6: Piran
Piran
“You never told me you knew about the signal?” Casey said as she sat. She swivelled the chair, rested her arm on the moulded surface of his desk.
He hadn’t wanted any of that faux-wood. He’d been very clear on that. His office should be functional, not attractive. Easy to clean—because they’d repeated how he had to keep it tidy, wanted to use his mind but wouldn’t stretch to any luxuries.
Piran swivelled the three terminals he used, putting them to sleep. He pushed his work-log from his lenses and focused on Casey.
She wanted to talk. Not a chat, but a talk. She wore that white shirt, buttoned to the collar, and the dark grey jacket. Had those unflattering trousers on, had her hair tied back like it was nothing.
He shrugged. “You never asked.”
“I asked if you were u
