For some reason, that made her cheeks turn the color of a tomato. “Yeah,” she whispered, pulling back. “I know. I’ll tell you soon, Riley, I promise. It’s something you need to hear, just...not right now. When we’re done, I’ll explain everything.”

“Riley,” Wes’s voice buzzed in my ear, quiet and tense. “I’m in.”

“Copy that,” I said, turning the mic toward me once more. “We’re on our way.” Glancing at Ember, who looked relieved at the interruption, I smiled grimly. “Ready, Firebrand?”

She nodded and pulled up the hood on her jacket, hiding her flaming hair. Grabbing my backpack, I opened the door, slung the pack to one shoulder and headed across the street with Ember beside me.

“Approaching the front doors now,” I muttered into the mic. “We’ll pass the entrance and the front camera in about twenty seconds, Wes.”

“Got it,” Wes replied tersely. “Starting the feedback loop...now. All right, you should be good.”

I held my breath as we swept through the front doors, deliberately not looking at the camera I knew was hidden right above us, watching the entrance. Nothing happened, except for an oblivious teenager nearly running into me because his face was glued to his phone. I smoothly stepped around him and headed into the library. It was cool and quiet inside, with bright florescent lights, a high ceiling, and shelves of books lining the walls and marching down the floors.

“We’re in,” I murmured as Ember and I passed the checkout desk, where a stern, white-haired librarian eyed us from behind her glasses, silently warning us not to cause trouble.

“Wes, can you see the elevator room?”

“I’m hacked into the security system,” Wes replied. “I can see the whole bloody library, including...oh, wait. Some bloke just came into the elevator room.”

“Now?” I growled. “He’s early.”

“Yeah, well, you need to get moving, because the blighter just went down the elevator. That means someone will be coming up in a couple minutes.”

“Dammit. All right, heading to the back now. Where’s St. George?”

“En route,” said the soldier quietly through the earbud.

The information desk came into view, a long wooden structure with a pair of computers and one bored-looking human sitting behind it. A little to the side, in plain view of the desk, was the door we needed to get through. A large employees-only sign hung prominently to the side of the frame.

The desk clerk hadn’t noticed us yet. Before she could, Ember and I slipped into a nearby aisle, pretending to browse but watching her through the shelves. I eyed the door to the left of the desk, the first barrier between us and the Vault.

“Excuse me.”

The soldier’s voice buzzed quietly in my ear. I peeked through the shelves to see the human walk up to the desk, a slip of paper in hand. The clerk raised her head and gave him an expectant look.

“Hi,” St. George said casually. “I’m trying to find this book for class, but I’m having trouble. It’s supposed to be in aisle E-14, but I don’t see it there.”

“What’s the title?” asked the clerk, and when he told her, she clicked her keyboard for a few seconds, staring at the computer. I tapped my foot on the floor and tried not to growl as she studied the screen. “Hmm, it says we have a copy in. Are you sure you were in the right aisle?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She blinked at him, perhaps surprised he’d answered so politely, then smiled. “Well, it might’ve been shelved incorrectly,” she said, and slid off her chair. “Let me see if I can find it for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He stepped back and followed her away from the desk, toward the front of the library, where he had deliberately chosen an aisle as far from the information desk as possible. I waited until they had vanished, then stepped away from the shelves.

“Wes. Now.”

“Roger that. Starting the playback loop again.” A heartbeat of silence, and then, “Live feed is dead. Anyone watching is seeing a recording. You’re clear.”

“Let’s go, Firebrand.”

We hurried from the aisle, passed the desk and hit the door without breaking stride, slipping through into the hallway beyond. The door closed behind us with a squeak and a soft click, but we couldn’t relax just yet. Our window was closing fast.

Quickly, we moved down the short, plain corridor, passing a break room with a table and a couple vending machines, until we came to the last door at the very end. This one was definitely locked, with a numbered keypad that glowed green as we came up. “Wes,” I growled, feeling highly exposed in the short, brightly lit hallway. “Door’s locked.”