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“… sis.”


* * *


“What?”

“It’s me.”

“Jarod. What… what do you want?”

“I was… wondering what you were thinking. How… this changes things.”

“It changes nothing,” she replies, too soon, too harshly. Then; “Do you really believe it, Jarod? That their… betrayal… could go that far?”

“They ripped my entire family apart. Look at what they did to your mother. To Thomas. All our lives, they’ve been taking away all the things that matter to us. At the moment, I have only three things left, all of which the Centre is still trying to destroy.”

“What?”

“My freedom, my family,” he says, with a pregnant pause, “and you, Miss Parker.”

The call is disconnected, and Miss Parker wonders how this changes things.



* * *



He tentatively places the phone back in its cradle, eyeing it warily, as if it has sprouted a head and is talking to him.

Evidently, there’s a problem, for phones should not be sprouting heads and talking. Nor should they continue to ring so incessantly and furiously, he thinks.

Plucking a dart from the board behind him, he closes his eyes, makes rapid circles in the air, and…

Thud.

He opens one eye; squints down at the name impaled by the dart.

“Mr Lyle it is,” he murmurs, and quickly sets about hurriedly scrawling his changes on the notorious script.









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