The Jeffersonian, Dr. Camille Saroyan's Office
Hannah knows something is up.
Well, duh. Obviously. Escaped serial killer and all. But there’s something more to it than that, she thinks.
Dr. Sayoran had pulled her out of the lab, away from a cheerful, laughing conversation about a newspaper article, about two hours after Dr. Brennan left with Agent Booth. “Sorry,” Dr. Sayoran said, after she’d explained a little about Howard Epps and his escape. “I’m going to need everyone pretty focused right now.”
Hannah had nodded, yawning. (One of the workers renovating the apartment next to Dr. Brennan’s left his radio on last night, and it turns out hip hop is not exactly conducive to sleep.) “It’s okay. I mean, it’s more important and all. And I have a ton of stuff to read.”
Dr. Sayoran left her in the lounge. Two hours later, Dr. Sayoran asks her to gather up her stuff. “I’m going to have you relocate to my office for a bit.”
“Your office? Won’t I be in the way?”
“Not really. And we need the lounge for a bit. Just make yourself comfortable, and if you need anything, ask.”
Hannah’s pretty sure the person she’s supposed to ask if she needs anything is the security guard in the chair outside Dr. Sayoran’s office. She’s also pretty sure that neither the guard nor the chair was there yesterday.
She looks at the next marked article she’s supposed to read, and then closes the journal. “Screw it,” she mutters, and pulls out her laptop.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s skimmed the first four items that Google brings up on Howard Epps.
Something is definitely up.
Well, duh. Obviously. Escaped serial killer and all. But there’s something more to it than that, she thinks.
Dr. Sayoran had pulled her out of the lab, away from a cheerful, laughing conversation about a newspaper article, about two hours after Dr. Brennan left with Agent Booth. “Sorry,” Dr. Sayoran said, after she’d explained a little about Howard Epps and his escape. “I’m going to need everyone pretty focused right now.”
Hannah had nodded, yawning. (One of the workers renovating the apartment next to Dr. Brennan’s left his radio on last night, and it turns out hip hop is not exactly conducive to sleep.) “It’s okay. I mean, it’s more important and all. And I have a ton of stuff to read.”
Dr. Sayoran left her in the lounge. Two hours later, Dr. Sayoran asks her to gather up her stuff. “I’m going to have you relocate to my office for a bit.”
“Your office? Won’t I be in the way?”
“Not really. And we need the lounge for a bit. Just make yourself comfortable, and if you need anything, ask.”
Hannah’s pretty sure the person she’s supposed to ask if she needs anything is the security guard in the chair outside Dr. Sayoran’s office. She’s also pretty sure that neither the guard nor the chair was there yesterday.
She looks at the next marked article she’s supposed to read, and then closes the journal. “Screw it,” she mutters, and pulls out her laptop.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s skimmed the first four items that Google brings up on Howard Epps.
Something is definitely up.