Page 35 of The Art of Exiley

“If you say so,” I concede. He, and everyone else, will see for themselves soon enough.

He breaks our eye contact and shakes his head as he looks back at his notebook. “You’re going to have to practice being less hard on yourself ifyou want to encourage your own growth. I’ll make sure to add additional art studios to your schedule so you can prepare some pieces for your gallerie. As we get closer to Quorum, we can meet again to reassess.”

He then offers me the use of his phone to call home. While Arcadia is mostly isolated and sadly far from any cell towers, Michael’s office is equipped with a phone line that he needs for his job as Genesis’s official liaison to provincial society. Before I agreed to come, I was told I could use it to stay in touch with my family.

One of the first directives I have from the Families is to find an alternative mode of communication with Kor, who is to act as my handler. I can’t rely on this phone or any mail I send to be secure, but if I can’t find a better way to pass information to Kor, I’ll wait to give it to him in person when I travel home for the holidays, or in the worst-case scenario, use the satellite phone.

Michael leaves me alone in his office so I can have privacy for my call. I feel sick at the thought of violating his personal space, but I push through it, knowing what I need to do.

I start by actually using the phone to call my mom to let her know that I arrived safely. She doesn’t answer, but I leave a message.

Then I hang up and assess the room. Where should I start?

Kor’s top three directives to identify are:

1) A secure mode of communication

2) The location of the institute and how to access it

3) A method of giving non-Sires Sire abilities

And I’ve added my own last one.

4) A cure for Grandfather

The bookshelves seem like a good place to begin, but there are way too many books to look through. I pull out my phone—that I’d excavated from its hiding place for this purpose—and use it to take photos of the shelves. I can use the pictures later to see if there’s anything worth a closer look.

I hasten over to Michael’s desk. The large book he was reading is written in Hebrew. I snap a picture, because why not? I rifle through his drawers, but everything seems standard and boring besides a stash of emergency chocolate. Nice.

I take pictures of all kinds of documents, but my anxiety is starting to spike, knowing that Michael could return at any moment. There are a lot of letters stamped with wax seals of a book that has the scales of justice growing up from between the pages––the emblem of the Sophists, Michael’s guild. Thankfully, all of the seals are already broken, so I’m able to easily photograph their contents without too much fuss. I record a video flipping through his notebook in case there’s something useful in there. I’ll check later. Gotta keep moving.

My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that I’m worried I won’t hear if someone’s coming. There’s a slim drawer underneath the center of the desk that I almost miss. When I open it, it’s empty except for the large key that Headmaster Bloche had given to Michael yesterday. It’s as long as the length of my hand, fingertip to wrist, and heavy. There’s an engraving of theVitruvian ManGenesis emblem, and the teeth of the key look incredibly intricate. I snap a photo, put it back, and close the drawer.

I move on from the desk to a tall cabinet full of files about what looks to be other recruits, or potential recruits.Snap, snap, snap.The next shelf is all provincial vinyl records. Very cool but not useful.

I yelp as I hear a door slam somewhere in the hallway. It’s probably not Michael, but I’ve officially reached my limit on how much apprehension I can hold inside my body. I’ll look more the next time I’m here to borrow the phone.

I take a few deep breaths before I casually walk out of Michael’s office, as if I have every right to be here, because I do.

I’m dizzy with adrenaline as I attempt to navigate the labyrinth of corridors back to my room in the Winter wing, but I find myself totally lost in an unfamiliar hallway. There’s fragrant wisteria hanging from the ceiling, andan impressionist-style mural of a garden extends across the wall. I turn to retrace my steps and then recognize the stiff leather and shiny silver of the Avant Guard as two soldiers round the corner.

Gah. Why now?

I try to saunter past them while looking as innocent as possible, but it doesn’t work.

“Oi, what’s your name?” one guard says. He has a sharp nose and gray hair that doesn’t match his youthful appearance.

“Ada.” I smile, not stopping or even slowing.

“That’s the one,” the other guard, stocky and blond, growls.

“Are you sure?” They pause, but I keep walking, and they don’t prevent me from passing through the next more familiar hall and into the bright open air of the Equinox.

The one?What’s that supposed to mean?

As inconspicuously as I can, I pull my phone from my hoodie pocket and tuck it past the waistline of my leggings and into the front of my underpants.

When the thud of boot steps grows louder behind me, my instinct is to bolt, but I force myself to keep a normal pace. I relax my shoulders and hold in my ragged breaths.

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