14.

She's trying to sit still, really trying, but the energy singing through every ounce of her blood is nearly too much to bear. Even as she sits atop an overturned peach crate—the same one she'd sat on as Percy had nursed her wounds the other night—Indy's legs and hands are still shaking.

Gatz, Percy, and Sylvia are all sitting on the floor of the attic, mingling with the dust bunnies, gathered around the copy of the fateful police report Indy pulled from an online database. The silence is enough to slowly nibble away at Indy's already anxious brain. Whether she's anxious because she thinks they'll find something to disprove her hypothesis, or because she thinks they won't, she isn't sure. She just feels it—a weight pressing on the back of her neck, like a stone, or the breath of a stranger.

Gatz sits back with a long sigh, like an elderly person sinking their old bones into a chair. "It's not enough."

Now Indy is the one sinking. She gapes at them. "What do you mean it's not enough?"

"I mean we'd have to go talk to Pine again if we wanted to know for sure."

"There has to be some paper trail for this," Percy agrees, handing the report off to Sylvia, who glares at it for another moment before returning it to Indy, faintly crinkled. "Like a write-up he did the day of the maintenance call, or something. Otherwise we don't really have proof."

They're right, and Indy knows they are, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating. She's so close, a cohesive answer right at her fingertips, but she keeps slipping before she can reach it. "Okay," she says. "Okay, that makes sense. We'll go back as soon as possible, and then—"

"Indy, take it slow," Percy says. "After your little incident the other night, don't you think you should lay low for a while?"

"Or at least stop breaking into abandoned places for a while?" Sylvia suggests. Indy filled them in on the results of her and Jude's trip earlier, and though she tried to gloss over just how catastrophically it went, thankfully Percy was there to make sure Sylvia and Gats knew every unfavorable detail.

"I know," Indy says, ignoring Sylvia's raised eyebrow. "I know, but this is safe. It'll just be...an anonymous tip."

Gatz looks like they were fully planning to laugh aloud at that before they catch themselves. "Right."

"Even so, there's still too much of this shit that doesn't make any sense," Sylvia says, rising from her spot on the floor and to her full height, which is at least doubled by the platform shoes laced up her ankles. Her monochromatic hue of choice today is baby summer sky blue, her cropped fur coat making her resemble a sugary roll of cotton candy. "Your journal didn't mention anything about the hammer, but for some reason it did seem important to give you that address. I don't see where the dots connect."

"Maybe it's not my job to see where they connect. Maybe it's just my job to hand it off to someone who can."

Sylvia looks unsure. Gatz looks concerned. Percy just looks tired.

"It could be a breakthrough, Indy," Percy says, and he sounds startlingly sincere as he does. "I'll give you that."

He looks at her, a silent reminder of everything that had been said last night in his eye, and Indy nods. Take it slow. Proceed with caution. Somewhere inside of her Indy knows it's the right thing to do. But it's a logical voice her panic just won't listen to.

The crew files out of the room a few moments later; Dr. Clover's class is starting soon and Gatz is complaining that they need coffee urgently or they may simply cease to exist. When all of them reach the bottom floor, Indy notices the increased amount of people milling about the lobby, faculty and students alike, the buzz of their voices rising up to the ceiling like hot air. For a building that's hardly used anymore since the newer renovations, the crowd gives Indy pause.

Grabbing Sylvia's sleeve, she asks, "What's going on? Is there some on-campus event I don't know about?"

"The cops," says a student from beside them, his phone already lifted in the air. "They're here looking to take somebody in."

Indy frowns, but Gatz doesn't seem to care. "Getting coffee isn't illegal last time I checked. Are you guys coming or not?"

Gatz, whose pursuit of caffeine has rendered them suddenly fearless, leads the way. The four of them move towards the front doors like normal, albeit with a bit more crowd resistance. Indy almost reaches to close her hand around a fiber of Sylvia's fur coat, but stops herself, feeling silly.

The moment Indy is once again breathing her own air, she stops. "The cops" is truthfully just one cop, studying the front student bulletin on the wall with genuine interest, one hand perched casually on his police baton. His blond hair, silver-white at the temples, is smoothed back from his square face with an atrocious amount of gel, and he mindlessly scrubs his thumbnail through the stubbled scruff at his chin. Something about him is already familiar, maybe in the stance, like a tired wrestler mentally preparing for another match, but then he turns his head, and Indy recognizes him instantly.

It's Detective Kelso.

Shit.

"Indigo Helaire?"

The air thins as Indy senses her relative invisibility vanish all at once. Everyone's eyes are on her: the students', the faculty's, her friends'. She's a pinned butterfly, trapped and reduced to a spectacle.

"Yes sir?"

"I've been hoping to speak with you," says Kelso, shifting his weight to rest one hand on his hip. "Did you not receive my calls?"

Now that she thinks about it, Indy remembers ignoring a number of unknown callers over the past twenty-four hours. She assumed they were scammers, and like the rest of her problems, they would eventually disappear if she ignored them. At least one of these things has clearly been proven untrue.

"No, I don't think so," Indy lies. Nervously, she clears her throat into her fist. "Can we talk somewhere outside?"

"Yes," Sylvia says, joining Indy's side, her arms folded. "Spectacular idea, Indy. I couldn't agree more."

The look Kelso gives Sylvia then resembles the way someone might look at an ant or two creeping undesirably close to their food: mild disgust, dismay at the harrowing inconvenience of it all. "I really need to speak to Miss Helaire on her own."

Sylvia raises a brow. "This isn't an interrogation, is it, Officer?"

"Detective," Kelso corrects. "And well, no—"

"Good, then it's just a little chat. I love little chats."

The mild disgust intensifies, but Kelso concedes. Indy allows herself a brief, relieved exhale, throwing a glance back at Percy, who's just watching on in horror. Kelso leads the way out onto the Commons again, and Indy and Sylvia follow after him.

They rest in the shadow between two liberal arts buildings, Detective Kelso leaned back against the aging brick wall, standing atop a crop of old grass gone yellow from the cold. "A private warehouse was broken into just outside Erskine two nights ago. Descriptions provided by witnesses matched your appearance, Miss Helaire. Would you mind telling me where you were last Monday night, at approximately eight pm?"

"Broken into?" Indy repeats, as if this is news to her as well. "What sort of warehouse? Was anything stolen?"

"I'll be asking the questions here, Miss Helaire. None of that's important. Just tell me where you were."

They've probably already spoken to Jude—after all, it was his car the warehouse owners would've seen as they pulled up. Indy slides her hands into her pockets, hoping to disguise their faint, anxious trembling. What did Jude say? And what if what she says compromises them both, somehow? She's never been good at games of chance. She's always had to make her own luck.

"Sunday," Sylvia muses. She pulls out her phone, squinting as if checking the date. "Oh, yeah. That was right before that quiz we had in Dr. Clover's class."

"Dr. Clover?" Kelso's eyebrows rise with interest.

Indy follows along, though this is either a terrible or a fantastic idea. "Yeah, you're right. I pulled an all-nighter studying for it. Sorry, Detective. That must be why I can't remember it all that well."

Kelso presses his mouth into a flat line. "I may have to ask this Dr. Clover about this quiz. You understand. Just for formalities."

As Indy's racing to come up with a reason why this is, in fact, an unnecessary formality, the door to DuBois a few feet away swings open, and Percy comes dashing down the steps. She's not sure why—there is a cultivated composure to Sylvia's face that hints at it, perhaps—but she pretends not to even notice he's there.

He skids past them slightly, like the fact he's run into them here is purely by chance. "Hey, Indy, are you—oh. Everything good here?"

"Yes, son," Kelso says. "Nothing to worry about. I'm just asking them a few questions."

"Percy," Sylvia says. As she speaks, the door opens again, this time admitting Gatz, moving at a much more nonchalant speed. "You remember that quiz we had in Dr. Clover's the other day, right?"

"Fuck. The one on ledes? Almost impossible. I think the average was like a 68 or something."

Gatz passes, patting Percy's shoulder as they do. "Yo, Mitchell."

Percy lifts a hand in a wave as Gatz gets further away. "Yo!"

And Indy doesn't understand the meaning behind any of this, the sheer performance of it, until the recognition crosses Detective Kelso's tired face.

"Percy Mitchell?" Kelso says. "Excuse me if I'm mistaken, but your father—is he Senator Lawrence Mitchell?"

The expression on Percy's face is perfect and practiced—yes, that's his father, this expression says, but whatever would that have to do with this situation? "Oh," Percy says. "Yes sir, he is. And my mother—"

"The film critic! Tina Mitchell, of course. I never see a movie without checking her ratings first," Kelso says, then catches himself, clearing his throat. "Sorry about all this. I'll check the descriptions again; I must have made a mistake somewhere. You all have a pleasant rest of your day."

Indy doesn't say a word as Kelso just nods his head at her, turns, and walks out across the Commons like nothing at all had happened.

Sylvia exhales, putting her phone away. "Could you check your messages a little faster, Senator Mitchell Junior? If you and Gatz were a second later—"

"We handled it," Percy says, winking at Indy. "Did we not?"

At first Indy thinks the fluttery feeling in her stomach is from nerves, and maybe part of it is, but in the end, she finds herself laughing. "I can't believe we just managed that," she says. "You guys are insane."