38: Piran
Piran
Casey didn’t visit the next day, but Piran had checked on the system, knew she was doing okay. At least, she acted normally—had her meetings, used the rec area, didn’t seem too flustered when Macklyn called her in. Piran worried she still carried that b****y knife, but reckoned she didn’t. Especially in Macklyn’s office—her top was far too figure-hugging to hide a sheath.
Piran analysed the data he’d pulled from the gate, along with the recording he’d taken, the one that showed Casey’s interpretation of what she saw. He ran so many algos it was hard to keep track, and the results were almost overwhelming. Would’ve been, if he scrutinised them. But he did his usual—let them play out, looked for patterns.
And the patterns, like the colours, swirled. It felt like the
