“Got them,” Zara whisper-yelled down the aisle where Ramona was kneeling and squinting at a title she couldn’t read. Zara held up the last grimoire. “And the curse identification texts. We have everything.”
They checked in with Felix to see if they could leave and got a thumbs-up.
They left the way they’d entered — carefully, quietly. Up the stairs, through the dark library, down empty corridors.
Zara angled her phone, shielding its low light. “Felix says we have to change our route out. Go left.”
Ramona veered into uncertain territory, pushing open a door that they hadn’t planned to. An alarm immediately sounded, and she looked to Zara, panic spiking either in her own body or in Zara’s.
She heard a shout, and Zara muttered, “Come on, Felix, turn off the fucking alarm,” as they both began running. Zara let Ramona take the lead, two grimoires in her arms as Ramona clutched the other, the pair running down metal stairs and to an outdoor exit.
It was locked. They waited only one beat before a click sound echoed, and Ramona pushed the door again to find that it had unlocked. “Thank you, Felix,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Zara was right behind her.
“Stick to the shadows,” Zara said, pushing her forward as they both skirted the library building, avoiding the lights that illuminated the walkways.
“I think we lost them,” Ramona said, looking behind her for what felt like the hundredth time.
Zara looked at her phone. “Felix says he had to turn on a sprinkler in one of the upper floors. We should be good now.”
They crossed the lawn toward the parking lot.
Ramona was breathing hard from adrenaline. They’d done it. Actually done it. She unlocked the car. They slid inside. She put the key in the ignition as she laughed with relief.
Except, nothing happened.
She tried again.
Click. Click. Nothing.
“What—” Ramona started.
“It’s not…” Zara’s voice was tight. “What’s happening?”
They stared at each other in the dark car. Ramona’s euphoria evaporated. She tried again, in case the first fifteen times were just a fluke.
Zara pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Felix.”
She dialed, waiting and watching Ramona. Voicemail.
“Fuck,” Zara muttered. Tried again.
Still voicemail.
Ramona checked her own phone. “Kashvi’s not answering either.”
Through the window, headlights. A car pulling in.
“Someone’s coming,” Ramona said quietly, dipping lower in her seat.
The car parked nearby. The engine cut. The door opened.
A woman got out — early forties, professionally dressed, laptop bag slung over her shoulder. She locked her car, started toward the main building.
Then stopped. Turned. Looked at their car.
Started walking toward them instead.
She knew the walk before she knew anything else, and her whole body understood what that meant before her brain did.
