Eighteen
Grace entered the precinct at 8:42 Monday morning, feeling a rush of productivity that always accompanied the start of the week. As the bio-seal registered her metrics and gave her access to the precinct, she ran through her agenda, noting the eighteen-minute gap between her arrival and her first appointment. She sipped her hot koffee as she prioritized her to-do list in the right side of her lenscape.
She hesitated before sitting, glancing through the transparent walls at Duchovny’s desk. She watched agents stroll the halls, chatting with one another, exchanging information or gossip.
There was something off about it.
Had the desks moved?
Were there people missing?
A sense of déjà vu settled in her guts. Had she done this before? This exact day?
That’s enough. Pull yoursel
