[A few minutes off midnight and Chase is at a desk in the Diagnostics office. The papers spread out in front of him imply that he's at least been making an effort to catch up on charting but, bored and weary, for as long as the monitor has been on it's shown him doing nothing but tossing an oversized tennis ball from hand to hand
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...where....
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[ that tone is saturated with tethered apprehension ]
But what are you doing?
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[Their tones match in that, something extra in Chase's. Over the line it's hard to tell if it's hope or fear.]
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[He knows that everyone and their neighbor is hearing the siren-mother call, but he has no proof that it's always a trick or that it will end badly, so he keeps these thoughts to himself, indicated by a half stifled sigh.]
And keep your eyes open.
[It's as close as he can get to saying 'I think it's a trick' without saying it outright, and it feels a little mean to even imply, but he has to. This whole thing is worrisome.]
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I'll call you.
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Alright.
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