[center][color=527d9a][h1]Cian Cahill[/h1][/color][/center]After Cian extended his question to the group, he was surprised to see even more people arrive at the study room. Another guy, and a girl. They arrived so suddenly with everyone else that Cian hadn't sensed their approaching bioelectric signals. But now, there were five of them. [i]Five.[/i] He’d never imagined this many would show up, and this early.

Cian extended quick be reassuring greetings to the newcomers—they were on time, no one was late, things were just getting started. He glanced around the quickly filling room, noting the expressions—cautious, uncertain—and something else. A reticence. Likely a nervousness. No one seemed eager to be the first to confirm something impossible.

Then came the outburst from the tall one about "keeping it down." Cian tensed. It would have made sense if everyone had been in lively discussion—but this was during a moment of near-total quiet.

Cian felt it then—sharper than before. The thrumming pressure behind his eyes. The ringing in his ears. The ripples at the edge of his vision.

Five of them now. Five new signatures vibrating in this enclosed space, buzzing and tingling and pressing in against the edges of his awareness.

It was making it hard to think.

The realization, the connection cut through the noise. [color=527d9a][i]Are we the same?[/i][/color] he wondered, almost in awe. His gaze flicked toward the others. [color=527d9a][i]Are we all?[/i][/color]

Then came the next comment. A little softer, but clearer. Cian recognized it as a small concession, and admission, to his previous question. Another small leap of faith.

Cian said nothing at first. He just looked at the tall young man with a steady, unreadable expression. Not judgment. Not even surprise. Something closer to... understanding. Quiet empathy.

He straightened in his chair and drew a slow breath.

[color=527d9a]“You’re not crazy.”[/color]

He let it hang there and hoped it sounded more confident than he felt.

[color=527d9a]“That feeling you have. I have it too. That's why I put up the flyers. That's why we're all here.”[/color]

Cian stood, walking over to the whiteboard. He grabbed a black dry erase marker, pulled the cap off, and began writing in big—and somewhat sloppy—letters.

[i]GRACE'S GROTTO[/i]

Underneath it, he added:

[i]GONE?[/i]

He paused and then also wrote:

[i]WHERE IS GRACE?[/i]
[i]WHY NO RECORDS?[/i]

Cian almost wrote down something else: [i]MKULTRA?[/i]. A slightly humorous but ultimately grim acknowledgement about the café itself. And the coffee. And by extension, the changes he had been feeling. And he wanted to write something about the strange occurrences around town, too, the one's that felt so unnatural, even malevolent. But he decided not to, not yet at least. He still was afraid of the possibility that he was still alone in that regard. Sure, they could all agree about Grace's being gone, which was strange enough. But experiences bordering on the supernatrual, the unscientific? He wasn't sure about that yet. As he had said before, he was a scientist, not a conspiracy theorist. He would wait and see if anyone else gave any more hints as the tall one had not long before.