Page 37 of The Honeymoon Hack
The Grotto buzzed with pre-caffeinated employees shuffling around in pajamas and fuzzy slippers. It felt like a dorm cafeteria—people clutching coffee mugs like life preservers, someone in Star Wars pajamas shuffling past, the general air of people preparing for a new day.
Other workers were more alert, dressed in their Mnemis-logo shirts, eating sandwiches and salads rather than bacon and eggs, clearly from different shifts.
I grabbed some scrambled eggs, toast, and a juice bottle, then began the hunt for the perfect table. There had to be something isolated from the chatty people, closer to those focused on their phones. As I dodged around a man with a green lanyard, I lost control of my tray. I saved it before the eggs went everywhere, but the juice bottle tumbled off the tray.
Straight into the hand of a man at the nearest table, who caught it mid-air without looking.
Rav! Right in front of me, and I’d almost walked past him! How did he do that? Completely failing at hiding my smile, I said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He held out the juice bottle, his voice remarkably neutral. “Pierre Tremblay.”
“Brie Stone,” I replied, accepting the bottle. At least I didn’t slip on the surname. “Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead.”
I set my tray down and took the seat across from him. Pointing at his ID card—which hung from a lanyard today, unlike the retractable cable he’d worn during our security orientation—I said, “You’re a newbie, too? When did you start?”
“Last week. You?”
“Yesterday. My husband and I just arrived.” I picked at my eggs, trying to look casual. “It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
We made small talk about the facility, its impressive amenities, and how we were adapting to underground living. After a few minutes of establishing our cover as strangers, Rav set down his fork and lowered his voice. “There are cameras in this area, but they’re for emergencies only. Typically, they don’t monitor anything in residential or common areas. Only the data center, checkpoints, and entrances. We can talk, but keep it vague.”
I nodded, relief flooding my system. “Ashley broke her arm.”
He made a noncommittal grunt. “Did you install their app?”
Right. I should have led with that. “It sends your location data, calls, and texts. Don’t access any of your Reynolds stuff with your phone.”
“I played it safe and wiped the phone before I installed.” His expression remained light, but his voice was tight. “Gideon’s briefing missed a lot.”
“Clearly.” I took a sip of juice. “You didn’t call, so I assume you weren’t able to connect to cellular from Little Haven?”
He shook his head. “No signal.”
I leaned forward to grab a salt shaker, lowering my voice even more. “Gideon warned us it would be spotty, but Will brought a phone with satellite capabilities. We should be able to route all of our earpieces through that.”
Before Rav could respond, I caught sight of Claire, moving toward us with her tray.
Avert your eyes. Maybe she’ll sit somewhere else.
“Mind if I join you?” Claire was already pulling out a chair, not waiting for a response. To Rav, she said, “I don’t recognize you. You must be new too.”
“Pierre,” Rav offered, with that slight smile that probably had half the women in the facility swooning. “Started last week. You?”
“I’m Claire. Software support.” She set her tray down next to mine. “How are you settling in?”
“It’s an interesting job,” Rav said, reaching for his coffee. “Still learning people’s names.”
“French, Canadian, or other?” Claire asked.
“Montreal.” He’d been born there and had spent just enough years to cement his faint accent, but he’d lived near us in Halifax since his early teens.
Claire gestured at one of his biceps with her fork, at the dark edge of ink visible below his T-shirt sleeve. “What’s your tattoo?”
Rav pushed his sleeve up to his shoulder to reveal an intricate design with a compass star and an anchor, with a red maple leaf and a blue fleur-de-lis. “It’s a Navy thing.”
“It’s beautiful.” Claire’s eyes lingered on the tattoo. “How long were you in the Navy?”
