My red scarf.
Beside it was a stack of photographs.
Dozens of them.
Photographs of me.
Walking onto the ship.
Eating breakfast.
Standing alone on my balcony.
Some of the pictures had clearly been taken before Richard and I had even introduced ourselves.
My hands began trembling.
Then footsteps sounded behind me.
I turned.
Richard was standing in the doorway.
His face had gone pale.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
I pointed toward the photographs.
“What is this?”
Before he could answer, an alarm suddenly echoed through the ship.
Richard stepped forward and grabbed my arm.
“We have to leave. Right now.”
I pulled free.
“No.”
I stared directly at him.
“First, you’re going to tell me exactly what is happening.”