Pheme lounged back comfortably on the couch, perfectly relaxed to all appearances. Yet her eyes never left Joshua's face, carefully alert for his reaction, watching.
For just a fraction of a moment, his shoulders seemed to stiffen minutely, his expression frozen in place -- just a sliver of a moment, and then it was gone, so quickly that she could not be sure she hadn't simply imagined it. And he was leaning back, considering; thoughtful, perhaps?
He answered her question with one of his own. She took it in her stride.
"The organisation," she said softly, the smallest of smiles playing at her lips. "The one that exists because the people in this country are just so taken with the idea of shady guys in suits who fake moon landings and cover up alien crashes. Because of the conspiracy nuts who see UFOs on every street corner and are convinced that somebody out there's trying to stop the word from getting out. Because of the ordinary people who laugh at the conspiracy nuts, but still buy the comics and watch the movies and just secretly aren't all that sure the government's telling the truth about absolutely everything."
She was watching him still, her eyes bright and unreadable. "Come on, I know you know what I'm talking about. We've all heard the stories. Every time some tinfoil-wearing kid mistakes a low-flying plane for Martian invaders, every time there's more than a whiff of conspiracy or cover up -- every time, they're there. Because somebody believes they will be."
She paused. "You ever wonder where they are the rest of the time?"