Lucy was pacing the length of her dorm room like a caged animal, her bare feet barely making a sound on the worn carpet. Her hand tugged absently at her bottom lip, her voice a rapid-fire stream of theories that ranged from plausible to downright absurd.
"Okay, okay, hear me out," she said, gesturing wildly as she turned back toward Ginny. "What if Ollie is, like, some undercover detective? No—wait! What if he's part of some secret society? Maybe the octopus symbol is their thing! You know, like those shadowy organizations you read about in spy novels?"
Ginny sat on the edge of Lucy's bed, arms crossed, watching her friend spiral.
"Or," Lucy continued, barely pausing for breath, "What if it's more basic than that? Like, maybe he just knows someone in the group. A cousin, a friend, a... a coworker! Oh god, what if he's in the group?"
