Oliver and I make polite but empty small talk for the rest of our dinner date. After several unsuccessful attempts to get the waiter to leave us alone, we realise that he’s obviously been instructed to hang around and keep an eye on us.
It’s likely that we aroused the suspicions of whoever was monitoring the audio input from our promise rings - the puppet masters on the other end must have noticed the long pause in our repartee when we both blocked off the sound for so long.
Now the server stands to attention, tray in hand just a few feet away from the table, within earshot of anything we might say to each other - effectively preventing us from continuing our real conversation.
I’m dying to ask Oliver how he plans to get us off this island - and also, I think I ought to try and find out
