Eventually, 2:30 rolls around, as it tends to do, and just like the previous three shifts, the assembly hall turns into a chaotic mess of students filing in and out without any care for order. Scott looks up from the test results he's stacking, assesses the chaos, then tells Tamara decisively, You're on student-herding duty.

Same as the last three times?

You're scarier than I am.

And don't you forget it, she agrees, but begins reorganzing the swarm of students into something resembling a line. You're better with the paperwork anyway.

I only spend every waking work hour drowned in paperwork, what's one more day?

Truly, my heart bleeds.

Emma was prompt enough that she's near the front of the line; when she reaches the front, she goes up to Scott and hands him her school ID.

Scott doesn't make a visible face, but he sends an impression of a bemused expression to Tamara. That girl Boris mentioned just showed. He said... to talk to her once she's strapped in? And before she can ask, yes, you specifically, no, I know nothing else. An image of Scott-as-puppet being wielded by Boris-as-puppet-master accompanies the exasperated thought.

Boris does thrive on mystery, doesn't he, Tamara sighs. Let's trade; we shouldn't make this more obvoius than we have to.

She leaves the line of students where it is, willing it by force of imposing glare not to re-descend into chaos once Scott replaces her, and goes to take over his spot. "My apologies for the delay, Ms. Miller," she tells the girl. "If you'd just sit here so I can attach the EEG for your test?"

Emma's done this before, if not in years; she sits quietly while Tamara fusses over the machine. It looks fancier than the one she remembers, but she supposes it makes sense that the machines would have gotten better in the past decade or so.

Tamara does a last check then hands Emma the flyer with instructions. "Any questions before we begin, Ms. Miller?"

"<Oh, uh, no, but thank you, this looks pretty simple,>" Emma responds. Distracted by the machine, she does not respond in English.

Tamara blinks at her. "<You speak patois, Ms. Miller?>"

Emma blinks, then replays her sentence in her head. "<Oh! I'm sorry-> um, I suppose, yes, I've always been good at languages."

"I'd say it's a little more than that," Tamara said thoughtfully, looking at the EEG readings. "You're registering telepathy when you speak it, or didn't you know? Faint, I'll admit-"

"...telepathy? Me? Uh... no, I never... Um." She gulps. "...me?"