Chapter Seven
"solutions"

❣︎

I stand in front of Vince, waiting patiently until he's done talking to the man next to him: Emory. Jorge and Frypan's teammate. He asked me to meet him here. Said he wanted to discuss something.

"Adelaide, hi." He turns to me. "Thank you for coming."

I nod and lift an eyebrow.

"Alright, so, we need to find a solution to your mutism. We have communication devices, but those won't work out for you. It's important you can communicate with other teams and your teammates in dangerous situations. Paper won't work out during those situations."

I nod again.

"I have a few things left to discuss with Jorge, though. I asked Emory," he motions at the bald man next to him, "to go through the options with you."

I nod and hurry after the man, whose long legs cause him to walk fast. We enter the Main Base, then a smaller room: the one with the TV. There's two chairs now, directly across from each other. He waits for me to sit down before he does so himself.

"So," he sighs out, "is it selective or organic?"

I hold up two fingers, as in 'both'.

"Organic?"

I shake my head. My eyes flicker around, already desperate for a piece of paper.

"Both?"

I nod.

"How does that work?"

My body stills. How does he expect me to explain?

"Whatever," he mutters once he realizes I won't speak. "Vince recommended a phone to send messages with, but we haven't gotten our hands on one yet. Obviously, we won't wait to start the mission just because you don't have a phone. It's not an option yet. Creating something to speak the words inside your brain aloud will take months. To be honest, the only possible solution is that you speak."

Even though everything inside of me runs cold, I remain motionless. And eventually, I shake my head.

"It's selective, isn't it? Partly selective. You're able to speak just fine."

Again, I shake my head.

Emory sighs deeply and leans back in his chair. "Look," he says, his voice calm but firm, "I'm not here to pressure you. But you have to understand the situation we're in. We're fighting for survival out there, Adelaide. We can't afford miscommunication. If you can speak, even a little, you have to try."

I shake my head again, even heavier. I clasp my hands together on my lap to keep them from trembling.

"I'm not saying this to be cruel," Emory continues, "I'm just being realistic. Writing on paper is great when you're in the base, but when you're out there, face-to-face with danger, you won't have time to scribble notes. And if your team doesn't know what's going on because you can't tell them—"

He cuts himself off, sighing. I stare at the floor, my heart pounding.

"You seem smart. And I can tell you're tough, or Vince wouldn't trust you with this mission. But whatever this thing is—whether it's fear, trauma, or something else—it's going to put you and everyone else in danger if you don't find a way to manage it."

Before I can shake my head again, he says, "So tell me something. Just a word. Let's see how bad it is and whether it's fixable or not."

My eyebrows scrunch. I swallow my tears away, shaking my head–

"Everyone here has scars. Everyone here has suffered. You don't get a free pass because you're too scared to open your mouth," he snaps, his patience gone.

I flinch. Shake my head. I don't want to be the one that ruins everything. The smallest whisper leaves my mouth.

His eyebrows fly up and he leans forward. "What was that?"

"Okay," I whisper, so soft that I barely hear it, apart from the rasp. Air tickles the insides of my throat, resulting in a cough. It's like a blade, sending shockwaves of pain through my ribs and lungs. Feels like dragging sandpaper across my throat.

It tickles, and another cough escapes–until it turns into a whole fit.

I press a trembling hand to my chest, as if I can hold the pain together, but the coughs keep coming, one after another, until my vision blurs and my head spins. The air feels like fire, and the harder I try to catch my breath, the more it hurts.

Finally, the fit dies down, leaving me gasping and hunched over. Each inhale drags like broken glass.

When I lift my head, my eyes sting with tears I hadn't realized were falling. I blink them away quickly.

"Can't even whisper a simple 'okay'," he mutters judgingly as he stands up. "I don't think you're right for this mission, to be honest. What if you get another one of those coughing fits in the middle of the night? You'll attract every damn Grayshade on the island."

I nod, staring at the ground.

"You can go now."

Another nod while I get up, reaching for the door handle. It opens before I can.

Minho.

He stands in the hallway, his arms crossed, face of stone. He doesn't even look at me, so I just slip past him.

"What the hell was that?"

I stop, frozen, but I don't turn around.

Emory's voice follows. "Nothing you need to worry about. She's not fit for the mission, that's all."

There's a beat of silence, and then Minho speaks again, "She's stronger than half the people we've got here, and you're calling her out because of a cough?"

"Stronger?" Emory laughs, a low, mocking sound. "She can't even say a word without falling apart. We're not running a charity here. If she can't handle herself, she's a liability. End of discussion."

I slowly look at Minho, shocked as he stands up for me.

"Adelaide's been through more shit than you'll ever understand, and she's still here."

Emory snorts. "Look, I'm just being realistic. She's a risk, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you just because you've got a soft spot for her."

"A soft spot? Me?" He scoffs bitterly. "Not a chance."

Emory slams the door closed before Minho can say something else. Silence falls between the two of us.

I stare at him, questioning.

"I'm sorry for how I acted," he mumbles shamefully. "I... eh, my best friend has the same story as you, except he didn't survive. I guess I was angry about that and indirectly blamed you."

Understandingly, I nod, and smile a bit, telling him it's okay.

"You're still a bit scary, though."

My smile widens. I hold up a finger and pretend to write, asking for a pen.

"Just use my back. I'll guess the letters. Free massage for me." He spins around. My cheeks hurt from smiling as I do as he says.

After way too long, he guesses what I'm trying to say. "What was my friend's name?"

I nod.

"Ben."