looked at him, her gaze falling to the black jacket and overcoat closed around his chest. A hint of crimson trickled through the fabric of his white shirt. “Are you bleeding, Detective?”
Septis pulled his coat tight and stormed out of the café.
Joseph Adam , he thought, where are you?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Classes started seven days after Gabe learned of his secret, and for the most part, he had been separated from his father and Carlyle by a busy schedule. To his dismay, he had yet to cross paths with Micah. Her classes were more advanced, with the benefit of starting a semester early.
Gabe relished getting stuck into the college life, having done all the things necessary to accomplish that transition from a regular seventeen-year-old boy to an actual university student. Books and school supplies were bought. He even attended a special orientation for those entering the semester late where he was given a list of courses assigned for his curriculum.
Life felt normal.
Much of the undergraduate module for a theology major consisted of familiar subjects. Being force-fed Bible studies for so many years turned out to be useful after all, though he’d rather eat one of his textbooks than admit it to his father.
Even with that advantage, classes were still tough. He left his final course for the day and walked back to his dorm room, feeling the heft of his new backpack pull against his neck and shoulders. Homework was already piling up, and with his free time dwindling, Gabe wondered how any college student had time to waste in a student pub.
One paper was due within the week, and several teachers were using the Socratic Method, a particularly cruel teaching technique that, in an earlier class, had ended with some poor, unprepared girl standing in front of the class as their professor peppered her with questions for which she had no answers. Gabe could barely watch the ten-minute barrage as the professor’s point was made— miss an assignment and risk the same fate .
Gabe decided the classes weren’t necessarily harder than in high school, but the focus on the work was way more intense. Much, however, remained the same from New York. Each class still ended with a stampede toward the door.
Back at the dorm, Gabe discovered a note on his door. He pulled it off and opened the envelope. Come to the Vault Room. 5 p.m. Don’t be late. Dad.
“So much for normal.”
Outside the Norman Gallery, Micah paced in the snow, biting her nails. Her brow was scrunched together, fixed in a worrisome expression as if she’d just received bad marks on a test. Gabe approached and noticed a police constable in the doorway to the building, checking people’s identification before they entered.
That’s new , Gabe thought.
Micah’s eyes went wide as they met his, and she rushed to meet him. “Bad things, Gabe. Bad things,” she said and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him close.
“Misplace your halo?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she snipped. “Someone tried to break into the vault.”
“What? Did they get in?”
“No, but that’s not the problem.” She motioned to the officer rifling through some indignant student’s backpack. “There’s an investigation. The curator is involved, and he and Carlyle don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
Gabe followed Micah through the gallery and down the stairs to the vault’s office. Other than the unusual amount of strangers inside the small space, everything seemed in order.
“Figured it might look a little different,” Gabe said. “Did they break in and clean the place?”
“Nobody physically tried to break in. It was a hacker trying to disable the security system,” Micah said.
Gabe noticed a technician working on the LCD screen next to the vault door, explaining something to his father as he worked. The screen had been removed and dangled loose to the side, making way for wires connected to the technician’s laptop.
“For the third time, you
Septis pulled his coat tight and stormed out of the café.
Joseph Adam , he thought, where are you?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Classes started seven days after Gabe learned of his secret, and for the most part, he had been separated from his father and Carlyle by a busy schedule. To his dismay, he had yet to cross paths with Micah. Her classes were more advanced, with the benefit of starting a semester early.
Gabe relished getting stuck into the college life, having done all the things necessary to accomplish that transition from a regular seventeen-year-old boy to an actual university student. Books and school supplies were bought. He even attended a special orientation for those entering the semester late where he was given a list of courses assigned for his curriculum.
Life felt normal.
Much of the undergraduate module for a theology major consisted of familiar subjects. Being force-fed Bible studies for so many years turned out to be useful after all, though he’d rather eat one of his textbooks than admit it to his father.
Even with that advantage, classes were still tough. He left his final course for the day and walked back to his dorm room, feeling the heft of his new backpack pull against his neck and shoulders. Homework was already piling up, and with his free time dwindling, Gabe wondered how any college student had time to waste in a student pub.
One paper was due within the week, and several teachers were using the Socratic Method, a particularly cruel teaching technique that, in an earlier class, had ended with some poor, unprepared girl standing in front of the class as their professor peppered her with questions for which she had no answers. Gabe could barely watch the ten-minute barrage as the professor’s point was made— miss an assignment and risk the same fate .
Gabe decided the classes weren’t necessarily harder than in high school, but the focus on the work was way more intense. Much, however, remained the same from New York. Each class still ended with a stampede toward the door.
Back at the dorm, Gabe discovered a note on his door. He pulled it off and opened the envelope. Come to the Vault Room. 5 p.m. Don’t be late. Dad.
“So much for normal.”
Outside the Norman Gallery, Micah paced in the snow, biting her nails. Her brow was scrunched together, fixed in a worrisome expression as if she’d just received bad marks on a test. Gabe approached and noticed a police constable in the doorway to the building, checking people’s identification before they entered.
That’s new , Gabe thought.
Micah’s eyes went wide as they met his, and she rushed to meet him. “Bad things, Gabe. Bad things,” she said and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him close.
“Misplace your halo?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she snipped. “Someone tried to break into the vault.”
“What? Did they get in?”
“No, but that’s not the problem.” She motioned to the officer rifling through some indignant student’s backpack. “There’s an investigation. The curator is involved, and he and Carlyle don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
Gabe followed Micah through the gallery and down the stairs to the vault’s office. Other than the unusual amount of strangers inside the small space, everything seemed in order.
“Figured it might look a little different,” Gabe said. “Did they break in and clean the place?”
“Nobody physically tried to break in. It was a hacker trying to disable the security system,” Micah said.
Gabe noticed a technician working on the LCD screen next to the vault door, explaining something to his father as he worked. The screen had been removed and dangled loose to the side, making way for wires connected to the technician’s laptop.
“For the third time, you
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