Debbie isn’t at the front desk today. Two men in dark jackets are.
The sight of them doesn’t register immediately.
It’s the posture that does. Still. Coordinated. Purposeful.
“Can I help you?” one of them asks.
His tone is neutral. Official.
I blink. “I’m here to access Box Fourteen. I was here yesterday.”
They exchange a glance. Not confused. Confirming.
“Josephine Calloway?” the other one asks.
The air shifts.
“Yes.”
“We’ll need you to step into the archival room.”
Something cold slides into my stomach. “This is a public institution,” I say carefully. “Do you have a warrant?”
He doesn’t answer directly. “This is a federal review under national security authorization.”
The words don’t make sense together.
“National security?” I echo.
“You uploaded geospatial alignment data through a third-party astronomy application.”
My mouth goes dry. The app.
“The upload triggered anomaly detection protocols,” he continues. “We’re here to collect all associated materials.”
Anomaly.
That word again. It doesn’t belong in a museum.
“You’re confiscating academic research?” I ask.
“We’re preserving sensitive information.”
“From whom?”
He doesn’t smile. “From dissemination.”
They move past me into the back room. Boxes open. Files lifted. Photographs removed from sleeves.
My hands feel disconnected from the rest of me. “That’s private research,” I protest, following them. “Those are overlays and pattern analyses.”
“And GPS-tagged coordinates,” the first man replies.
My throat tightens. “How do you even know?—”
“Your app permissions grant federal anomaly review access.”
Of course, they do. Of course, I clicked “Accept.”
