Page 72 of The Light Within

With a surge of panic, Cinn pounded down the staircase, the sound of his footsteps thundering loudly in the empty tower. He reached the bottom, staring up at the winding staircase. Nobody was there.

You’re being stupid.

Cinn left the tower, the shock of the icy air a harsh slap in the face. He picked a direction at random, walking around the perimeter of the glass-domed Solstice Atrium. The skeletal branches of the bare trees were etched against the pale sky, creating a serene, fractured landscape mirrored in the Atrium’s smooth glass surface. The quiet beauty of the reflection finally calmed his beating heart.

See. You were being paranoid. It’s all good.

A sudden, sharp yelp cut through the stillness, followed by someone mumbling curses.

Lightning quick, Cinn spun, eyesfinallycatching something. Someone. Someone hovering back near the building’s entrance. Dark skin, long black coat, thick, ebony black hair…

That same guy from earlier, the one watching them from the courtyard pavilion.

His pursuer’s eyes opened saucer-wide, and for a moment the two of them remained stone-still, eyes locked.

Then he dove into the Solstice Atrium, a flash of black trench coat there one second, gone the next.

Cinn stared at the spot where he’d been.

This fancy building was only for consortium members to meet in. Cinn would potentially be risking trouble by following.

Now he’d seen the scrawny-looking guy, Cinn wasn’t the slightest bit scared of him. But hewascurious as to why the stranger was following him. It hadn’t been his imagination earlier, in Noir’s tower. What if this prick had been listening at the door?

Without a second more hesitation, Cinn dove towards the Atrium’s entrance.

seventeen

Julien

Julien’s work day was quickly turning out to be long and boring. Each time he checked his watch, he expected it to be close to noon, but no such luck.

He’d barely gotten any work done so far today. His first distraction occurred when Elliot dropped into his office cubicle at MEET, with some strange tale about some creepy guy who had been watching him and Cinn, which was slightly alarming, to say the least.

Then, he’d poured over pages and pages of numerical data about MEET’s new motecell line they had in the pipeline for production later that year. Julien stared and stared, but no matter how many times he adjusted his reading glasses, they weren’t adding up.

His back creaked when he got to his feet. Time for a stretch anyway, he meandered through the corridor to Jonathan Steele’s office, on the very top floor, and the very end of the corridor. The director of MEET enjoyed being undisturbed as much as possible.

Jonathan’s assistant, who usually manned the desk outside his office, wasn’t in her usual seat. Looking closer, there was a note pinned to her tidy tray that read,on extended holidays.

Nice for some people.

His knuckles raised, Julien prepared to knock briskly on Jonathan’s door. He paused. Jonathan’s door was slightly ajar.Strange. Jonathan kept his door firmly closed, always locking it if he wasn’t in.

Pushing gently on the wood, the door swung open, and Julien stepped inside.

He was alone. In Jonathan’s office. For how long, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he couldn’t pass up the chance for any scrap of information he could find about the elusive project Julien’s father had mentioned.

Julien flew across the room at breakneck speed. The desk was vacant, aside from a single shiny ballpoint pen. Three options to search next—the filing cabinet, the bookshelves, the computer terminal.

He launched himself towards the filing cabinet. Locked. Every single drawer.

Obviously, Julien.

Even if he had his unlocker on him, that would be a step too far should anyone enter while he was using it.

The computer was switched off, which wasn’t promising, so he moved quickly to inspect the bookshelf.

Lined with classics he suspected were simply for show, Julien’s fingers danced along the spines, pausing on titles that seemed suspicious:The Purloined Letterby Edgar Allan Poe,The Doubleby Fyodor Dostoevsky.

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