Chapter Seven #2
I laugh. “Nonstop work is something I certainly understand. It’s how I got where I am. I spend a significant portion of my time in libraries and filling out digital request forms. It’s not exactly glamorous.”
Working nonstop can be lonely. I know because, I realize with a jolt, I am lonely, despite dating Eric and having, on paper at least, a circle of faculty friends.
And that the loneliness is maybe one of the reasons I followed Dane onto that train in Madrid.
I wanted something bigger. I wanted the excitement a game like this brings, and I wanted to keep traveling.
“You had to work hard because of your parents’ deaths,” he guesses.
“Yes. Christine and I had nothing except their house, and she refuses to sell it. We both have hefty student loans, but we agreed that getting an education was our only way of survival.” I think about my parents, about the fact that I know my dad would be proud of the way I’ve used ciphers in my research and how much I’ve accomplished.
“I’m starting to forget them, the little things.
The way my mom sounded. My dad’s laugh. That kind of thing.
” I inhale before continuing. I don’t think I’ve told anyone that before.
He gives me a sad smile. “I’m sure they’d be proud of you.” He says it almost admiringly, but then he reaches over and snags the last piece of jamón from my plate.
“Oh.” I shake my head. “Rude.” I pour the last of the wine into my glass as retribution, but he only laughs. “Apart from being a ham thief and a worldly workaholic, what else should I know about you?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Come on. I already know you do furtive hacker things for ProtoDark. What’s your weak spot?”
He frowns as though he doesn’t like this question.
“As your partner in this game, I should know so I can protect you,” I say.
He scoffs. “You’re not expected to protect me.”
“Well, we protect each other.”
I think he’ll refuse to answer, but a slight smile appears on his lips before it’s gone. “I don’t trust anyone. I’ve been told that’s a weakness.” He flags down the waiter to pay the bill.
I don’t think it’s entirely true that he doesn’t trust anyone. He trusts his assistant, Araceli. He trusts me to solve the puzzles in this challenge. Dane Seaver is a conundrum, which should worry me. Eric made Dane out to be an ogre, but I don’t see evidence of that yet.
We head out into the night, and I chatter about how I read about the Museu de la Xocolata—a chocolate museum—here in Barcelona, and that for people who dislike crowds as I do, it’s a good way to see the Sagrada Família, as the chocolate museum luckily has one made of chocolate.
Dane says nothing as we walk, but I wonder aloud whether this chocolate Sagrada Família faithfully reproduces the real thing.
“It’s probably a tourist trap, but what if this chocolate museum genuinely and lovingly recreates European landmarks out of chocolate and the details are faithful to the originals?” I say.
“I don’t see the point,” Dane mutters as we head down into the Metro. It’s too far to walk back now that we’re full.
“The point is chocolate.”
“You eat it, not make art from it,” he says.
I open my mouth to tell him that maybe being a grouch is his weakness but decide to let him have it because the evening has been nice—the dinner was delicious, and I enjoyed the conversation more than I have with anyone in a long time.
Underground in the Metro station, he expertly navigates a ticket machine and we move through the turnstiles.
We’re quiet as we follow the corridor to the platform, mysterious dark wind ruffling our hair.
The train doesn’t take long to whoosh into the station, but it is absolutely crammed full of people.
Everyone on our platform squishes in, and it is so uncomfortable that I question whether it’s safe.
Most people are wearing blue-and-maroon jerseys and coats—for FC Barcelona—and I’m guessing they’re coming back from a match, and by the looks of the glum expressions, the game was a loss.
I look at Dane, but somehow several people are between us, and there’s no possibility of moving closer even though he seems to be trying.
He meets my gaze and raises his eyebrows, as though he wants to tell me something, but I don’t understand.
At the next stop, about half the train shuffles out, and now there’s room to breathe.
I notice a man standing stock still across from me, staring.
It’s unnerving, and there’s a quiet in the train that suddenly has my hackles up.
I start to cross the car to get to Dane, but the man bends down and rolls something across the train toward me while backing away.
It’s a cylinder-shaped thing, and at first it looks like a three-pound hand weight, but this has a curved handle. My eyes go wide as I take it in.
It’s a grenade.
Horror fills me, and the moment stretches while my brain contracts, spinning, sure that the next second will be my last.
Dane shouts, “Dive!”
I can’t make my body move fast enough to leap back just as the thing goes off. Light flashes, blinding me, and the world goes silent.