"Anderson, come out! Stop hiding!" Chris bellowed at the top of his lungs.
In an enclosed space, emotions were more easily stirred, especially when there was no way to tell how much time had passed.
"Stop shouting. We still don't know whether Anderson is really dead."
Gull Friedman slapped the table irritably. Beneath the crystal chandelier, his expression hovered on the brink of an outburst.
"Oli Via, you're smart. Tell us what you think is going on," Joey said, wanting to hear what insights this literature-loving girl with a passion for detective novels might have.
Oli Via adjusted her black-framed glasses out of habit, then shook her head with a bitter smile. "My mind's a mess right now."
"Weren't you so good at analyzing things before? Gone mute now? All those books must've rotted your brain," Chris sneered unhappily.
Chris had grown up struggling to survive. Keeping himself fed and clothed had taken everything he had; learning to read had once been something he yearned for but could never attain.
That had left him hating people who flaunted their supposed learning in front of him.
Joey cast an almost imperceptible glance at Chris, sensing a hint of jealousy.
"You're a grown man. What's so fun about picking on a young girl?" Joey retorted mercilessly.
Ultimately, Oli Via was only a young girl. Three girls had shared a room, and Margaret had inexplicably died before their eyes. It was perfectly normal for her emotions to be affected.
"The most important thing now is finding a way out, not standing here arguing. I'll check the kitchen for food and make everyone something to eat." A cook was still a cook. Wherever he went, his first thought was keeping people fed.
"Wait, big guy. I'll come with you." Joey called Gami Enriques back.