“There were a couple pages missing back then. I asked your father about it, and he said I should check Mom’s computer. That they might be backed-up on there. Except her computer was never retrieved after . . .” He swallows, and I feel the pain of his loss echo in my bones.
“Could she have saved the file on the Cloud?” Bastian asks.
Adrien shakes his head. “No. The information was too sensitive.”
Alma blows into her palms. “Why would anyone steal translations anyway?”
“Because something’s written on that scroll someone doesn’t want us to discover,” Slate mutters.
Alma freezes, and her hands fall into her lap. “That would mean someone knows about the Quatrefoil outside of you four. Well, six with Rainier and Geoffrey.”
“Nolwenn and Juda know about it.” I remember Papa telling us the night after the well. “He said they were scared of the curses.”
Adrien stares steadily at me. I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking the very same thing: one of them destroyed the papers, hoping to deter us from this wild hunt. But does Nolwenn have access to this room? It’s not impossible . . .
“Does the keypad store the imprint of who goes in and out?” Bastian asks.
“No.” I loop the tip of my ponytail around my slightly bobbing finger. “It’s just an electronic lock. Nothing more.”
“Are there any cameras?”
“There’s an alarm system.”
Slate’s ribcage inflates with a sigh and his thumb stills. “Doesn’t matter. We have the original scroll. We need to move on. Move forward. You and Cadence speak Breton, right, Adrien?”
I peer up at the boy holding me, at his dark eyes that seem black in the surrounding whiteness. “I know some, but hardly enough to translate theKelouenn.”
“I can do it,” Adrien says on a breath. “It’s going to take time, but I can do it.”
Time isn’t the commodity we have the most of, but wasting it trying to figure out who did away with Camille’s hard work won’t help us.
Adrien drums his fingers against his thigh. “There’s a printer upstairs, right?”
I nod.
“We need to blow up the picture Slate took, then print out a few sets. If it’s illegible, we head back to your house.” He holds out his palm that bobs like my own hand, both of us strung out on stress and adrenaline. “Your phone, Slate?”
Slate unlocks the phone and hands it to Adrien, who streaks toward the door.
“What about the history book?” Bastian asks. “Can it be taken out of here?”
I bite my lip. “It’s better not to.”
“Mind if I read it?” Bastian, who’s sitting on the stool beside Alma’s, rubs his palms on his thighs. “If you don’t trust me—”
“I trust you.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Alma suggests. “I’m an awesome note taker.”
I shoot my friend a grateful smile, because I know she’s hanging down here to put my mind at ease while Adrien, Slate, and I are upstairs.
Technically, Slate isn’t needed to transcribe the scroll since his knowledge of Breton is zilch, but I want to keep him at my side. I feel safer when he’s around. And since my piece still hasn’t shown up—
“Don’t try to leave me behind.” He slots his fingers through mine.
My heart fires off a fierce thump. “I wasn’t.”
“Good.” He holds the door open for me. “Like I always say, little bro, don’t do anything I would do.” He winks at Bastian, who mutters something that makes Alma laugh.
