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The drive was long, or rather it seemed long because Logan had avoided the downtown traffic in lieu of a more scenic route. I slid down into the soft leather seats, pulling the warmth of the hoodie up to my cheek as I watched the landscape fly by. The material was soft and threadbare, the way they only got after years of wear, and it smelled of Logan.
I reexamined the vision of him, brief as it was, searching for a sign I might have missed when he was less real. That’s what he’d been before, an abstract. And now I was sniffing his coat.
I straightened, abruptly aware of how alone we were. We’d been together in my room, but it was different somehow, with the guards outside my door. Safer.
The car turned onto a narrow street, and I began to recognize the area. We were nearly there. Council. I’d not been to the building, not seen it in person, but Brendan had laid out the property in detail only weeks ago. When Morgan was planning attack. My eyes fell to Logan, who seemed completely composed, and it lessened my sudden unease.
We entered the back of the property, driving slowly up a narrow road, and eventually through a low garage door that left us in what appeared to be the main building. Logan got out, glancing to a small black dome that I was fairly certain held a security camera, before coming around the car. I was unsure how all of this worked, so I stayed where I sat until he opened my door and held out a hand.
I grasped it, allowing him to pull me from the low bucket seat, and didn’t let go until we were standing at the doorway and Logan had to enter a passcode. The box beeped and flashed red, but did nothing. Logan grimaced, shooting a glare toward the domed camera, and pointed toward the door. A moment later, it slid open, which meant at least someone knew where we were. Three more coded doors, several long hallways, and a set of stairs later, we were standing at a thick metal shutter. Logan pressed his palm to a crystal pad and said, “Black.”
The shutters pulled back and a door slid open so silently, I felt the need to whisper. “Is that your code word?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me, grinning. “It’s my last name.”
Oh, I mouthed, and he jerked his head toward the door.
When we entered the archive, I felt my intake of breath. Brendan had shown me photos, but the sheer volume of books could not have been accurately portrayed.
“What’s wrong?” Logan asked from beside me.
My hand fell from my chest. “How will I ever find what I need?”
Logan looked disappointed. “I thought you were a prophet.”
I stared at him, mouth agape, and he laughed. “There’s a catalog, Brianna.”
