Ch.22: The Gala Preparation

The Thorne Charity Gala was an annual event where the city’s elite gathered to congratulate themselves on their generosity while drinking champagne that cost more than my student loans.

The house was transformed. The sterile silence was replaced by the chaotic buzz of caterers, florists, and lighting technicians. The great hall was draped in white silk, and a massive ice sculpture of a DNA helix dripped slowly onto a bed of oysters.

I stood in the nursery, buttoning the stiff collar of my new uniform. Thorne had insisted on it. A dove-grey dress with a white apron. It looked like something out of a Victorian nightmare.

"You look the part," Thorne said from the doorway.

I spun around. He was wearing a tuxedo, his hair slicked back, looking every inch the benevolent savior. But I knew what was under that suit. I knew about the scalpel in his pocket and the blood on his hands.

"What part is that?" I asked, smoothing the apron.

"The devoted caretaker. The face of the Foundation's success."

He walked into the room, inspecting Daisy. She was dressed in a white lace gown that made her look like a doll. Or a sacrifice.

"Tonight is important, Mara," he said, adjusting the bow on Daisy's dress. "The Senator is here. The Board is here. We need donations to fund the next phase of research."

"You mean the next phase of harvesting," I said quietly.

He smiled, a tight, warning expression. "Careful. The microphones are live."

He pointed to the lapel of my dress. A small, black pin. A microphone.

"You're going to walk through that ballroom with Daisy. You're going to smile. You're going to tell the donors how she's thriving. How the Foundation saved her."

"And if I tell them the truth?"

"Then I push a button," he said, tapping his phone. "And the ventilation system in the nursery switches from air to nitrogen. It's painless. She'll just go to sleep."

My blood ran cold. He had rigged the room.

"You're a monster."

"I'm a visionary. Now, smile."

He opened the door, gesturing for me to precede him.

The ballroom was a sea of black ties and diamonds. As we entered, the conversation died. All eyes turned to us. To Thorne, the genius. To me, the prop. To Daisy, the miracle.

Flashbulbs popped, blinding me.

"And here she is!" Thorne announced, his voice booming. "The child who defied the odds. The living proof of the Chronos Protocol!"

Applause thundered.

I walked through the crowd, my face frozen in a rictus of joy.

"She's beautiful," a woman in emeralds cooed, reaching out to touch Daisy's hand. "So alert."

"Yes," I said, the lie tasting like ash. "She's doing wonderful."

"Dr. Thorne is a saint," a man said, clapping Thorne on the back.

"A saint," I echoed.

I caught Leo's eye across the room. He was standing by the bar, dressed in a waiter's uniform—our inside man. He gave me a barely perceptible nod.

The plan was simple. While I distracted Thorne with the 'Happy Nanny' act, Leo would slip into the study and plant the listening devices we had rigged from old baby monitors. We needed audio of Thorne admitting to the harvesting.

But I couldn't look at Leo. I had to look at Thorne. I had to look adoring.

"Smile, Mara," Thorne hissed in my ear as we posed for another photo. "Show them the dream."

I squeezed Daisy tighter. She squirmed, sensing my tension.

"I'm smiling," I whispered back.

I looked directly into the camera lens. I wasn't smiling for them. I was baring my teeth.

I have to smile for the cameras while planning a murder.