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and I steady myself in anticipation—or is it unease?
    “‘May the flowers bloom tomorrow, too,’”  I say, reciting a line from my father’s poetry. A prayer, Dad calls it. A prayer for tomorrows. I keep walking, hoping that tomorrow will bring news of my father, and maybe some clarity about how I feel about Soren.
    And Vale.
    I shove his face out of my mind even as I breathe a silent prayer that his tomorrows bring him here, too.
    We round the corner into what must be the kitchen. Several hundred of us lived at Thermopylae, our old base, but I remember the Director saying only thirty people, give or take those coming and going, live and work at Normandy. The difference in numbers shows in the kitchen. Here wood tables are nearly on top of the oven and stove, and the whole area would have fit in one corner of our dining hall.
    But the kitchen is cozy, and a few people are busying themselves over saucepans smelling of rich garlic and onion, paprika, and chilies. I crane my neck trying to get a glimpse of what’s in the saucepan, but all I can see is a brown mess, some kind of beans. Maybe lentils. My stomach rumbles.
    A short woman sporting an unruly pile of blond hair turns when she hears us enter, and she strides forward. She shakes Eli’s hand vigorously.
    “Adrienne, base captain. Welcome to Normandy.” She clasps each of our hands in turn as we introduce ourselves. “We’re getting a late dinner ready for you, but in the meantime, I want to hear everything. The information we’ve gotten here has been sketchy at best, and we’ve been in limbo since we initiated radio silence after the attack.” She motions us to sit. One of the other cooks brings cups and a pot of hot tea. Adrienne pours as Eli begins talking.
    Eli and Soren recount everything that’s happened. I chime in here and there, but largely, the story is too personal for me, our struggles and traumas sour on my tongue. The discovery of the LOTUS database. The raid that went wrong. Our capture and escape from Okaria. How we found Bear. Vale and Miah’s flight from the Sector. The Black Ops’ attack on Thermopylae. My mother’s death. Hearing the story all over again, I blink back tears as Eli chokes out her name.  Brinn. Mom.
    “I’m so sorry, Remy.” Adrienne’s eyes are glassy, her voice shaky. “I knew your mother well, back in the Sector.” She doesn’t continue, it seems she can’t. Eli reaches for my hand and squeezes.
    “We need to contact Waterloo,” I declare abruptly. “The other half of our group should have arrived there already.”
    “Of course,” Adrienne says, standing quickly, somehow acquiescing to whatever authority and fatigue has manifested in my voice. She leads us through the tunnels and into to the communications room. She sits and plugs a pair of headphones into the jack. “Usually we man the comm center 24/7, but Zoe’s on duty, and I dispatched her to ready the beds for you,” she says. She flips some switches and turns a dial, staring intently at nothing. After several terse seconds, she glances up at us.
    “I should be getting a response,” she says. There’s an edge in her voice. I instinctively step closer, as if I could hear better, as if I could understand what she was saying.
    “Do you mind?” Eli says. “I was the comm director back at Thermopylae.”
    Adrienne nods and gracefully gives up her seat at the controls. Eli does everything Adrienne just did, plus some extra switch flipping and knob turning, double checking everything, moving slowly and deliberately. He checks connections at the back of the receiver and even examines under the table and up at the ceiling as if that will make a difference. He stops, listens intently for a moment, then glances up. His eyes meet mine. Pulling off the headphones, he flips on “speaker,” and rotates the dial to maximum volume. I can hear the empty crackling of static, but nothing more.
    “Your speakers are fully functional?” Eli asks. There’s