Chapter 4: Midnight Archive
The academy at midnight possessed a completely different personality than the bustling institution of the daytime hours. The polished marble floors echoed every footstep, and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the main foyer sounded like a metronome counting down the seconds until my nerve broke. I slipped through the side entrance of the library, my fingers brushing the familiar wood paneling until I located the heavy oak door of the historical archive. The key Mrs. Vance had managed to secure slid into the antique brass lock with barely a whisper of sound.
Inside, the air smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and dust that had settled decades before I was born. I set my white cane against the oak reading table and pulled a small penlight from my jacket pocket, sweeping its beam across the towering rows of filing cabinets. According to the index numbers Mrs. Vance had provided, the blueprints for the 2018 East Wing renovation were cataloged under municipal compliance files. My fingers moved swiftly along the brass drawer pulls, reading the embossed metal labels until I felt the notched edges of drawer 4C.
The drawer slid open with a soft metallic groan. Inside lay heavy linen-backed blueprints marked with red revision stamps and handwritten marginalia signed by Arthur Sterling himself. My hands hovered over the thick paper, carefully unfolding the schematic of the second-floor corridor. There it was, inked in bold red pen: Deactivate secondary acoustic sensors to expedite aesthetic remodeling. It wasn't just an oversight or a delayed maintenance ticket; it was a deliberate, cost-cutting directive that compromised the safety of every visually impaired student attending the academy under the Sterling Foundation's philanthropic umbrella.
"Looking for extracurricular reading material, Miss Bennett?"
The voice came from the darkened doorway, smooth, controlled, and instantly recognizable. Arthur Sterling stood leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette framed by the dim amber light of the hallway sconces. He wasn't raising his voice, nor was he reaching for a phone; men of his stature didn't need to panic in the dark because they owned the locks on the doors.
May you like
"I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Sterling," I replied, my voice steady as I let go of the blueprint and rested my hand lightly on the edge of the table. "Though I suppose it's easier to check your own paperwork when you're the one who signed off on cutting the safety corners."
Sterling stepped into the room, his leather shoes clicking methodically against the parquet floor as he closed the distance between us. "You're a bright girl, Maya," he said, his tone dripping with patronizing calm. "It’s a shame you don't realize that some doors are locked for your own protection."
