Page 107 of Flickerstate

If the door requires a code, Griffin’s keycard couldn’t get us through. Does Griffin know the code? If he hasn’t worked on this shelf, would he even know about the door?

Candace sits bent over a notebook, black hair falling forward to bare a pale triangle of neck. Vik stands, his profile sharp, with what looks like an appointment book open in his hands. I’m trying to decide what to say—Hey, Vik, is there a secret locked door in the back ofyoursection?—when someone knocks on the door at the top of the stairs.

“Griffin, we need to talk.” It’s Mirabel, direct as usual, muffled by wood.

Candace, Vik, and I freeze.

“I know you’re in there. I knocked on the door to your block for, like, five minutes, and you’re notthatdeep a sleeper. Come out.I want to talk.”

Candace and Vik, moving only their eyes, stare at me.

Mirabel heard something through the door.

And Griffin isnotin his bedroom asleep, like he wanted me to believe he would be.

I put a shaky finger to my lips. It feels horrible—not acting, just waiting—but our best option is to keep silent.

Mirabel’s fist lashes against the door.

I flinch and inhale. Too loudly?

“Asshole,” Mirabel calls. Her footsteps retreat, away from the door, into silence.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“We need to leave,” Candace whispers. “Now.”

She’s right. We’re facing too many variables, too many risks.Mirabel could come back. She could call Griffin. She could text him that she heard noises behind the Highwall Collection door. She could find him, wherever he is.

But.

This may be my one chance in the Archive. And I don’t know whether we’ve found what I need. Hints and mysteries, yes—but is leaguing my silver bullet? Mycure?

While Candace and Vik repack their boxes, I pull open the box I set on the floor. Its top layer is four notebooks of various sizes. I grab them and shove them into my sweatshirt front pocket. Then I close the box and struggle it back onto its shelf.

Vik and Candace have finished putting back their boxes too.

“I’ll go first,” Vik whispers. “No one will question it if they see me leaving the Archive. I’ll text you guys when it’s safe to come out.Leave one by one. Meet at the clearing. Okay?”

Candace and I nod.

Vik slips out.

We wait. We don’t speak. Trapped in that cold, dim basement, I reach into my pocket and press my fingers against the hard corners of the notebooks, hoping they hold something I can use.

My phone buzzes in my sweatpants, Candace’s in her hand.

Come out, Vik has texted.

Candace slips away.

I’m alone among the looming boxes and gleaming shelves, the odor of cardboard and old paper, my blood crashing against my ears.

Come out, Vik texts again.

***

Vik and Candace are waiting for me in the clearing. Candace’s phone flashlight points at a southern magnolia, evergreen leaves gleaming in the dark. The uneven light keeps Vik in shadow and picks out the hard ridges of Candace’s face: eye socket, cheekbone, mandible beneath muscle. Skull-like.