Don't Speak, I Know What You're Thinking

Lana stepped out into the common area, her mind still replaying the bizarre events of the night before. The scene with Becca, the arguments, Emma's distress—it all felt like a fever dream, and she was still trying to find her footing in this new reality. She needed a moment to herself, a quiet coffee before the day's inevitable chaos began.

As she walked towards the plaza’s bar area, she saw a figure sitting on one of the stools. It was Lauren, her posture as withdrawn as ever. Lana hesitated for a moment, remembering Lauren's intense discomfort during the argument the night before. But the morning air was calm, and Lauren seemed harmless, almost lost in thought. A small part of Lana, still feeling the lingering empathy from her date with Turner, felt a tug of curiosity. She decided to approach.

"Hey, Lauren," Lana said softly, a small, genuine smile on her face. "Mind if I join you?"

Lauren's head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. She clutched a glass of orange juice, almost as if it were a shield. "Oh. Lana. I... I didn't hear you."

Lana gave her a reassuring smile and pulled up the stool next to her. "It's a quiet morning," she said softly. "How are you doing? I...I saw what happened last night. You looked a little shaken up."

Lauren's grip on her glass tightened. "It was... a lot," she mumbled, her eyes dropping to the countertop. "The fighting...trying to traverse the minefield that is Paige..."

"I know," Lana said with a quiet sigh. "Believe me, I know. It's like... every day is a new level of a game I didn't sign up for, and there's no walkthrough. I'm sorry you had to witness that. Paige can be... a lot."

Lauren offered a small, polite chuckle. "A lot is an understatement. She's... she's a different kind of monster. I almost wish I could go back in time and...see her when we first came here. She was still abrasive, but wasn't..."

"Wasn't actively harmful?" Lana finished with a wry smile.

Lauren let out a small, shuddering breath. "Exactly. It's like... she's not just playing the game anymore. She's just... mean. And it makes me want to just disappear. Like how I used to before...before Kendra changed my history..." She trailed off, her eyes drifting toward the central fountain, a place where she could, in theory, just vanish into the scenery.

"I get it," Lana said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "It's all a lot. I'm trying to figure out what's up myself." She gestured vaguely to her simple but low-cut sleeveless top, a piece from her new, unwanted wardrobe. "It's hard to feel like myself when every day is a new character skin you didn't buy."

"Exactly," Lauren said. She looked down at her hands, clasping and unclasping them around the juice glass. "It's hard to reconcile who I was with who I'm supposed to be now. Like... I remember all the bad stuff, but it feels like it happened to someone else. And the new memories... I'm a completely different person. I have a degree, a career I love, a life I've built. And yet... the fear is still there. The fear of being seen."

Lana nodded slowly, taking in Lauren's words. It was a new level of surrealism. While she herself had new memories of being a girl, they were a substitution, a slow overwrite. Lauren's were a parallel reality, a phantom life that existed only in her mind, and that was a chilling thought. For a few minutes, the only sound was the clinking of ice in Lauren's glass as she swirled her drink absentmindedly and the low hum of the hotel's air conditioning.

"I should... I should get going," Lauren said after letting the silence linger. "I have my date tonight. With Turner."

"Right, I forgot today was your day," Lana recalled. "Y'know, when Kendra revealed the order, I was busy dissecting...whatever was going on with Charlotte and Kathryn and complaining about my low score. What'cha got planned?"

Lauren looked up, faintly smiling. "A... wine-tasting date," she said, her voice a bit more animated than usual. "I know, it's a little cliche, but I thought it might be... nice. A little out of the ordinary."

Lana’s eyes widened slightly. Wine tasting. That sounded adult. It sounded like something a thirty-year-old woman with her life together would plan. It was so completely different from anything she could have imagined herself doing. She had a sudden, vivid memory of herself, just a few weeks ago, obsessing over a new game release. Way different than the...newly mature woman in front of her.

"That sounds... really nice, actually," Lana said sincerely. "Way better than an arcade date, that's for sure."

Lauren chuckled softly, a genuine sound that surprised them both. "That's not particularly my cup of tea," she said, her eyes twinkling. "This is… it’s a good way to see a different side of a person. You can learn a lot about someone over a glass of good wine."

Lana nodded, feeling a twinge of something akin to jealousy. Not for Turner, but for the easy confidence Lauren seemed to be exuding. It was a confidence that stemmed from her new past, her new life, a life that Lana could only imagine.

Well, and a little jealousy when it came to Turner.

The conversation was interrupted by a familiar, high-pitched voice. "Lana! Lauren! Oh my gosh, are you guys talking about date night?!"

Charlotte bounced into view, today deciding to don a pink crop top and jean shorts, which Lana didn't fail to notice was very similar to her own outfit. As she got close enough, she immediately put a hand on both of their shoulders, her bright smile fixed in place. Her cheerleader persona was in full effect.

"You guys look so serious! What's up? Are you planning something amazing?!" she asked, rapid-firing questions as she typically did when her roommate was about to go on a date.

"We were just talking about my date with Turner tonight," Lauren said, her voice a little softer now that she was no longer one-on-one with Lana.

Charlotte's smile widened. "Oh, that's so awesome! I knew it! I just knew you two were planning something! What's the theme? Is it a surprise? I love surprises!"

Lauren chuckled again. "It's a wine-tasting date," she said. "Nothing too crazy."

"A wine tasting?!" Charlotte exclaimed an octave higher than before. "That's so mature! Oh my gosh, that's so perfect for you, Lauren! Like, you're so smart and you know all the cool stuff. Turner is going to be so impressed! Do you have the perfect outfit? Is it a dress? You should totally wear a dress! It'll be so romantic!"

Lana watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and of dread. Charlotte's enthusiasm was a little much, even for her. It was like she was a living, breathing cartoon character.

Lauren seemed to be taking it in stride, however. Her newfound confidence was holding up surprisingly well, and it probably helped that she was roommates with the spunky girl so she was used to dealing with her. "I'm still thinking about it," she admitted. "But thank you, Charlotte. That's really sweet of you to say."

As the three of them sat in silence...well, two of them sat in silence and Charlotte rambled on about something unrelated...Lauren recalled the past night with Turner and how things had ended on a sour note.

"Is he gonna be thinking about that the whole time?" she worried. _"Is he gonna be walking on eggshells the whole time?"- - - - - -

_

Lauren stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the soft fabric of her light gray dress. It wasn’t flashy—fitted just enough to look intentional. It wasn’t the kind of outfit she’d normally wear, but something about it felt right for today. Mature. Controlled. She adjusted her necklace once more before taking a slow breath.

When she stepped out into the hotel lobby, Turner was already there. He was leaning against one of the marble pillars, hands in his pockets, wearing a light button-up shirt and dark jeans. He looked up as soon as she approached, straightening automatically.

“Hey,” he said, smiling gently. “You look… great.”

Lauren smiled back, a little too quickly. “Thanks. You clean up nicely too.”

The air between them was polite—too polite. The memory of their last argument hung invisibly in the space between their words. Neither wanted to touch it, like a shard of glass buried in the carpet.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

"Uh...where is is that we're going?" he asked, too caught up in fretting about last week to remember that he had no idea where they were going.

Lauren smiled faintly, clutching an imaginary purse a little tighter.

“The vineyard,” she said. “It’s apparently on the other side of that mountain over there. I thought it might be a nice...change of pace.”

"Can't say I've ever been a vineyard before," Turner scratched his head. "Even though I grew up in wine country in Virginia."

"Well, definitely a change of pace then," she responded, somewhat matter-of-factly. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," he assented.

Lauren and Turner stepped out into the humid, late-afternoon air. The sunlight had that golden quality that made even the cracked stone path look romantic. Neither of them said much at first—just the steady rhythm of shoes on stone, the distant chirping of birds, and the occasional whistle of the seaside wind twisting through the trees.

Turner glanced sideways at her as they walked; Lauren’s posture was perfect, her stride calm and unhurried, the faintest smile on her lips. She seemed composed—more than she’d been in days. But he noticed the small things, how her hand brushed the side of her dress as if making sure it still fit, how her eyes darted away every time they almost met his.

He wanted to say he was sorry—for the fight, for the words that got tangled last week, for how his frustration had bled into the one person who didn’t deserve it. But the apology caught in his throat, mixed with pride, fear, and uncertainty. After overstepping one too many times last week, maybe silence was safer.

“So,” Turner said finally, his tone lighter than he felt. “This vineyard. How’d you even find it? I didn’t know the island had one.”

Lauren looked grateful for the small talk. “Found it on a walk once,” she said. “I thought it might be… quieter. Less chaos.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Quiet sounds good. This whole week so far...well, it's been a mess.”

The path wound upward into the low hills. As they climbed, the chatter of the plaza gave way to wind and leaves and the faint scent of crushed grapes. The vineyard came into view at the crest—a patchwork of green rows stretching toward the sea, dotted with wooden trellises and a small tasting hall built in pale stone.

Lauren paused at the top, looking out at the view. “I forgot places like this could even exist here,” she said quietly. “Everything else feels… curated. Like it’s all part of the show.”

Turner nodded, stepping up beside her. “This feels real,” he said. “For now, at least.”

That “for now” lingered between them, like a shared secret neither wanted to unpack.

They walked into the tasting hall, a cozy space filled with sunlight and oak barrels. A host greeted them with the smooth professionalism of someone who’d seen a thousand couples before them, then ushered them to a small table by the window. Two glasses, a flight of wines, and a platter of cheeses appeared almost magically.

"Probably is appearing magically," Turner thought, grimacing at the thought of Kendra.

Lauren sat across from Turner, hands folded neatly in her lap as if the pose itself could steady her. She was determined to not make this date awkward, but the matter was out of her hands, it seemed.

Turner swirled the first glass, studying the wine carefully, trying to read something beneath the surface. “It’s almost too perfect,” he said, smiling faintly. “Like someone read a brochure on romantic tension and decided to stage it here.”

Lauren laughed softly. “Seems pretty similar to the rest of this show. Manufactured serenity.”

She lifted her glass, holding it to the light. “Still… it’s nice to pretend, right?”

Turner took a sip, then cleared his throat. “It’s good,” he said, setting the glass down carefully. “A little dry.”

Lauren nodded, grateful for the banality. “You don’t strike me as much of a wine person.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “Kathryn was gonna schedule a trip with me and a couple of the other junior analysts, but that didn't really pan out because, well, inter-dimensional abduction and all that. I just like pretending to know what I'm talking about.”

That earned a small, genuine smile from her. “You don’t have to. I think it’s better when people just say what they taste. Sometimes honesty is the best palate.”

He met her eyes for the first time that evening. The way she had said "honesty"...caught him off guard, hitting too close to the fact they were dancing around what happened. Lauren sensed it too. The memory of their last argument flickered like static: raised voices, the feeling of being misunderstood, the sting of realizing she’d hit a nerve she hadn’t meant to. She looked down quickly, tracing the rim of her glass.

“I didn’t mean to…” she started, then stopped. She didn’t even know what the rest of the sentence was. "Didn’t mean to hurt you? Didn’t mean to be right? Didn't mean to go off like an intercontinental ballistic missile when you just asked if I was okay?"

Turner shifted in his seat. “Hey,” he said softly; not accusatory, just mentally fatigued. “Let’s just… not tonight, okay?”

Lauren nodded bashfully. “Yeah,” she said. “Not tonight.”

They let the conversation drift to safer places: work, the weather, the ridiculousness of Charlotte’s energy that morning. As they talked, the air loosened a little. Turner even laughed—really laughed—when she mimicked Charlotte’s overexcited squeal about the “romantic dress.”

“God,” he said between chuckles, “I missed that.”

“Missed what?”

“You, smiling without thinking about it.”

The words hung there—unplanned, sincere. Lauren blinked, her expression softening. For a heartbeat she didn’t know what to do with the warmth that flickered in her chest.

"Dammit Turner, you can't just say something like that," she scoffed in embarrassment.

Lauren’s scoff came out sharper than she meant, half laughter and half defense. The way she looked down right after, fingers brushing her glass stem, made it clear the reaction wasn’t anger—it was reflex. Turner smiled faintly, recognizing the old pattern between them: both too careful, both afraid that sincerity might reopen a wound.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the nape of his neck as he leaned back in the chair. “That came out cheesier than I meant it to be.”

She shook her head, a quiet chuckle softening the air again. “No, it was… nice. Just caught me off guard.”

Lauren lifted her glass again, turning it slowly between her palms. “You ever think about how strange it is,” she said after a while, “to try and do something normal? Like dates, or small talk, when everything around us is… this?”

Turner followed her gaze out the window. The rows of vines swayed slightly, too symmetrical, too clean. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know part of it is the show, but it’s like the world’s playing along. Pretending right along with us.”

“That’s the worst part,” she murmured. “That it almost feels real enough to believe.”

He nodded, tracing the patterns on the table. “Maybe that’s why I like moments like this. Even if it’s fake, it still feels good to sit somewhere quiet. No confident ex-girlfriends making enemies with everyone, no overzealous problem-solvers trying to solve the problem of a manic host's magic. Just…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Peaceful.”

Lauren let out a soft breath, letting the word settle. “Peaceful,” she repeated. It felt strange, and almost foreign, to say it aloud.

For a while, they simply sipped, letting the vineyard hum around them. The quiet was almost oppressive in its own way; Lauren’s eyes kept darting to Turner, then away, as though testing him, weighing whether she could trust herself to speak first, to bridge the gap left by last week’s argument.

Finally, she sighed deeply and murmured, “I keep thinking about… last week.” She didn’t look at him directly. “The fight. I… I don’t want it to… linger.”

Turner’s grip on his glass tensed for a second, then relaxed. “Me neither,” he treaded carefully. “I… I wasn’t… fair, either. I let my impulses get in the way. I know that.”

There it was—the acknowledgment, brief and tentative. Lauren let the corner of her mouth lift, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah,” she said. “Neither of us… I guess neither of us really wanted to hurt each other. But… it’s hard sometimes, huh?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “Hard to know what’s worth saying and what’s not.”

A breeze drifted in through the open window, ruffling Lauren's hair, carrying the faint tang of grapes. Lauren reached for her cheese plate almost instinctively, cutting off a sliver of aged gouda for herself and another for Turner, which he took with a faint smile.

The midday light may have been illuminating the date between Lauren and Turner, but across the island, it didn't help two other people. Sara leaned forward at a table, lunch cooling on a plate untouched. The way she stared at it made Kathryn uneasy — like Sara was trying to find the answer from a bowl of soup.

Kathryn exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple as she approached her roommate. “Unpredictable. Fitting name.”

Sara looked up, unable to know what to say.The silence stretched between them, thick with the awareness of what that meant. Emma, already fragile from her emotional volatility in the previous rounds, could be made to spiral without anyone realizing why. A single offhand word could send her body into uncontrollable reaction — or lock her out of any release, any relief, for an entire day.

Sara tried to sound practical, but there was an edge to her voice. “It's not like we can interfere directly. We can’t even see his word lists. If we act without understanding, we might make things worse.”

Kathryn frowned. “And if we don’t act, Emma gets turned into a test case for random pleasure and punishment. That’s not neutral, Sara. That’s dangerous.”

Sara hesitated, staring at the sunlight tracing across the countertop. “There’s a chance it balances out, though. Maybe it gives Turner a kind of fail-safe.”

Kathryn gave her a sharp look. “A fail-safe for him, maybe. Not for her. We can override her body’s state with a single word, even accidentally. Did you even see what happened last night?”

Sara didn’t argue this time. She just leaned back, folding her arms, her expression heavy with resignation.

After a long silence, she finally asked, “What do we even do? We’ve hit the same wall every time.”

Kathryn closed her eyes. “Then maybe we stop trying to control the system. Maybe we study her. Track her responses, word by word. Find the pattern Turner can’t see.”

Sara eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not suggesting we keep track of every word we say around her.”

Kathryn nodded. “What other option do you see, Sara? If we know how the words land, maybe we can anticipate what not just this round, but the next will do.”

Sara considered that, reluctantly softening. “I mean, I guess-.”

"Wait, I forgot, the words are all random," Kathryn interrupted sullenly. "So we're never gonna find some sort of fucking pattern. Forget I said anything."

"So you're suggesting we do nothing?" Sara incredulously asked. "After what happened to her yesterday, you want to leave her to chance, with people like Paige running rampant?"

Kathryn’s jaw tightened. “No,” she said, voice low. “I’m saying we stop pretending we can outsmart chaos.”

Sara stared at her, frustration flickering behind her calm demeanor. “That’s not chaos, Kathryn. That’s cruelty wearing a coin flip.”

Kathryn didn’t respond immediately. She was too aware of the hum of the wind, the distant sound of chatter from outside, the reminders that the rest of the island went on as usual, as though one of them wasn’t quietly breaking down.

She ran a hand through her hair. “Emma’s strong, but this is… different. It’s not something you can reason through or fight against. It’s random. And the more we try to solve it, the more attention we draw to it. You know how she gets when she thinks she’s being managed.”

Sara’s tone softened. “Then what? We just… keep her calm and pray Turner doesn’t say the wrong word?”

Kathryn let out a small, humorless laugh. “It's not a matter of Turner saying the wrong word. He at least knows what they are. It's the other ten of us I'm worried about.”

"So you just want to drop it because it's random," Sara summarized, hands on her hips. "Is that what they do in the Department of Defense? Do-"

"NCTC, actually," Kathryn corrected out of instinct.

"Doesn't matter," Sara flippantly waved her hand. "Do you just give up on some random problem just because it involves random variables? Isn't your whole career built on finding patterns in the noise?"

Kathryn’s expression didn’t change, but something in her tightened. “You think this is the same as my old job?” she said quietly. “At least in war, the chaos had a map. You can see warning signs for when someone's planning on carrying something out. Those actually had visual representations.”

Sara crossed her arms, trying to keep her anger measured. “And this doesn’t? Because it’s about Emma instead of strategy on a board?”

Kathryn sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because she’s not a system. She’s a person who’s being rewritten every time someone opens his mouth.”

Sara’s voice cracked slightly. “So what—she just learns to live like that? That’s your solution?”

Kathryn finally looked up, meeting her gaze. “No. My solution is that we stop pretending we can save her by guessing the pattern of a dice roll. We take care of her when she falls, not by thinking we can keep her from tripping.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile this time — it was tired. The kind of exhaustion that came from caring too much in a situation designed to punish that care.

After a long pause, Sara said softly, “You ever wonder if that’s the point? To make us stop trying?”

Kathryn looked toward the window, the sunlight cutting her expression in half. “After what we did with Becca? All the time.”

Sara leaned back, exhaling shakily. “Then what do we do right now?”

Kathryn thought for a long time before answering. “We stay close. If Emma starts acting off, we keep her grounded. We were able to do it once, despite the actions of...people. We can do it again.”

Sara’s eyes softened, though her voice carried a note of irony. “For someone who doesn’t believe in control, that sounds a lot like a plan.”

Kathryn’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I believe in control. Have you even met me before? The only people here who are bigger control freaks than I am are Becca and Paige. I'm just...I know this isn't something controllable.”