Behind The Mask
Zara’s POV
The party naturally fractured as the night deepened. The elders drifted to the rooftop, nursing aged scotch and cigars, their laughter a low rumble as they observed us from above like watchful gods.
A message came, Mr. Everhart wanted me. I slipped away from the music and found him on the rooftop among his circle of old-world friends. I offered smiles, handshakes, polite nods, every gesture perfectly rehearsed.
That’s when I saw it. A man lifted his hand, fingers forming a sign. The same cryptic gesture Dr. Henry had made at the hospital. And he wasn’t the only one, several others mirrored it, subtle but deliberate, like a language whispered in plain sight.