EVENTUALLY, THEY PULLED themselves back to their feet and through the autonomous, free-standing steel Door that led to the briefing room. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to find everyone seated around the table, presumably waiting for them to return, but it still made Jo bristle nonetheless.

Before Snow or anyone else could say anything about them wasting time, Jo dropped into her seat with an overly dramatic huff.

“I know we didn’t clear it with team mom first.” Jo shot a glance to Eslar. “But I didn’t use any time and Takako barely used two minutes, so there’s nothing to worry about, all right?”

Snow wasn’t the only one who seemed surprised by her outburst, but he was the only one she locked eyes with, willing him to argue, to fight. But mostly she was just hoping to see a crack in his otherwise carefully constructed facade.

It hadn’t even been hours since she’d been lying in his bed, reveling in the feel of his arms around her, his lips against hers. How had everything gone to shit so quickly? When a momentary stare-off provided barely more than a flicker of recognition from the man, Jo looked away, feeling something cold and heavy drop into the pit of her stomach.

Maybe this was what Wayne had been trying to warn her about? Pursuing the possibility of romance with any member of the Society was only going to complicate things, and Snow? It was an infinitely trickier balance. She couldn’t hold onto him now with the same emotional grip she’d clutched him with in bed. She had to pull herself together and draw some demarcation lines in her mind and heart or things would go from merely complex to ugly, fast.

“Even if your moments beyond the Door were without lost time—” Snow eventually picked up the pre-derailed conversation and put them back on track. “I assume it was also without purpose. What we need more than tantrums is a course of action.”

Jo opened her mouth to defend their spontaneous field trip, but one look from Takako kept her silent. She didn’t look chastised, nor regretful, but rather accepting of her decision. Swallowing back her argument, Jo nodded, trying her best to accept the fact herself: Takako was truly a mature and admirable individual to be composed, even when hurting so completely and being chastised for merely letting out some of that pain.

“Fine, fine, okay,” Jo said, sitting up straight and looking at each member of her team in turn. They hadn’t failed yet; there could still be a missing piece to the jigsaw puzzle hidden beneath the great, despair-shaped couch cushions. . . or something. They just couldn’t give up hope, couldn’t stop searching. “So what have we done so far? And what can we do different in forty-eight hours?”

“Both very good questions.”

When all eyes followed the interjection to the double doors of the briefing room, it was to find Pan leaning against the frame, fingers linked behind her head and feet crossed lazily at the ankles.

“Time’s a ticking, you know,” she said, using one of her knuckles to tap a rhythm against the wood that seemed eerily accurate to the width of a precise second. “What exactly are you going to do?”

Pan let her hands drop then, turning towards the room with a flutter of long, obnoxiously bright pink fabrics. And the dress wasn’t the only thing bright and obnoxious about her ensemble today. Beneath the dress were blue- and purple-striped hose cut off at the knee by white gogo boots, and atop her head, her hair sat in two elaborately curled pigtails dyed an unnaturally iridescent gold.

The contrast of such bright colors intermingling with such a somber conversation left Jo feeling almost disjointed, off-kilter, and particularly annoyed. Not just for the unwelcome presence, but for the teasing lilt of Pan’s voice, the obvious smirk on her lips. How she’d managed to put herself together in such a way eluded Jo. What made it all worse, was that she didn’t exactly look like someone trying to update them on their time; she looked like someone eager to gloat over just how little they had left.

Or, gloat over that she’d known what had been coming all along, a tiny and very suspicious voice whispered in the back of Jo’s mind. But such a thing was impossible. . . at least, Jo thought it was impossible.

“So?” Pan raised an eyebrow at the room, though her gaze seemed to settle lazily on Jo for a moment. Maybe she just imagined it, but either way, it left Jo’s pulse racing.

“Just because the prime minister shed doubt on the findings doesn’t make them any less true.” Wayne picked them back up before Pan could rile them further. Though Jo didn’t miss the way the woman-child’s smirk morphed into a rather uncomfortable looking grin as the conversation resumed. “The populace, and more importantly the scientists, still have their proof. Can’t just brush that under the rug, right? The news pundits are already picking up on the fact, calling out the PM for what he’s doing.”

“In essence, we’re not dealing with scientific findings anymore,” Jo chimed in, following his train of thought and trying desperately to ignore the way Pan settled herself elegantly into her seat, watching them all with an intrigue bordering on sly amusement. “We’re dealing with public knowledge?”

“We already tried convincing the country,” Samson added, voice small and unsure, but trying. Everyone was trying. “But that didn’t work out so well. . . Plus, they’re on our side, right? Because of that proof?” He seemed to need to talk himself in a circle in order to spiral towards a conclusion. “So, so, maybe we don’t need to convince them anymore. Maybe we only need to focus on one person now.”

“Samson’s right.” Eslar nodded in agreement. “This isn’t about the populace at all anymore; it’s about the prime minister. No matter the proof, no matter the number of citizens who believe, if he continues to deny scientific claims, we have no evacuation.”

“I can convince him.” Nico punctuated the claim by instantly rising to his feet. He looked around the room, even locking eyes momentarily with Pan, but his gaze eventually settled on Snow. His expression was determined, a confidence in his eyes that Jo had never seen before, though she found she wasn’t surprised by it.

While the two men had their mental discussion, the rest of the table focused on Nico.

“Are you sure?” Eslar asked hesitantly.

“I am,” Nico answered with more strength to his voice than Jo had ever heard.

“You’re nuts. . .” Wayne trailed off in disbelief with a shake of his head. “You’ll have, what? Fifteen hours to finish with enough time to get it to him?”

“I’d recommend no more than twelve,” Pan said, lazily investigating her nails.

“I can do it.” Nico continued to speak right to Snow, as though he had been the one asking the question.

Snow returned the Italian’s gaze for a long moment before motioning towards the doors with his chin. “Then go.”

Just as quickly as the claim had been made, Nico nodded and left. “Will twelve hours really be enough?” Jo murmured to no one in particular. And yet her focus drifted from the doors to their leader. She caught a glimpse of sadness, of something like worry etching Snow’s face. But when he caught her staring, he didn’t look away—simply held her gaze, face open and the makings of a tired smile forming before his mask fell back into place once more.

“If anyone can do it, it’s Nico,” Snow said in a surprisingly overt display of confidence.

“He’s got to,” Takako said. As confident as her statement should have been, the lingering quiver beneath gave away the woman’s nervousness.

As if picking up on a cue, Pan chose those words to hop back to her feet, dusting nonexistent wrinkles out of her dress. “Well, we most certainly have faith in our Italian romantic, don’t we?” she said, this time not bothering to look at anyone but Snow. With a twirl of one of her golden pigtails, she cocked her head. This time, there was no way to describe her grin other than “devious.” Maybe even twisted. “Let’s just hope that faith is well-founded. For all your sakes.”

With that, Pan spun on her heel and sauntered out the door. When Jo looked at Snow, hoping desperately for an answer, all she got was his usual blank expression.

“Dismissed,” he said, a simple if not painful demand.

But without question or complaint, they listened, mutually ignoring all things left lingering and unspoken.