“It’s easy to see it as hate, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” I said. “It’s not that. It’s blame.”

“Blame,” Fume Hood said.

“I don’t think it’s a reflection on you. Humanity is hurt. It’s hurt in a way that makes it a little bit animal. Reactive. They’re snapping at any target that presents itself, because the hurt is fresh. They’re taking that hurt and they’re looking for anyone they can put it onto. You…”

I trailed off.

“We presented ourselves,” Tempera said.

“Not in a bad way,” I said. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I’ll get my water,” Fume Hood said, curt. She didn’t wait for a response, heading into the adjacent room, further from the front of the building.

Once Fume Hood was gone, Tempera nudged Crystalclear. “Keep an eye on them?”

Crystalclear nodded.

Tempera gave me a nod before stepping out the door.

“Is Fume Hood going to be okay?” I asked.

“Who knows?” he asked.

“Trouble still isn’t imminent?”

Crystalclear shook his head. “At least fifteen minutes off. I’m thinking we should go get a better vantage point, see if I can’t spot any troublemakers.”

“Watch out for my guys,” I said.

“Watch out for what?”

I glanced at the door. “Blame.”

“Got it,” he said. “I shouldn’t stick my neck out or draw attention to myself, then?”

“Not unless I’m there.”

“And where will you be?” he asked.

I looked at the other door. The one Fume Hood had taken. “I was thinking I’d get a glass of water. Unless you think that would be overstepping.”

He looked in the direction Fume Hood had gone. His voice was soft as he said, “I have no fucking idea.”

“I’ll catch up with you,” I said, clapping a hand on his shoulder in passing.

The area adjacent to the conference room was a kitchen, set up with multiple stovetops and long counters. Catering-focused, at a glance. The stoves were of different makes and models. Scavenged.

Fume Hood was standing by the sink, a glass of water in hand. She looked at me, her eyes barely visible with the surrounding mask and the overhanging hood.

“Can I grab some water? The bus ride was warm, even with the windows rolled down.”

She filled a glass, then slid it along the counter to me, so it met me halfway as I made my approach.

“What was the plan?” I asked.

“The plan?”

“Corporate? Sponsored? Ideology-driven? There are a lot of those nowadays. Move forward, rebuild, hold to the past, unity in strength, religion…”

“No ideology,” she said. “No sponsorship. No business partnerships. I’m not even sure what we would have done about the money.”

“That can be hard,” I said. I drank my water.

“It wasn’t supposed to be easy.”