Skylar starts crying. “I’m not . . . I don’t meet with the group, I didn’t do the box thing, I didn’t know why they needed that address and believe me, Allen is like, really freaked out and I’m freaked out and—”

“Skylar. Did SAAR leave that fucking mannequin outside my apartment?”

Skylar furrows her brow, throwing her hands up.

“Did they call me? Did they leave that thing? DID THEY?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kierk says. “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

Skylar nods, sobbing too much now to talk.

Carmen considers for a moment. She gets on one knee in front of Skylar, catching her gaze.

“You’re never going to tell anyone about this. Are you?”

Skylar emphatically shakes her head.

“You mention anything to SAAR, we tell everyone about your involvement. Your education will be effectively over.”

Skylar emphatically nods her head.

“Well, then you’re free to go.”

She bolts from her desk, muffling a cry, and they hear her hurried flight out into the labyrinth of the CNS.

“Well, that’s that.” Kierk says, watching where she exited.

“So it wasn’t them.” Carmen shakes her head. She’d been so sure . . .

“Well, we still don’t know for certain.”

“She wasn’t lying. I mean, she’s underplaying her involvement with SAAR but she’s not lying about the lack of connection to Atif. Or what happened to me. Like with Atif . . . If you had anything to do with murdering someone on Friday, why risk a break-in the next day just to get some photos? No, it doesn’t make sense . . .”

“Someone could have taken things into their own hands,” Kierk offers, hesitant. “And the mannequin . . . I mean, maybe the same person?”

“I don’t know . . .” she says, still gazing at the doorway. She looks down at her phone and its new gallery of photos. “No. I don’t think so. But at least we falsified one theory. That’s progress.”

In her mind she’s reordering what she considers possible, probable. Both of them are silent for a long moment, considering.

“I have your notebook, by the way,” she finally says, turning her attention to him, one finger going out to catch in his jeans.

“Oh really.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are we done investigating for the day?”

“Well, we could make our way back to my hotel room.”

“Well . . . Maybe we should go there.”

“Just to pick up the notebook?”

“Oh sure. Of course. Why else?”