Cracks
Gate 6 sealed behind us with its usual hydraulic crawl. When it finally reopened, its protocol reset complete, Veronica stepped through. Raven advanced ahead of me, leaving us behind. We waited through the full clearance cycle before Dru followed, her expression set in stone.
We navigated through the remaining gates in tense silence—Gate 5, Gate 4, Gate 3, Gate 2—each transition requiring the same careful protocol. Wait for the steel barrier to reset each time. Wait for clearance. Step through. No “piggybacking” allowed, not even for an emergency, because no emergency was more important than safeguarding what we’d left behind. The process that normally felt routine, boring even, now stretched like an eternity, each delay another moment for the situation in Gate 1 to spiral further out of control.
Could I really expect the man who’d cracked at the first threat to our relationship to stand up to whatever threat had made its way to the library door?
By the time we reached the final door, my empathic senses were screaming. The emotional turbulence from Gate 1 slammed into me—anxiety, authority, confusion, and underneath it all, a thread of something that felt disturbingly like satisfaction — cold, methodical, already savoring a win. Someone I didn’t know, sure that they’d already won.
Not Rune. Rune isn’t allowed inside the Special Collections Library anymore. Not even inside Gate 1, which requires as little as a Florida University student ID.
The door to Gate 1 cycled open, and I stepped into chaos.
The Special Collections reading room had been transformed into something resembling a crime scene. Two campus security officers flanked the entrance. They held tight stances, hands hovering near their hips as if they’d been briefed for escalation. They weren’t actual police officers, just security guards in crisp uniforms.
A third man in a yellow safety vest occupied the space near the circulation desk. He clutched a clipboard and radiated the smug certainty of someone who answered only to checklists. A university facilities worker hovered near the back wall, looking deeply uncomfortable. Near the vault door, a German Shepherd in a K-9 harness strained at its leash, letting out low whines in the direction of the vault behind me. Its handler held it back, his attention fixed on the door I’d walked through. Two or three other men in uniforms I didn’t recognize wandered around the room. Two more outside the door knocked to be let in.
Charlie stood in the center of it all. His hands flailed in frantic patterns as he explained something to the man in the vest. His energy radiated helpful panic — the same eager compliance I’d watched him put on for every bureaucrat who’d ever made him feel small.
Still trying to be the hero.
I’d seen this before. That desperate need of Charlie’s to be useful, to prove himself indispensable, whether to authority figures or damsels in fake distress. It was the same impulse that had made him so vulnerable to manipulation in the first place. After our mission at Ghost Glass Springs, Dru had wanted him gone, but university personnel policies made immediate termination a bureaucratic nightmare since he technically was a university employee. Plus, the Daeganean priesthood still believed he might lead them to rival networks. Instead of firing him, she’d put him on a short leash: probationary status, with his security access stripped down to just Gates 1 and 2, where he could do the least amount of damage. He was a known vulnerability we were forced to manage, and he was still trying to prove to outsiders that he was one of the good guys. Every word out of his mouth was digging us deeper.
Samantha sat rigidly in one of the reading chairs, her gothic composure cracked around the edges. Jakin braced himself against the far wall with his arms crossed. He exuded a dangerous calm that preceded violence. His eyes tracked every movement in the room like a predator cataloging threats.
“Well, this is unexpected.” The taller security officer swiveled toward us. “Doctor Saint Augustine, can you explain why four people just exited a janitorial closet?”
Dru positioned herself between us and the officer with the measured composure she used in meetings with the Secretary of State. “That’s a storage area for our specialized holdings. We were conducting a routine inspection. Now, why are you bringing chaos into my library?”
The man in the vest lifted his gaze. “You’re Doctor Saint Augustine? I’m Larry Tenneson, Environmental Health and Safety. We’re here to verify a credible report of volatile preservation chemicals and potential explosive materials, specifically located behind that closet door.”
Explosive materials. Behind that door. The one that had just closed and locked behind Veronica.
This wasn’t random. Someone had provided specific intelligence. Very specific intelligence.
“I’m going to need to see a warrant,” Dru said evenly. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. There are absolutely no chemicals behind that door. Also, our preservation protocols meet all university safety standards.”
“Doctor Saint Augustine,” the taller officer interrupted. “Um, Doctor? Or Professor?”
“Either will do.”
“Doctor Saint Augustine, we’re here to inspect this section of the university library. We’ve had a report of improper chemical storage. This memo from Facilities Management authorizes our entry.”
Dru took the stack of papers he handed her and squinted at the microscopic print, then laughed. “I understand you have a university memo, and I appreciate your concern for campus safety. However, this room is not a standard university storage closet. The Special Collections Library is a tenant of the main library, and it’s a DoD-level SCIF. You have no authority here.”
“A what now? It’s in the library, on university property.”
“Exactly. It’s on university property, but it’s leased and operated under federal jurisdiction by the Department of Defense. Our access and security are governed by national security protocols, not university policies. The fact that you are here right now without proper authorization will cost me a week’s worth of paperwork to adjudicate.”
“Ma’am, I don’t have any record of anything you’re saying. I’ve never heard of any such thing. You’re on campus, and we’re going to have to follow campus procedures. That means we’re going to implement containment protocols until this area can be properly cleared. For everyone’s safety, we need all personnel to remain in this room until our inspection is complete and we’ve looked through every nook and cranny.”
“Absolutely not. To inspect this facility, you need specific authorization from federal authorities, which would come through official channels, not a campus facilities memo. You need to call your security office and have them—”
“Ma’am, you’ve already allowed us in and given us permission.” He tilted his head toward Charlie.
Charlie bounced onto his toes. His hand shot up halfway like an eager student. “Of course, absolutely. Whatever you need. I have my access card if you need to check any restricted areas.”
“Charlie.” Dru’s voice cut through the room. “That won’t be necessary. Sit down.”
But it was too late.
Geez, Charlie, what did you say to them in our absence?
The EHS officer’s attention sharpened. “Access? To what areas specifically? And what restricted areas? This is a library.”
“Just the general Special Collections areas,” Charlie said quickly. “Though I suppose if you really need to check behind that door, I could—”
Dru could have melted steel with the glare she shot him. “Charlie. Sit down. Now.”
“But I’m just doing what I can to keep everyone safe.”
He meant it. In some weird way, he meant it. He wasn’t trying to make a mess, even if he was. He was earnestly trying to keep Dru out of trouble, or what he thought was trouble.
“For the safety of everyone present,” the taller officer said, resting a hand on his radio, “we need everyone on the floor. Hands visible. This is purely precautionary.”
Shock tore through the room, sharp to my empathic senses even though no one made a sound. Samantha’s panic bloomed near me. Even Jakin looked nervous. I’d been in danger before—book thieves, magical attacks, a boyfriend who tried to sacrifice me—but this was different. This was being treated like a threat in the sanctuary I’d helped protect.
Raven reacted first, lowering himself to the floor. I followed, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. Deliberate and calm, Veronica settled on the other side of Raven. Samantha eased down a few feet behind me. Her breathing turned shallow. Her fear threaded through my empathic field louder than anyone else’s in the room, when she probably had the least to be worried about. She didn’t even know about what was behind the closet door.
Dru remained standing. She locked herself in a silent standoff with the officer, then finally claimed a spot near the vault door, close enough to send a message without obstructing it. Dru might let some part of this phony inspection slide as long as it was confined to Gate 1. She didn’t sweat the small stuff.
“Ma’am, please have a seat with the rest of them.”
“I’m a woman of an age. You don’t really expect me to wallow on the floor, do you?”
The officer ignored her and scanned the bookcases and reading tables instead. “You in the leather duster,” he called to Jakin. “Join the others. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I want to be able to see you, all of you.”
Jakin pushed off the wall. He chose a spot with his back to a desk, closer to the front of the room but still far enough to set himself apart. He stretched his leather-clad legs in front of him. After crossing his ankles, he began cleaning his fingernails with studied boredom.
Charlie sat cross-legged near the desk. He still radiated helpful energy. “We’re completely cooperative. Whatever you need to see, we’re here to help.”
As if he’s in charge.
Dru just glared at him. I almost felt sorry for the conversation I was sure Dru would have with him later. Almost.
I leaned toward Raven, close enough that only he could hear me. “This isn’t about containment. It’s about getting inside. Someone tipped them off. Someone who knows exactly how to mess with us.”
His fingers found mine against the carpet.
Larry Tenneson worked the room with clinical efficiency. He opened drawers and peered behind shelves. The facilities worker trailed him, clipboard in hand, sidestepping the German Shepherd. The violation felt psychic as much as physical. This space had been sacred.
They have no idea what they’re really looking for.
But that was the genius of it—bureaucracy weaponized. Our own safety protocols turned into a trap.
“Nothing in the main area,” Tenneson finally announced after exploring the storage room and break area. “Staff area is clear also. Back rooms, too.”
I could already feel what came next.
Tenneson approached the door to Gate 2. “Doctor Saint Augustine, we need you to open this closet. The sooner we can verify this hazard, the sooner this will be over for you and your little library here.”
Dru planted herself directly in his path. “The ‘hazard’ you’re referring to is a matter handled entirely by federal oversight, and your department is not authorized to conduct that inspection. If you have specific concerns that require federal attention, you need to report them through the proper channels to the agency that manages this SCIF, not attempt a direct inspection yourself. Until you have explicit authorization, you cannot enter.”
“What did you call it?” the officer asked.
“Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility,” Veronica said coolly from the floor. “You’d need a federally issued court order that specifically identifies this SCIF, and even then, they’ll send their own people to check it out, not you.”
The officer frowned. “Ma’am, I don’t know who you are, but—”
“I’m someone who understands federal security protocols.”
Charlie’s head popped up. “Oh, but it’s not really—” He patted his jacket. “I’m sure we can absolutely help if it’s for safety reasons. Really, it’s no trouble—”
“Charlie,” Dru snapped. “Stay where you are. It’s my name on that government contract, not yours.”
But he was already scrambling to his feet. “I have an access card—”
The card slipped from his fingers and skittered across the floor, right toward me.
Without thinking, I lunged. Charlie dove, too. We collided, my shoulder hitting the floor hard as my fingers closed around the card. His knee caught my thigh. Our hands tangled.
The first time the coward’s touched me since he gave my engagement ring to someone else.
“Sorry, sorry!” Charlie gasped. He clawed at my grip like he didn’t care who got hurt. “I just need—let me—”
His neediness ground into me. All at once, he was frantic, spiraling, willing to betray anything to be seen as useful. Always happy to be the martyr if it meant someone else’s approval of his worth.
Rolling away, I clasped his access card to my chest like it was evidence. “I’ve got it!”
The officer stepped forward, clearly done waiting. “Doctor Saint Augustine, we have a credible report of explosives behind that door. SCIF or not, that doesn’t stop a bomb.”
Dru’s voice turned to iron. “There is no bomb behind that door, and whatever report you have is not credible. Until a court order arrives, I protect this facility. Period.”
His voice flattened into a threat. “We’re not leaving until we’ve seen what’s behind that door.”
Dru didn’t blink.
“Ma’am, I’m asking one last time. Open it. Because if you don’t—I assure you—we will.”
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