CHAPTER 10 #2
Silence stretched, the buzz of the lamp loud enough to make my skin crawl. Then—click—the light blinked off, plunging us back into darkness.
Jace grinned. “See? Easy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You say that now. Wait until we’re sprinting for our lives.”
Parker didn’t respond, already motioning for us to move. We darted across the remaining stretch, the marble looming larger with every step until we reached the admin building itself.
FAIRFAX ADMINISTRATION HALL was carved deep into the stone like a warning.
I stared up at them, chest tight. “Sounds friendly,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Jace said, smirking. “Like welcome-to-your-impending-arrest friendly.”
We crept along the back of the building, the marble slick beneath our shoes. A security camera blinked above a service door, its red light cutting through the dark like it was judging us.
“Seriously?” Jace whispered. “They just leave this out in the open?”
“Not for long,” Parker murmured.
Jace pulled a strip of black tape from his pocket, probably left over from one of his “creative projects,” and stretched up to slap it over the lens. The red light disappeared.
“Pretty sure that’s not how security systems work,” I said.
Parker crouched beside the door, peering through the narrow glass pane. “The feed’s live, but I bet no one’s actually watching it. Colleges always have, like, one guy covering thirty monitors, and he probably has YouTube open on another screen. We’ve got time.”
He set the duffel down quietly and unzipped it, the soft clink of metal echoing in the silence. Then he looked up at Jace. “You’re up.”
Jace blinked. “Why exactly do you think I’m qualified for breaking and entering?”
Parker’s mouth twitched. “Because Jagger’s your brother.”
Jace stared at him for a beat, then snorted. “Okay, fair point.” He crouched by the lock, rolling his shoulders like a man about to compete in the Lockpicking Olympics, and started working the picks with unnerving precision.
The metal gave a soft click, and the door creaked open, the smell of polished wood and old money spilling out to meet us.
I stared at the open doorway, then back at Jace. “Great. Now I have even more questions.”
He grinned, pocketing the picks. “Good. Means I’m keeping our relationship interesting. Wouldn’t want you to get bored, Matty-kins.”
We slipped inside. The temperature dropped immediately, the air still and heavy, like the building itself was holding its breath.
The corridor stretched ahead, dim and spotless, every sound amplified in the silence.
Somewhere deeper inside, a clock ticked steadily, marking the seconds we didn’t have.
Portraits lined the walls, stone-faced men in dark suits, each with the smug look of someone who’d never been told no. Their painted eyes seemed to track us as we crept past.
“Creepy,” Jace whispered. “I feel like they can smell public school on me.”
“Keep moving,” Parker muttered.
We took the stairs, the old wood creaking with every step, each groan loud enough to make my pulse jump.
Third floor.
The hallway stretched ahead, thick carpet muffling our footsteps. Trophy cases glinted faintly in the dim light, reflecting fragments of our shadows as we moved.
Parker froze suddenly and lifted a hand. “Security guard. End of the hall.”
We ducked behind a massive bronze statue of some long-dead founder who looked like he’d have sued someone for breathing wrong. A flashlight beam sliced through the dark, creeping closer.
The guard’s radio crackled. “All clear in the east wing.”
Boots thudded closer. I held my breath as the light skimmed past, so close it brushed over my shoe, then turned away.
We didn’t move until the sound of footsteps faded.
“Ten out of ten,” Jace whispered. “Almost peed myself.”
“Please don’t,” Parker hissed.
We started forward again, slower this time, every creak of the floor sounding like a siren.
At the end of the hall, a gold nameplate caught the faint light: Dr. Alfred Harrington, Dean. The letters gleamed like someone polished them every day.
“Showtime,” Parker said under his breath as Jace crouched by the lock.
“Your two-minute Google search didn’t happen to tell you if there was an alarm in his office, did it?” I asked sarcastically.
Parker shrugged without looking away from Jace. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
I exhaled. “Super reassuring.”
A heartbeat later, there was a soft click. The latch gave way.
“I’m such an asset to this organization,” Jace muttered arrogantly. “Riley’s going to be so proud of me.”
I patted him on the shoulder like the good boy he was, and we moved into the room.
Harrington’s office was everything you’d expect of a man who collected power: a massive mahogany desk, two leather chairs that looked expensive enough to scold you, bookcases wall to wall, and a portrait of some mustached benefactor glaring down at us like he smelled trouble.
“Alright,” Parker said in a low voice. “We’re looking for the ledger. Probably old. Possibly framed or locked up.”
“That’s a lot to go off of,” I said dryly.
Parker shot me an annoyed look.
Jace drifted to the bar cart, lifting a bottle and sniffing like he was auditioning for a liquor commercial. “The man’s got bourbon older than us. This is the good stuff.”
“Step away from it,” I hissed.
“Fine.” He put the bottle down with exaggerated care. “But if we die tonight, it would be better to come back as a drunk ghost than a sober one. I’m just saying.”
I didn’t bother responding to that one.
I started with the drawers. There was old correspondence, a fountain pen with a nib the width of a toothpick, receipts for donations that could buy a small country, and an absurd large stash of peppermints. Parker’s hand skimmed along the spines on the shelves.
“Nothing,” he said tightly.
Jace bent toward a glass-fronted cabinet that stood between the bookcases. The cabinet was bolted to the wall, glass domed in front of a velvet-lined shelf. A small brass plaque read COLLECTION. He peered closer and whispered, “Maybe he keeps it with his…”
His elbow clipped a decorative globe sitting on a side table. The thing toppled, hit the floor with a heavy thud, and rolled once before stopping against the baseboard.
Everything went louder for a second. We all froze.
“Jace,” Parker breathed.
“It was an accident!” Jace hissed, getting immediately defensive. “It—Look, it was top-heavy, okay? Physics!”
“You breathed near it,” I snapped.
A faint chirp sounded from above us, almost like a clock trying to get our attention. Parker’s face dropped.
“Oh no,” he muttered.
The chirp escalated into a high, insistent tone. Red lights flared along the crown molding. The security system caught it.
“Run!” I barked before thinking.
But before chaos could fully take over, something caught my eye…
a glint of gold behind the desk, barely visible through the shadows.
I froze, squinting. There, half hidden behind a framed diploma and a row of dusty law books, sat a narrow glass cabinet recessed in the wall.
A single light flickered weakly inside, illuminating the edge of a black, leather-bound ledger.
“I think this could be it!” I shouted.
“Grab it and go,” Parker ordered.
I grabbed a crystal paperweight from the desk and swung it against the glass. The first blow scored a spiderweb crack that shimmered in the red light. The second hit splintered it. The third shattered the panel with a spray of glittering shards.
I shoved my arm through, a cut on my palm blooming hot, and hauled the book free.
It was heavier than it looked, the leather cold and smelling faintly of dust and disinfectant.
I tucked it under my arm and sprinted for the door as the alarm rose to a scream, and the ceiling lights strobed angry red.
From the hallway, someone shouted, “Security! Who’s in there?”
I froze mid-step, one hand on the doorknob, heart slamming against my ribs.
“Window!” Parker barked.
He was already there, wrenching it open, the night air cutting through the blaring alarm. Jace climbed out first, muttering, “I was just kidding about the hot mugshot. I can’t handle prison.”
“Move!” I hissed.
The door burst open behind me. “Stop!” a voice yelled.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
Parker dove through the window next. I was right behind him, one arm clamped around the leather ledger like it was a newborn. My sneakers hit the fire escape with a metallic clang. The ladder groaned under our weight.
Jace was already halfway down, his voice echoing up the metal frame. “Pretty sure my hoodie just ripped again!”
“Cry later!” I shouted, vaulting over the last rung.
We hit the ground running, alarms still wailing above. The night exploded into noise—flashing red security lights, radios squawking, the slap of our sneakers across wet grass.
“This way!” Parker yelled, cutting left across the green.
I followed, lungs burning, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. Jace pounded along beside me, somehow grinning through it. “You know what’s crazy?” He gasped. “We’re technically stealing from a rival school. That’s the definition of school spirit!”
I rolled my eyes.
A beam of light swept across the lawn behind us. A guard shouted something about “trespassers.”
Jace whispered, “Do we qualify as trespassers if we’re technically on a mission from a secret society?”
“Yes!” Parker snapped under his breath.
We ducked behind a row of hedges as the beam passed over. My chest heaved, sweat slick under my hoodie. Somewhere to the right, sprinklers kicked on, hissing like snakes.
“Who the hell waters grass at two a.m.?” Jace wheezed.
“Rich people,” I muttered.
We crawled along the hedge line. Two more guards jogged toward us, radios blaring.
“Split up!” Parker whispered. “Meet at the fence!”
He veered right. Jace followed me left.
We sprinted past the fountain, feet pounding on the cobblestones. The marble statues of old benefactors watched, smug and useless.