Trigger Happy Equines

MASSACRE AT ROYAL CARE CENTER

At just after 08:00am on [------------------] a care-worker (who wishes to remain anonymous) for the Royal [------------] Care Center for foals called the police after being unable to enter the building and receiving no reply when attempting to contact by telephone. When officers arrived on the scene all windows were closed and every set of curtains had been drawn despite the center’s all-year-round active state. After failing to rouse anyone through other methods the officers forced entry through the main entrance to discover the site’s founder, owner and head caretaker, Mrs. [------------] dead in the lobby, her forelegs slit by a knife which was found next to her body.

The black-and-white photos directly next to this paragraph showed a picture of the center’s owner: a cheerful, beautiful young pegasus mare with a soft-colored mane that swept back over her head in a perfect arc. The other photo was of the center itself, a rectangular brick building that looked to be about five times the size of the dome’s hotel. A sign was situated outside the entrance on a patch of grass next to a blooming flowerbed, though once again, a specific word had been deliberately blanked out.

Upon searching the rest of the building, the officers made a horrific discovery. In each of the rooms occupied by the foals and young griffons taken under care, all eighty-five children had been murdered, most of them from a knife wound to the throat. Some suffered multiple chest wounds while a rare few had a multitude of knife wounds across their bodies. In these cases, there were apparent signs of a struggle. Also found dead was [------------]’s husband and the site’s co-founder, Mr. [--------------], known locally as [----------]. He was found slumped over his desk in the head office, his throat slit. The couple had run the site since [--------] while also living there as full-time caretakers.

The center was established on [-------------------] by the couple to provide for orphans, children whose parents had been deemed unsuitable and those who had suffered from trauma or disability. Another seven members of staff also worked there as caretakers, cooks, or at times for general upkeep of the building and its facilities. At their request, their identities will not be published, and all have been put onto a regulated therapy course. The center has seen visits from [----------------------] and [---------------------] among other high-profile visitors, and the two owners have received numerous accolades and personal thanks from all over Equestria for their hard work in helping youngsters with seemingly no hope to get their lives on track.

The police have determined that Mrs. [------------] was the perpetrator of the crime, first killing her husband after the other caretakers had gone home before proceeding into each of the children’s rooms and killing them while they slept. Security footage from inside the center backs up this theory in addition to various knife wounds and blood trails left on the walls and floor throughout the complex. Mrs. [------------] then left behind a message written on a page torn from the check-in book which reads: ‘I did this to save them. You have to believe me. I swear upon my soul, upon everything and everyone, I did this out of pure kindness. Please forgive me!’ She then committed suicide after her murderous rampage by slitting her forelegs, writing the words ‘HELL IS REAL’ in blood on the lobby floor shortly before passing out and dying.

Next, a harrowing photograph was included showing those three words written with desperation on the floor tiles. The memory of my own suicide attempt flashed before my eyes. A chill ran up my spine and I stifled a vomit.

“I cannot fathom why [------------] would do this,” said one of the locals who lived nearby. “I met with her on several occasions and she was an absolute delight. She doted on those foals like they were her own and treated them with a kindness beyond any I have known. I honestly don’t know what to think of her at this point. She was a pillar of the community and now that community has been ripped apart. I keep hoping one day I wake up and it was all just a terrible nightmare.”

A close friend of [------------]’s, Miss [---------------------] – well known as a member of the [----------------] – was held in police custody after she attacked numerous officers and news reporters, claiming that her friend must be innocent. She states, “She ([------------]) would never have done such a thing. There has to be a mistake. The police don’t know what they’re doing and are letting the real killer get away.” Despite the mountains of evidence and security footage of Mrs. [------------] walking down the hallways with a blood-stained knife in addition to the murder of her husband in the office and her suicide in the lobby, [---------------------] has remained loyal to her deceased friend and insisted that the tapes must either be fake, or there is another, as of yet undiscovered theory. Currently she is being considered for psychiatric evaluation and, if she is deemed mentally unstable, may not face charges for her various accounts of assault.

Some have speculated that [------------] may have become involved with an extremist cult and committed this atrocity out of an ingrained belief that this would somehow ‘save’ the children. However, information on [------------]’s life seems to suggest that she rarely left the grounds after its opening, and when she did so she was always with others. Searches of the complex have also revealed no evidence of extremist texts or other paraphernalia, leading some to question the times spent in her youth.

Inspection on earlier security footage shows [------------] acting normally throughout the day of the massacre, her demeanor changing drastically after a twenty-minute visit to her office, of which the interior has no security feed. She is then seen walking haggardly and in immense distress to one of the staff restrooms. A while later she is then seen walking into the kitchen area and taking one of the knives. Still in a visibly disturbed state she returns to the office where her husband is.

Esteemed psychologist Dr. [---------] had this to say regarding the footage: “It is clear that [------------] was fully aware of what she was doing. Her expressions and body language show that she is utterly distraught by the deaths of her husband and the children, yet still she carries out their murders like an important duty. Towards the end of the murder spree and during her suicide she appears completely drained, somewhat accepting of what she has done. It is in my opinion based on the evidence that she carried out this massacre with the sincere belief that she was doing the right thing. She didn’t want to, but she felt as if she must.”

Research into [------------]’s past showed very little in the way of psychological issues with the exception of a spate at the age of thirteen where she suffered anxiety and panic attacks induced after she was supposedly tortured by an unknown attacker. No evidence for this attack exists as [------------] was entirely unharmed, and she eventually recovered from her anxiety after around two months. It is unknown if the two incidents of psychological issues are connected as of yet. Some, however, speculate that [------------] may have been suffering from undiagnosed depression after the disappearance of [--------------------------------] whose whereabouts are still unknown.

The center itself has been placed under police jurisdiction with no unauthorized citizens allowed within twenty meters of the grounds. Anyone caught breaking the police boundaries or attempting to tamper with the site will face criminal charges. A memorial service is set to be held on [---------------] at the [----------------------]. Patrons are welcome to bring wreaths, flowers, or messages of kind words. A separate funeral service for [------------] and her husband is, as of yet, unplanned, but word is that it will take place privately for close friends of the deceased so as to avoid the event being sabotaged.

Article written by [----------------]

I finished the article a second time and caught my breath. I felt as if I’d been for a run at the dead of night. The story itself was horrifying enough, but I also knew that there was a reason why Monobunny was showing us this. Whatever had happened here, it had to be connected to our current situation in one form or another.

Dish Panner crumpled up her sheet of paper and lightly tossed it onto the floor, rubbing the bridge of her nose and exhaling wearily. “Cute story,” she said sardonically. “Whatever it is you’re trying to pull, I’m unimpressed.”

“Wow,” Monobunny said plainly. “A critic who’s not happy. What next? An iceberg that’s cold? A tree made of wood?”

“Quite the pathetic comeback,” Dish Panner replied. “While it is certainly horrific, I don’t see how this article is meant to affect us in any way, shape, or form. We’ve already been thrown into this game of yours, so I don’t see how this is supposed to scare us even more. We don’t even know the names of the killer or the victims. Does anyone here know who they could be? Speak up if so.”

The room remained quiet.

“Then my point stands,” Dish Panner affirmed. “This is just low-grade scare tactics and we should all forget it and carry on as usual. Doesn’t everyone agree?”

Mesmer smirked, uttering a tiny chortle. “One doth protest too much.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You have a little too much to say about something that apparently doesn’t bother you,” Mesmer continued, fixing Dish Panner with a steely gaze. “Maybe you’re the one who knows something about this. Or, you’re trying to deny that you’re scared. Or maybe you think this is a good way to get others to trust you. After all, you’ve done a great job trying to instill a feeling of hope in the group, right?”

Dish Panner’s cheeks flared up as she scowled back. “Why are you turning on me!?”

“Now, now.” Lancet, Sanscript and Maribelle each said a few words to calm the situation. As this was going on my eyes turned to Inky. She appeared to be enraptured – almost obsessively so – with the news article. She paid no attention to anyone else as her eyes darted from left to right, wearing an expression of calm concentration. It wasn’t a look I ever expected to see from her.

“I get it now,” Dish Panner said with a snide grin of her own, combing a hoof through her bobbed mane. “I think you know a lot more about this story than anyone else. It’s obvious when you think about it, really. A pretty little innocent mare turning into a psychopath at the drop of a hat. What do you suppose could cause that? Hypnosis!” She pointed an angry hoof in Mesmer’s direction amidst an outburst of gasps. “What do you have to say to that?”

Mesmer had very little reaction, merely raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. “First of all, I don’t think you actually believe that. You’re not that stupid. If you did believe it, your attitude seems rather suspect. If there was someone present who I believed was evil, psychotic and dangerous enough to cause the deaths of an entire building full of orphans I certainly wouldn’t be treating them like a school student flinging petty insults in the playground. Frankly, I’d be terrified. But by all means, let me know if you genuinely think I’m a monster and we’ll discuss how troubling your behavior is.”

Dish Panner let out a snort and turned away, her lips tensed. As much as Mesmer could be arrogant and demeaning, I couldn’t help but respect his ability to overthrow almost every comment that came his way.

“No, I didn’t hypnotize the mare in the article, whomever she is. While I would at least be capable, through hypnotic suggestion and mind-altering spells, to be able to implant ideas into someone’s head, resulting in them performing a series of actions, to within a certain degree, at least, the events as described in the article do not correlate with such a thing. If we are to take the report as entirely fact-based, carrying out a series of killings while displaying immense stress and emotional turmoil is at odds with the effects of being put into a trance. If that were the case, she would’ve walked down the halls with a more-or-less blank expression, and definitely not with a nervous disposition that culminates in being emotionally drained. Like the report said, she appeared to know exactly what she was doing.”

“That still makes you sound creepy,” Copper said, biting her lip. “Controlling others with magic that messes with their mind.”

“Every such case in my line of work is done only with consent,” Mesmer replied. “Legally, there are numerous hoops to jump through, and my sessions are recorded and logged should I ever attempt something untoward.”

“I see,” Copper said quietly, shooting me a quick glance as if to tell me something. “But I’m sure you’re smart enough to get away with something if you really wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried.” Mesmer lifted up his news article. “Now can we finally discuss the news story in question? If nobody here was involved or knows who these mystery ponies might be, there must be something else that we can glean from this that’s of importance to us. Right, Monobunny?”

“Correct!”

“But you’re not going to tell us?”

“Absolutely not! Like I said, this news story covers real, actual events. While they may seem to be entirely unconnected to the killing game, there is one, teeny tiny part of it that actually has a big connection to it. And it’s up to all of you to figure out what that is!”

“Does the spy know?” Dopple asked.

“Oh yes, the spy knows very well why this news story is significant, but they’ve been instructed not to tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Dopple said, scanning the paper. “Aside from the spy, then, are the rest of us guaranteed to find out the truth eventually?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that. After all, I don’t know what the future holds!”

“Her dying message,” Sanscript mused, stroking his chin anxiously. “Hell is real. What could that mean? Do you think it has something to do with the message on the bronze statue? ‘The grim reaper circles. Speak not of this heaven lest you be plunged into hell.’”

“I don’t believe in hell,” Elsie interjected sharply. “If there’s any connection between that statue and this news story, I say the cult who got to this mare and made her do those awful things are responsible for this killing game. It’s the same sadistic mindset.”

“Not really,” Lancet said. “If the idea is that we’re supposed to kill in order to survive and escape, what part of the news story relates to that? She didn’t kill them to be free or to survive since she took her own life.”

“Being free can mean many things,” Sanscript said. “What if she thought that by doing this she would go to heaven in the afterlife? Or rather, what if she thought that she’d be sending her husband and each of these children to heaven? In her suicide note she wrote about it being an act of kindness, that she was doing it to save them.”

“Alternatively,” Dish Panner said, her complexion still frazzled from her spat with Mesmer, “she might not have thought she was sending them to heaven, but merely saving them from hell. Otherwise, why write ‘hell is real’ when you could write ‘heaven is real’? Surely that would make more sense.”

“Yeesh,” Yoko uttered, rubbing at his temples. He puffed out his cheeks, looking as if he might lose his lunch. “This is completely messed up. Scary to think how warped a mind can get.”

“It’s not unheard of,” Mesmer said. “Depending on this mare’s beliefs, she might well have been making the most altruistic choice possible.”

“How can you say that?” Maribelle said, aghast. “We are talking about the murder of foals!”

“As I said, it’s not unheard of,” Mesmer said. “There have been numerous cases of mothers who kill their own children out of kindness.”

“Maybe,” Copper said bleakly, “if the child is suffering and constantly in pain, then I could understand it. But the way this center is described makes it seem like they led happy lives. How is it kind to end them?”

Mesmer bowed his head morosely. “Depending on one’s beliefs, it very well could be. Let me pose this question: what is the definition of kindness? To me, it is the act of giving something up in order for someone else to benefit, like finding a lost wallet out on the street and returning it or working towards an expensive gift that you’ll never get to enjoy yourself. It’s about sacrifice. If you aren’t losing something in exchange for someone else, then it isn’t truly kindness.

“Back to the news story. Let’s suppose that the mare in question held strong religious beliefs. She believes in a heaven and a hell, and that those who are evil or corrupted will end up in hell when they die while the innocent will be saved and sent to heaven.”

“That’s not what happens!” Maribelle exclaimed irately. “The Holy Goddess would never create a land of eternal suffering!”

“I’m not claiming it to be true,” Mesmer replied. “But let’s assume the mare in the article believes it. Act righteously and go to a land of happiness, commit heinous acts and spend an eternity burning in a fire. So then, if that’s the case, who would, statistically, be the most innocent of all? Who would, having been given no chance to commit horrible acts, be the most likely to go to heaven?”

“Children,” Lancet answered grimly.

“Correct,” Mesmer said. “The younger you are, the less likely you are to be corrupted by the outside world, the less likely you are to commit acts of violence, treachery and selfishness. By that logic, the best possible fate for all children would be to die quickly and painlessly at a young age.”

“And end their chance at life!?” Maribelle blared. She was growing increasingly distressed with each passing moment.

“How?” Mesmer shot back uncaringly. “What is seventy-odd years in the imperfect land of Equestria compared with an infinite number of years in a land of perfection? And so, with this line of thinking, the mare slaughtered the children, desperate to save them from going to hell.”

“Hang on,” Elsie said. “I thought murder was considered the ultimate sin? Wouldn’t she be sending herself to hell in the process?”

“Exactly,” Mesmer said. “She sends herself to hell, but she saves many others whom she cares about. Inflicting the ultimate punishment on herself – an unimaginable existence of pain and torture – for the sake of others. True kindness requires sacrifice. If her actions allowed her entry into heaven, there would be no sacrifice. In that sense, you could say that she truly embodies the Ultimate Kindness.”

“How awful!” Maribelle cried, her eyes reddened and glassy. “You speak of nothing but cruelty and madness! No creature would ever do such a thing!”

“Actually,” Inky interjected, lifting her head from the paper she’d been poring over with absolute scrutiny. Her expression was taut and serious. “What Mesmer’s describing isn’t anything new. There’ve been plenty of reports throughout history of mothers who kill their own kids for that exact reason. Often it’s because of an outsider, maybe a significant other, maybe something else, that they consider to be a bad influence, so they kill their kids before they can be corrupted. It’s been well documented.”

Maribelle didn’t reply. She merely shut her eyes forcefully and held onto Button, whose expression was one of confused wonder.

“How very… ahem, astute,” Sanscript said anxiously. “You r-really do know your stuff, Miss Slinger.”

“Thanks,” Inky replied with a brief shrug. “But couldn’t you try chatting me up some other time? All this talk of dead children and torture doesn’t really set the mood.” Her expression was deadpan.

“Q-quite right! I apologize!” Sanscript said bashfully, bowing his head.

“We don’t know if your theory is true,” Dish Panner pointed out. “It’s all just speculation. What’s to say that this ‘hell’ she wrote about is the literal hell mentioned in religious texts? It could mean something else entirely.”

“Then what?” Sanscript asked. “Could the mare have known about this killing game? Could it be that the children of the care center were destined to become involved in one, so she took action?”

“That’s a terrifying thought,” Lancet said, her face pale. “Is our existence here really a hell that is worse than death?”

“Doctor Scalpel,” Dopple began. “That’s a dangerous line of thinking.”

“But you saw what happened to Shetland,” Lancet replied ominously. “Was his fate, really, truly, better than dying in his sleep?”

“This is a disaster,” Mesmer said, shaking his head. “If you give in to such fears you are only hindering the efforts to get out of this place.”

“Pfft,” Yoko chided, giving Mesmer a sour, disappointed look. “Because you’re doing so much to keep us in good spirits, right? And how much headway have you made in getting us out of here? Huh? Genius?”

“In actual fact,” Mesmer said, “I do have an idea or two.”

“Well then, let’s hear it!” Yoko said, crossing his forehooves. “Tell us all so we can get out of here.”

Mesmer sighed annoyedly. “It’s not that simple. If I go running my mouth it’ll be easy for the mastermind to plan ahead and stop us. I dare say we’d only get one chance, and I plan to make it count.”

I eyed Mesmer closely. Could he really have figured a way out of here? I wondered. Or is he just trying to instill hope so we don’t go crazy? Or is he hoping he’ll find a way out eventually?

“Pu-hu-hu-hu!” Monobunny clutched at his chest, cackling like an evil witch. “For anyone to think they’ve found a way out of the dome in just a few days is kind of amusing. But also sad, very tragic and sad. Not that–”

“I have a question,” Inky interrupted, looking straight at Monobunny. “This article. Which publication was it originally printed in?”

“Ah, now that one I can answer. It’s from the Canterlot Standard!”

Inky looked back over the article for a brief moment before firmly placing it on the table and sitting back, her forelegs crossed. “No.”

“What do you mean, no!?”

“As in, no, it’s not from the Canterlot Standard,” Inky said diplomatically.

“Wait,” Copper asked. “You mean you’ve seen this article somewhere else before? You should have told us!”

“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Inky said. “But the typography here is all wrong. The type of ink used, the letter spacing…”

“You are aware this is just a copy of the article, not the genuine article? Pun very much intended!”

“I know that, dipshit,” Inky said dismissively. “The type of paper used is completely different. That doesn’t mean there isn’t some measure with which I can analyze it. When you say copy, you mean a direct copy, right? Not a re-written sample that’s been manipulated?”

“Well, no…” Monobunny squirmed uncomfortably. “The only alteration is the blanking out of certain names and information. Other than that, it’s a direct copy, everything to scale.”

“Then it’s not Canterlot Standard,” Inky repeated. “The layout, the ink spreads on the pictures… The font is virtually identical, but I say virtually, not entirely. Whether that was caused by the copying process, I don’t know, but there are some tiny differences. I have possibly the best eyesight in all of Equestria and over the years I’ve learned to trust it. The only way I’m wrong is if your copying process is beyond shoddy, which kind of calls your claim into question. Either that or, like I said, it’s not from the Standard. Either way, for someone who claims to always speak the truth, you’ve just given out false information.”

It seemed I wasn’t the only one taken aback by Inky’s newfound attitude. Sanscript looked on as if he were witnessing an otherworldly event, making an audible gulp in the process. Now I understood how someone so carefree could be the Ultimate Reporter. I could see now that when it was necessary, she could buckle down and take on her work with an astounding level of scrutiny and diligence.

“As much as you might protest, I still stand by my original comments. This is one hundred percent an article from the Canterlot Standard and the copying procedure is extremely accurate.”

“Then you’re being lied to,” Inky said matter-of-factly. “Honesty doesn’t always mean truth; that’s an important lesson that reporting will teach ya.”

“I don’t claim to be all-seeing and all-knowing,” Monobunny said, sounding genuinely irate, “but you would do better than to criticize where I get my information from.”

“Inky,” Mesmer said, appearing unusually tense. “Are you absolutely positive of this?”

“I already said I was,” Inky said, rolling her eyes. “I’d know a Canterlot Standard article from a mile away. Don’t know what to make of this article now.”

Mesmer’s reaction was disturbing, to say the least. Ever since arriving in the dome he had been careful and deliberate in his movements, his voice unshaken, his eyes cold and piercing. But for just a short while this behavior fell, and fell hard. As the others began engaging in new conversations, deliberating on the validity and meaning of the article, I watched him. His eyelids began to flutter erratically, his eyes darting about the place, his pupils dilated. His jaw was clenched, raising his cheekbones. He shivered several times, barely raising his hooves. And all throughout this I could feel that he was doing everything in his power to stay calm, to hold back the terror that was overtaking his body. I locked eyes with him for a mere second, and that’s when I knew. He had figured something out, something big. And for whatever reason, it was Inky’s statement, not the article itself, that had done it.

I’d also come to a realization of my own. It had happened while reading through the article a third time as everyone else was bickering. An apparently throwaway line existed in the article that nobody had brought up. It stated that the murderous mare had suffered a bout of trauma at a young age, one in which she was supposedly tortured. According to the records, nothing had happened to her. There was no evidence of said torture, just her own claims. I tried to imagine the scenario, a young filly desperately crying about a horrific experience but nobody believing her, chalking it up to mere paranoid delusion. Then as time goes on she eventually comes to accept this ‘truth,’ that she’d just imagined it. And so she gets on with her life and never goes crazy again. That is, until one day she murders the ones she loves most in cold blood. Once I thought of it as such, the answer was as clear as day.

“I j-just need to use the r-restroom,” Mesmer said abruptly. “I think we’ve gleaned all we can f-from this futile exercise.” He walked slowly, almost cautiously through the center of the room. “We should get back to finding an escape route as soon as possible. I’ll be back shortly,” he said as he left.

“Good riddance,” Elsie said, just above a whisper. “Everything that stallion says freaks me out. And to think, he fancies himself as our leader.”

“That’s rather unfair,” Dopple said, looking concerned.

“I don’t know why you trust him,” Elsie replied haughtily, adjusting her glasses. “He–”

“I have to go too!” I exclaimed, clambering from my seat. “I… I need to use the restroom also.”

The room was eerily silent as I left. They all probably knew I was lying. I didn’t care. I wanted to speak to Mesmer. No, I felt I needed to. I barreled down the hallway towards Mesmer’s room, catching him just in time before he reached his door. I knew it then, despite his plodding, calm walking speed in the dining hall, he had charged like a bull the moment he was out of sight.

“Mesmer!” I cried out, catching my breath. His back was to me, his right hoof reaching for the keycard around his neck. “Mesmer, I need to check something.”

“What?” He still kept his back to me. “Be mindful of what you say.”

“I think I figured out the article.”

Mesmer remained still and silent for a few seconds before turning to me. He looked – almost – back to his old self. “Speak. But do not reveal all.”

I didn’t understand why he was so adamant about keeping information secret. But I assumed he must have known something that gave him a very good reason. So I played along. “The bit in the article, the previous trauma she had.”

“Yes.”

“The one responsible is also–”

“So you figured that out.” Mesmer exhaled slightly. I understood then that he knew. I needn’t say another word. Whoever was responsible for the mare’s trauma, whoever had tortured her at a young age, had made contact with her again on the day of the massacre. ‘Hell’ was what she had experienced, at least in her own mind. The perpetrator of that ‘hell’ had threatened to do the same to everyone in the care center. No, more than that, their fate would be worse, far worse than what the mare had already suffered. A being sadistic enough to plant a seed in the mind of such a kind mare, only to watch with glee at all the suffering they caused. A being sadistic enough to devise a killing game like the one we were in right now.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I asked. “You went off on a tangent. You didn’t even mention–”

“Why do you think?” Mesmer asked condescendingly. “For all your apparent puzzle-solving abilities you can be an absolute moron. I’m hoping you didn’t tell them before coming here.”

I shook my head, rather incensed but also understanding of Mesmer’s insult.

“Good. So, anything else?”

I took a deep breath and swallowed. My throat was dry. If anything’s going to send him into a blind rage, this might be it. But I need to know… “Something scared you in there, and... I think I know what it is.”

Mesmer’s eyes narrowed. He took two steps towards me, menacingly. “If that’s true then you may just need to bite your tongue, otherwise I’ll remove it for you.”

I shuddered, but spoke anyway. “Monobunny lied,” I said. “Is that what you were thinking?”

Mesmer’s intimidating face faded ever so slightly. He looked somewhat perplexed. “Explain.”

“I remember you saying that if Monobunny didn’t always tell the truth then all hope was lost. I thought maybe that’s what you believed, and that’s what worried you.”

Mesmer uttered a small sigh and closed his eyes. “No.”

“So then, what is it?”

“I’ll never tell,” Mesmer said, moving towards his door again. “And I hope nobody else figures it out either. I’m not absolutely sure that I’m correct; it’s still just a theory at this stage. But if it’s true, it makes a whole lot of sense.” He unlocked his door and pushed it open. “Greyscale?”

“Yeah?”

“The next time you figure something out, don’t go running to tell someone, not even me. You stop and you think. Then you think some more. You only share that information if it’s absolutely necessary. When I said you were a bad detective, this is exactly what I was talking about.” Mesmer lowered his voice. “And forget what I told you before, because there is always hope.” With that he slammed the door shut and left me with nothing but my own thoughts.

I walked back to the dining hall to have Yoko and Copper intercept me, checking how I was. Yoko, because he thought I was troubled, and Copper, because she was wary of Mesmer, and had correctly predicted that I’d raced after him. I told them I was fine. Honestly, having others care about me was uplifting. But I also felt a deep pang of apprehension. For even as Mesmer spouted such an inspiring mantra, his expression bore nothing but unbridled terror and hopelessness.