David's office's oak door slammed open and he stormed out with a frown that could kill. He cut through the administrative wing in fast strides, radiating a murderous aura, lips pressed so tightly together they practically disappeared. The echo of his shoes followed him down the hall until he vanished around the turn.

  Elisabeth, Victor, and Rosalyn, who had been pretending to be deeply fascinated by the administrative bulletin board, glanced up as he disappeared.

  "Good," Elisabeth murmured with a satisfied smirk. "That'll keep him occupied for at least an hour."

  "Thirty minutes at best," Victor corrected grimly.

  "I said one hour. I'm the one who arranged everything, so I know best." Her tone sharpened.

  "Men are simple," said Victor. "Our psychology's simpler than a woman's. If the situation's too nonsensical and chaotic, you'd overthink and try to solve it. He'll just dump it quickly and come back. We have thirty minutes."

  Without waiting for a reply, he moved toward David's office. Rosalyn followed quietly. Elisabeth clenched her fists, her pride pricked, but trailed after them nonetheless.

  The chairman hated company, any human presence within a twenty-meter radius, so his office was isolated from the rest of the administrative wing, hidden beyond a corridor far from the usual noise. Ideal, as there'd be no witnesses. At the door, Victor crouched and began to tinker with the lock, the quiet click of metal on metal filling the silence. In mere seconds, the latch gave way.

  Elisabeth arched a brow. "Were you in a gang or something?"

  Victor ignored her comment and said flatly, "Keep watch. Rosalyn and I will search inside."

  "Since when are you the boss? This was all my idea. Why would I do something as pathetic as guarding? Have the redhead do it!"

  "You're loud and impatient. You'd trigger an alarm before finding anything useful."

  "You—!" Elisabeth hissed, grabbing his black shirt near the collar to drag him down to her level. He didn't even budge. Instead, he caught her wrist and peeled her hand off with effortless precision.

  "Don't. Touch. Me."

  His voice was low, steady but undeniably chilling. Elisabeth felt it creep down her spine. She looked away, trembling in anger and humiliation. Rosalyn said nothing, her eyes following the exchange in silence.

  Victor released Elisabeth's hand and turned toward the office.

  "Let's go," he muttered, stepping inside. Rosalyn followed. Elisabeth remained at the threshold, fuming but obeying.

  David's office was spacious and cold, every surface calibrated to the man who occupied it. Towering bookshelves marched to the ceiling, tall narrow windows let in thin slices of light, and the floor gleamed like glass. A massive oak desk dominated the room; behind it a leather chair sat perfectly centered. The fireplace adorned by a platinum crate did little to add coziness to the space. Not a speck of dust dared settle anywhere. No decorations. It felt clinical, as if warmth had been politely asked to stay away.

  Victor and Rosalyn split up. He moved to the shelves while she rifled through the drawers of the desk. Time pressed at the edges; they had to be quick. Guilt gnawed at Rosalyn. This was a violation, a break-in. But she swallowed it and kept looking.

  In the second drawer, a small leather volume caught her eye. Gold letters were stamped on the cover: Misanthropic Musings, Vol. IV. Her pulse thudded; she remembered seeing David with that exact notebook the day he'd stopped her in the clearing. She slid the book free and opened it. Her gaze stopped at the odd entries:

  #75: "Faculty meeting today. I had to listen to three idiots who call themselves professors discuss students' rights. A useless debate. The only right a student has is to breathe. And that already is generous when in my presence. Still, I agreed with the bald one. He gave me a speech about how right we both were. Stopped listening halfway."

  #76: "Two female students came to me with sparkly eyes asking questions about a lecture. I explained. Their eyes shone brighter. I wanted to pluck them out."

  #83: "Holidays. The time of year when people travel to grill in the sun. Never understood it. If you want to grill, there's a crematorium right around the corner."

  Rosalyn bit back a disbelieving laugh. The entries were so outrageously misanthropic that they almost read as satire.

  Then something inside the spine caught the light: a thin bump, a sliver of metal glinting from the book's hollow.

  Her heartbeat accelerated at the possibility. She whispered for Victor who immediately came. As she showed the notebook to him, he examined the seam, then nodded.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  "Is that the needle-key?" she breathed.

  "Yes."

  Victor reached in with two careful fingers.

  "No! Don't!" Rosalyn hissed. "You said it has a reactive coating!"

  He met her eyes for a fraction of a second.

  "I know."

  Then, to her horror, he drew the needle out with bare fingers.

  The whole key turned a molten slash of red, as if metal were run to a fever. Rosalyn's mind supplied the inevitable image: searing steam, flesh gone black in an instant. But nothing happened. Victor's skin showed no blistering. He held the needle like someone holding a pen.

  "How..." she whispered.

  Victor slid the book back into the drawer, the hollow closing with a soft, neat click. He didn't look triumphant; he looked distant. They went back to the threshold where Elisabeth waited. Her gaze too instantly dropped to Victor's bare palm holding the needle-key.

  "What the-"

  Victor cut her off. "You know where the archives are. Lead the way."

  Elisabeth stared at his hand for a heartbeat longer, then at his face, then back at the glowing needle. Her mouth opened. No argument formed.

  They stepped out as quietly as they had come, heading towards the library.

  "At what time did you arrange for the power outage to happen?" Victor asked as they ran.

  "In about ten minutes. My technician couldn't do it faster," Elisabeth replied between breaths.

  "Will do."

  They entered the Academy's library with urgent purpose hidden under a cloak of calm. Students hunched over open books beneath rows of green-shaded lamps. None of them looked up as the three crossed the marble floor and descended the spiral stairway to the lowest level.

  Elisabeth led them through the dim "History" section to its far end: the oldest part of the library, where steel beams met the remnants of ancient stone arches. In the corner, lost in shadow, stood a small door set into the wall. They slipped inside.

  A massive, three-meter-high metallic door loomed before them at the end of a narrow corridor. Its sleek surface and faint hum betrayed recent construction, a modern replacement for what once had been.

  "This is it," said Elisabeth, checking her digital watch. "Now we wait for the power outage. It should mess up David's monitoring system for a while. Do you have a torch?"

  Rosalyn nodded, gripping the flashlight tightly. She could hear her own heartbeat echoing in the confined space as the seconds stretched thin.

  Then, without warning, the lights went out. A wave of blackness swallowed the corridor.

  Victor moved instantly, the sound of his steps almost inaudible. He reached the metallic door before Rosalyn even flicked on her torch. The beam cut through the dark, landing on the small needle-sized hole at the center of the door. Victor crouched and brought out the key. It was pulsing with a faint, reddish glow that should have seared through his flesh, yet didn't so much as mark him. Rosalyn and Elisabeth exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.

  He inserted the needle with measured precision, studying the resistance, feeling the delicate mechanism hidden within. A few silent seconds passed. Then -click. A muted metallic sigh followed as the massive doors slid open.

  They entered.

  A solemn silence greeted them, the kind one would feel when stepping into a church. There were no windows, yet the room wasn't pitch-black. A dim radiance lingered, born from inscriptions carved into the walls. The letters glowed faintly in hues of green and warm amber, their light delicate, almost breathing.

  "Holy knowledge is no ordinary thing, no mud to be trampled underfoot. It is a subtle essence, dwelling high among clusters of stars. From there it descends in rays of light, to illumine with its radiance the steep roads of the just."

  And:

  "Each strike that flogs the body and brings pain tightens the chains, but adorns the soul with what does not die, opening the gates of Holy Peace. Beyond, countless joys await in exchange for all the suffering endured."

  Rosalyn lingered on the words, reading them slowly, letting them echo in her mind. They resonated deeply, stirring something quiet and trembling within her. Elisabeth and Victor didn't pay much attention to the inscriptions. They were already moving ahead, inspecting the space's interior.

  The archives were immense. A cathedral of knowledge. Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretched into the dim distance, heavy with ancient tomes and scrolls blanketed in thick layers of dust. The marble floor beneath them gleamed faintly, its veins of amber catching the glow from the walls' inscriptions.

  Rosalyn's gaze drifted upward again, tracing the illuminated text spiraling near the ceiling. She felt something stir, a sense of anticipation she couldn't name, a strange, inexplicable giddiness.

  She didn't notice Elisabeth approaching until Elisabeth snatched the torch from her hands with a sharp motion.

  "Stop gaping and start searching," she snapped, already striding toward a nearby shelf.

  Victor had already vanished among the aisles.

  For a few moments, Rosalyn stood alone in the vast stillness. The air was heavy with dust and something older, something or someone watching. She rubbed her forehead, exhaled softly, and forced herself to move.

  She chose an aisle on the right nave of the archives, about a third of the way down the row. Her gaze wandered over the countless books, their dust-covered spines stretching endlessly. She, Elisabeth, and Victor were here to find a unique topic for the Lumen Project, yet the task slipped from her mind entirely. Instead, her fingers traced the books lightly, leaving faint trails in the layer of dust.

  Suddenly she felt compelled to lift her eyes and look to her right.

  She did.

  And instantly, her body froze.

  A glowing silhouette stood a few meters away from her, turned in profile. It was a man. Tall, imposing, clad in long, flowing robes that seemed to radiate light. His long silver hair waved faintly as if caught in an invisible breeze.

  He was extending his arm toward a book high on a shelf, sliding it gently out of its place. His robe's wide sleeves momentarily obscured his face, keeping his features hidden.

  Then she saw his head tilt slowly in her direction, as if he was looking at her through the veil.

  Rosalyn couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Her blood ran cold, yet her eyes were riveted, unable to look away from him.

  He slowly lowered his arm, book in hand, letting his sleeve drift lower with it, revealing his face to her slowly, inch by inch. When his eyes were fully uncovered, he paused, not going any further.

  It was as if her heart was being ripped out of her chest. She gasped violently.

  Because his eyes - his eyes were chrysolite. The same as the tortured figure's.