Once we’re underground, Remi draws closer to me and weaves a bit of sunnaz into a little ball, one for each of us to light the way. Their arm brushes against mine as they pass the little glowing sun to me, but it’s gone just as quickly. Is it my imagination, or are they standing farther away from me than before?
They’re still mad, probably. Maybe? Are we fighting? Are we not fighting? After I told everyone what I had learned, I thought we were calling a truce over the whole me-storming-out, them-abandoning-me thing.
I guess that was wishful thinking. I should have known better.
Farther up the tunnel, the sound of a slamming door echoes through the cavern, freezing us both in our tracks. We pause for thirty eternal seconds.
Epic Group Chat: We are SO UTTERLY SCREWED Edition
Ania: How’s it going?
Everything okay?
The notification is so sudden I nearly shout in alarm. Ania and her awful timing, I swear she does this on purpose. But it does give me an idea. Remi won’t talk out loud, but maybe they’ll reply to a message.
(private) You: Do you know anything about what’s in this archive?
Nothing, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Maybe they have their notifications turned off?
Epic Group Chat: We are SO UTTERLY SCREWED Edition
Remi: Fine so far. We’re being all sneaky though, so give us a bit before messaging again.
You nearly gave Diz a heart attack
Ania: Whoops
Oh, okay, they were just replying to Ania first. They’ll reply to my message any second.
Any second now.
Any minute now.
Okay, yeah, they’re definitely still mad. Really mad. Maybe I should have invited one of the others along as a buffer. It’s like an itch in the front of my brain. Obviously, there’s only one answer here.
Ignore it completely.
I put on a burst of speed and pull ahead of Remi, walking faster down the broken-down tunnel, taking far less care than I probably should around the crumbled remains. The whole place smells musty, mostly of dampness trapped in an enclosed space, but somehow a bit of that gym-sock dorm-room smell too, even after all this time. Wall-mounted screens with the university’s logo on the frame, dark and cracked, sit at regular intervals, and a few laminated student-made flyers for clubs and parties still litter the ground. A lot of things can decompose in ten years’ time. Apparently a lot can still be left behind too.
If I could stand to slow down for a second, I’d have my little drone fly the tunnel to make sure it’s stayed clear of major debris since the most recent earthquake, but oh well. We’ll go as far as we can, and if we need to pop above ground, so be it.
We’re lucky, though. We turn one last corner, following my mental map of the university, and the tunnel opens up into a small foyer with a branch tunnel marked by a half-fallen metal sign: THE PARK-TORRES BUILDING, jointly named for the families that funded the original department and the new building. We’re here. I glance quickly over my shoulder to make sure Remi is still with me, then continue on.
No message from them. Not a word.
This is fine.
Fifteen
THE DOOR INTO THE MAIN building looks like it hasn’t been disturbed in at least a year. Heavy dust has settled over the whole thing, and broken links and sections of chain still lie in front of it, like the door keeps getting broken into and whoever maintains it just shrugs and slaps a new chain on each time. Super effective, obviously. Once we’re inside, the archives are only a few doors down, and Remi’s anticipation is like a third presence in the hallway with us, peeking over my shoulder.
Okay, breaking into the archive, step one: make sure no one else is in the room. I can’t tell for certain—not like I have access to camera feeds from here or anything—but I can query the door’s locking system and see if anyone has entered since closing time. The answer is no. There’s always the possibility some professor or student came in before closing and simply stayed to work after hours, but we’ll just have to take that risk. When I finally pop the lock, Remi sucks in a nearly inaudible breath beside me.
I crack the door slowly, carefully, my eyes doing one quick sweep of the room, followed by a slower one to look for things I missed. Nothing. Open the door wider—still nothing. The air vibrates with the force of Remi’s restraint as they graciously refrain from shoving me out of the way and bull-rushing the precious manuscripts. I slip inside and to the left to make way for them before they lose their patience, closing the door after them and relocking it. When I turn back to the room, though, the look on Remi’s face steals my breath.
They stare up at the shelves and shelves of books, files, and old data storage media as if seeing the face of a goddess, awed and humbled and glowing with some inner light.
As determined as I am to keep up my end of the passive-aggressive silence, I just can’t. Not with them looking like this is the best day of their life. I need to share it.
I step to their side and shift my weight just a hair closer. “Is it everything you thought it would be?” I ask, silently begging them to just look at me.
And they do, turning to offer a shadow of their usual beaming grin. My own half-mustered smile fades too. Have I really gone so far as to ruin this for them, something they’ve been wanting for years?
They turn back to the stacks with a hum and nod. “Yes. It’s . . . a lot. I’m going to hit up one of the search terminals and see what the database can turn up about maz-15 and the spellplague. We might be here all night. I hope you brought something to entertain yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need entertaining. I can help, you know. I wasn’t as good in school as you, but I can still read and stuff.”
They don’t rise to the bait, only turn and stride toward the nearest terminal. I stare at their retreating form for a moment longer, nursing the disappointed ache in my chest. What will it take to get back to normal?
While Remi types away, scribbling down call numbers on the provided scraps of paper, I take to wandering. I think I was expecting dusty shelves with ancient paper books, maybe, or a clunky old early model deck with barely functioning computer files. Instead, the shelves are completely free of dust, and reading stations along the outer walls hold boxes of white gloves for handling delicate objects. Heavy-duty dehumidifiers churn away, keeping moisture levels low, and UV lights glow from inside the air vents, where they kill off mold spores before they have a chance to enter the room.
My eye catches on a map on the back wall, focused on the southern part of our continent. Jattapore features prominently, a bright coastal city with stylized dolphins cresting in the sketched ocean. A plaque next to it explains the date and provenance of the map and includes a note about the shape of the coastline, which apparently does not reflect the present day due to sea-level rise and the hurricanes that slam into the city every few weeks.
Part of me wishes Jattapore would wash right off the map. How are we ever supposed to get back to normal when my friends always have it as their backup plan? What even is normal anymore? A few days ago, they were on the cusp of moving to Jattapore for good. Then I thought maybe I’d gotten them all back, with the money from the job. But a few hours ago they were ready to flee town without me.
One way or another, they’re going to leave eventually. Maybe I should recalibrate my sense of normal once and for all. It obviously shouldn’t include Remi, Jaesin, and Ania. I need to stop hoping for change if I have any chance of getting over this.