use my father —or anyone I care about— to try to twist and manipulate me into doing what you would like. I am a tolerant person, but I will not accept that behavior, whether it is against me or anyone else. Do you understand, Harold Morris?"

Harold had remained seated, but his back was straight and his head high. His expression had morphed into something carefully neutral, and he swallowed before opening his mouth to reply.

But before he could speak, the door to the President's Room was flung open and heavy footsteps thundered in near unison as close to a dozen officers flooded into the space, weapons drawn and protective gear donned. WGBP was printed in bold white letters over their uniforms. Waverwell Government Building Precinct, a small offshoot of the Corville Precinct.

Helmets shadowed the officers' eyes, but Cynthia still caught the dark glint as each hunted for any threat.

Cynthia took a step back, startled, and Harold sprang up from his chair, holding his hands up as he turned to face the officers. President of Waverwell fell above Waverwell government official in rankings. Cynthia's safety came above Harold's, and until it was determined there was no threat to her, Harold would be considered a person of interest, even though he was one of the top officials and was a trusted person dedicated to his job.

"We heard yelling and a commotion. Are you alright, Mrs. President?" As the lead officer spoke, several others raced around the room, checking every nook and cranny for anything that could pose a threat to Waverwell government.

"Everything is ok," Cynthia said. "We were getting into a debate during our meeting, and it got a bit loud. I greatly appreciate you coming in so quickly and ensuring both my safety and Harold's, but I am fine."

The officers completed their search, and all began to relax. Guns were lowered from shoulders, and tense stares fell from windows and Harold, who slowly lowered his hands and echoed Cynthia's statement, saying that their discussion got louder than they intended and that they were both ok.

The lead officer spoke into a radio, which Cynthia presumed was to communicate with officers outside. A garbled reply sounded a few moments later, too indistinct for Cynthia to make out, but the officer nodded and thanked whoever was on the other side.

"I apologize for interrupting, Mrs. President," the lead officer said, turning to Cynthia and gesturing for one last sweep of the room to be done. "I am glad that you are ok. You as well, Harold Morris. We will be leaving now and will let you return to your meeting. I apologize once again for interrupting."

Cynthia held up a hand. "You were doing your job. That is not something you need to apologize for. You were keeping me and Harold safe, and that is something you will never need to apologize for."

"Understood, Mrs. President. We will be on our way. I hope the rest of your meeting goes smoothly."

"Thank you once again. Have a wonderful rest of your day." Cynthia walked with the officers and held the door for them, letting it softly close once they had left.

Harold stood behind his chair, as he had done when the officers were in the President's Room. Using the chair as a makeshift shield of sorts.

He gazed distantly at the doorway, face a bit pale but still retaining that yellow hue his suit gave his complexion. Perhaps Charlotte knew of some way to politely tell someone their outfit just didn't look good on them. Although, she thought. If they really like the outfit, then it doesn't really matter what others think, unless they're directly asked for their opinion.

"Well, at least they're quick," Harold said.

Cynthia nodded, crossing the room to return to her desk. "Indeed."

"So what do you think about enlarging the five percent of Silverlight Forest open to the public? Perhaps not developing the entirety of it —developing meaning doing any sort of work on it, not just buildings or mines— but something, whether a twenty-five percent or fifty or some other number. Twenty-five and fifty are not numbers I have my heart set upon, they were just easy percentages that came to mind first."

Cynthia chewed on her lip, leaning on the edge of her desk as she took a breath. "I think," she said slowly and tugged one of the packets Harold had given her from the stack and thumbed through it, "that you should go. We will not agree on anything, at least as of right now, and so I do not see the benefit of continuing to discuss Silverlight Forest any further. After we have both had some time to settle our thoughts and I have had a chance to look through this packet, we could return to this discussion."

"Very well," Harold said after a few moments.

"I think Gabriella, Linda, and Delta should join the next discussion. They could all offer some very good insight and perspectives."

Harold ducked his head. "I agree."

"Wonderful. My schedule will be getting much busier in the coming days with the disease outbreak, but I am sure we'll be able to find something that would work for all of us."

"I will be in touch, Cynthia."

"I will, too, Harold."

Cynthia bid him farewell as he left the room. She leaned back against the door with a sigh, sliding down until she was on the floor. She pulled her legs to her chest and gave herself a few moments to let the stress wash over her and feel everything she couldn't show. The President remained calm and in-control at all times, no matter the situation. The President always kept a level head.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she wiped them away before they could fall. Her breath trembled as she exhaled, slowing her heart rate.

President of Waverwell put a massive weight on her shoulders, but she could carry it. She knew she could. She had proven to herself that she wouldn't buckle beneath its weight. That she wouldn't just keep the weight upright, but that she could thrive. That she had proven her capabilities as President and she belonged in the job.

"You've got this, Cynthia," she whispered to herself. "It's stressful, it's a lot, and it means dealing with terrible things, but your country needs you and you have shown you can do it. It's ok that it sometimes gets to you and you need to take some time to rest, but you can do it. You've got this."

Cynthia took several more deep breaths until she felt the claws of stress and anxiety recede. She brushed off her pants, straightened her shirt, and then ran her fingers through her hair.

"Let's do this," she murmured, standing up.

Waverwell was counting on her. To bring them through the disease outbreak, to keep them safe, to keep the economy running, to keep public services open. And Ashley Baok was counting on her to get justice delivered to him, as were Kristin Baok and the rest of the Silverlight Forest Protection Unit.

She couldn't and wouldn't let them down.