it’s dark out on august the fifth when the archives lurch into action.
no one else is in the building at this time, it’s just the six of them in the basement and elias on the top level. it doesn’t feel right, making such a racket of loading bags into a rented van at such a quiet hour. it doesn’t feel quite real, almost dreamlike. like the unknowing is leaking backwards through time, slowing and stilling reality.
martin’s been told he can go back to sleep countless times by everyone who sees him hovering in the corridor amongst the commotion, but he hasn’t got the slightest intention of missing them. missing him.
jon’s hard to pin down, making trips to and from the waiting van faster than his exhausted looking body should be able to take him, but martin isn’t really in any position to talk. time ticks on, the bags of explosives get fewer and fewer, and martin thinks that if he doesn’t make a move to keep jon still then he could miss his last chance to talk to him.
last chance before the trip. not last chance.
martin turns to go seek him out and finds himself almost nose to nose with the man himself. he jumps backwards an inch by reflex.
now to be found here with 100% more conventional capitalization