I slid into the empty chair beside my team and immediately leaned over to poke Theo's elbow.
"So," I whispered, "did you sleep at all last night, or did you just stare at your ceiling thinking about all the terrible ways we could die today?"
Theo raised a brow. "Please. I only do that on Wednesdays."
Mira let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh. Hard to tell with her. Her version of laughing was basically… exhaling slightly louder than usual.
"I'm impressed you two can joke at a time like this," she said.
"That's called denial," I replied proudly. "A vital survival skill."
Theo nodded sagely. "One of the many reasons we're still alive. Barely."
Before Mira could add something sarcastic, the door clicked open. Footsteps echoed across the tiled floor, and a man walked in.
I recognized him instantly.
Black hair messily slicked back like he'd tried to look professional and then given up halfway through. Perpetually tired eyes. White lab coat thrown over his Bureau uniform like an afterthought. And a stack of folders under his arm that looked like they were the only thing keeping him upright.
The research department employee from the diner anomaly briefing.
"Oh," Theo murmured, leaning forward. "It's him."
"It is," Mira confirmed softly.
'Great,' I thought. 'If he's giving this briefing too, this is either extremely informative or extremely doomed.'
He didn't look at any of us at first—just approached the front of the room and placed the folders down with a dull thud, the sound of a man who had done this too many times and would do it too many more.
Then he finally glanced up, and his tired expression shifted into recognition.
"…Investigator Weaver," he said. "You're here again."
"Trust me, it wasn't voluntary," I replied.
A faint ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. "I assumed as much."
Theo waved half-heartedly. "Hello, Dr. Arman. You look—"
"Tired?" Arman finished.
"I was gonna say alive, but sure, let's go with that."
"I prefer tired," Arman said, flipping open the first folder. "It's more accurate."
Mira crossed her arms. "You're the one briefing us, then?"
"Yes," he replied. "Because unfortunately, I'm the only one on this floor who's studied Pale Shore's data extensively enough to explain it without causing a panic attack."
"…That's reassuring," I muttered.
"It shouldn't be," he said honestly.
Theo let his head drop onto the table with a groan. "Fantastic. We're all going to die."
"No, you're not," Dr. Arman said, adjusting his glasses.
"Probably."
I blinked. "Probably?!"
He paused. "…Statistically."
Nothing like a little mathematical doom to start the morning.
He cleared his throat and straightened the papers. "Let's begin."
And just like that, the room shifted. Jokes evaporated. Shoulders leveled. Even the air felt heavier.
This was the real start.
"Team Leader Silva briefed you once about Pale Shore," he began, tone shifting into something precise and clinical. He handed each of us a folder. The paper felt cold, almost damp—like the information inside was already contaminated by the anomaly it described.
"But that was a while ago," he continued, "and a few things have changed."
Arman took a seat across from us, the chair squeaking like even it was exhausted. He rubbed the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand.
"There is still no confirmed form or physical state of the anomaly," he said—then paused, as if mentally preparing himself for the frustration of that statement. "Nothing that we can safely document, at least."
"So… we're poking a blind tiger with a stick," Theo summarized.
"An apt analogy," Arman admitted.
He tapped the papers. "But the electromagnetic energy readings have revealed something conclusive. There are—presumably—a total of four cores. One located directly at the shoreline. One near the city center. One somewhere at the far end of the city. And one inside a forested region bordering the eastern perimeter."
He let that sit for a moment.
"Four cores," Mira repeated slowly. "Four."
"Yes."
"And you still don't know what the anomaly looks like?"
"No."
Theo raised a shaky hand. "Follow-up question: how?"
Arman exhaled. "Because everything that gets close enough to view it… stops transmitting clear data. Light, sound, thermals—everything distorts. Even analog recorders get scrambled. We still don't know if that's intentional, a side effect, or something worse."
My stomach tightened.
Something worse.
There was always a "something worse" option.
Arman continued, voice dropping a little. "Since the anomaly appeared, approximately 4,700 out of the city's 40,000 residents have gone missing."
I felt Mira go still beside me.
"Missing," I repeated quietly.
"Yes," Arman said. "Not confirmed deceased. Not confirmed alive. Just… gone."
Theo swallowed audibly. Even he couldn't joke about that.
"Elite Team B and Support Team Two are handling the core on the shore," Arman went on. "Team H and another support unit will target the far-end core."
He looked directly at me then—eyes tired but piercing.
"And Team F… your assignment is to destabilize the core at the city center."
My breath hitched.
'City center.'
'The most populated zone when the anomaly appeared.'
'The largest cluster of disappearances.'
'No wonder Julian accompanied and reassured me earlier.'
"Given the expected duration of the operation," Arman continued, "we've booked accommodations for your team. The mission is expected to last up to two weeks—assuming it is successful."
The room fell silent. Not the casual kind—this was the silence of shared dread.
Theo whispered, "Two weeks inside Pale Shore? Fantastic. My therapist is going to love this."
"You don't have a therapist," Mira reminded him.
"I'm going to get one after this."
Arman set the final sheet down and folded his hands. "Safety instructions. Memorize them. Tattoo them on your skulls if you must."
Theo muttered, "Not ruling it out."
"Always move in groups," Arman said. "Never alone. Do not trust any voice calling your name unless visually confirmed. Do not look directly at reflective surfaces near the core. And do not—under any circumstances—follow anything that resembles a person into fog or shadowed areas."
Do not follow anything that resembles a person.
That phrasing sat wrong.
Very wrong.
I raised my hand slowly. "Define… resembles?"
Arman looked at me.
Dead serious.
"…You'll know."
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I would in fact not know.
He clasped his hands together. "Any questions?"
A dozen came to mind.
None of them felt safe to ask.
So I just said:
"…When do we leave?"
Arman sighed. "As soon as you're ready."
Which, realistically, meant:
Now.
'Great.'