Matthew shoved himself away from the wall and walked to the coffee machine. He didn’t really want another one; his mouth was dry and his tongue tasted like he’d been sucking on a rusty pipe. His stomach fluttered with reminders that he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the day before, but he knew without trying that his throat would close up tight if he made any attempt to fix that issue. He’d never been a good eater when he was under stress, and more than once during his years at college he’d shown up at his mother’s doorstep only to listen to her cluck and coo over the fact that he was too skinny. It was an excellent diet plan that had gone the way of the dodo bird once he’d finally got himself settled at the GDBCG. It was, however, probably back from the dead, at least until this fiasco—what
