Swim Away

Under The Night Lights

"Dinner, he says," you mumbled, rummaging through your closet, "Put on something fancy, he says."

There was no line mentioning about 'exclusive dinner with Higher Ups so please bring your fanciest outfit along' in the site, how could you know you should've packed something more formal than beach suit and t-shirts?

The best thing you could do right now is a pair of faded jeans and a dress shirt, and even with them you still look too lame for any formal event.

"Ugh, too plain," you told the mirror, eyebrows pinched together. You're no trendsetter, but there's no way you'd show up to 'three-piece suit' Megatron and 'shiny slicked hair' Optimus in this. You need to add more bling.

Hmm. Bling. Your silver necklace is pretty old, but it's still good. That'd do.

You went over to your table, pulling open the drawer. Ever since you discovered that book, your guts have been telling you to be more secretive.

For some reason, you don't feel safe putting the necklace in your suitcase or closet, as those two are the most obvious place to be searched. So, you put it to the deepest corner of the drawer, taped with a thin transparent tape

that is already off your necklace.

You stare at the tape at the corner of the drawer for some more, almost pulling the drawer off its place. The thin piece of transparent sticky thing is flat on the wooden surface now, and the necklace is sitting on it.

The position is correct, but the tape is not. Someone had pulled it out of your drawer while you're not here.

Someone had been in your room.

The tape is there because you're still cautious about your findings—it meant as an indicator of whether someone went through your room or not. With coldness coiling in your guts, you glance over your pillow.

From glance alone, it's still as stuffed as you left it. Creativity came at the very last moment, and with sudden sewing skill you improved in a minute, you dig out the cotton bits inside and buried the little book along with your brick phone—and it fooled whoever went through your stuff, as both of the items still in that cushion.

This is why they invite you over for dinner.

You hug the fluffy thing, feeling the poking edges of both the phone and the note as your body limps with dread. The shell-shaped waiter bell doesn't look as innocent as the first time you noticed it.

The fact that they knew what you took, and by sheer dumb luck, they haven't found out whatever they're looking for means you have no surveillance camera in here.

You look into the mirror one more time. A paled face looks back, and you know what to do.

With cold sweat on your back and shaking hands in your pockets, you head out to the lifts.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner is supposed to be at the first floor, closer to the main kitchen and a lighted majestic pool for the view, but the higher-ups are having dinner at the rooftop so they won't be taking extra places for the guests.

How considerate, you thought grimly. They put you apart from the other guests; isolating you under the guise of 'an apology for all misfortune that had happened lately'.

But could you be the only guest? You ask yourself as you stare at the finformer painting above you. Surely you won't be the only one who's noticing all the weirdness around you. Four days of itinerary and there have been multiple accidents happening–you'll be disappointed if a journalist like Cindy or as critical as Sonya would let this unnoticed.