Indy lays her head down on her pillow, but for several hours she doesn't sleep. Her mind refuses to settle, swimming instead with a million images: Lydia's award sitting like a relic in the glass case at Meskill Academy, the grainy pictures of the stranger in Jude's phone. Somewhere, there is a thread tying them all together, just within reach, but still so far away.
Between when her eyes close and when she wakes again it must have been at least two hours, but it feels like only minutes have passed. Sometime between those pseudo-minutes Sylvia's already gotten up and left, her blankets tossed back and left there, a Sylvia-shaped dent in the pillow.
Indy groans and grabs for her phone, which she placed on the windowsill just above her bed. Her tired eyes squint at the screen. Messages from Percy, Jude, and to her surprise, an email from Professor Clover.
Good morning, Indy. If you get the chance, could you come see me in my office this morning? I want to talk to you about your project.
A strange feeling akin to nausea settles in the base of Indy's stomach. She's reading the words and picturing the professor's usually kind face, and the way she could've sworn she saw his eyes darken last lecture: But so is knowing when you've bit off more than you can chew.
She convinced herself she imagined it; she wouldn't know how to proceed otherwise. Nevertheless, Indy recognizes the feeling settling in her gut. It's unease. The feeling that she is waltzing head-on into a trap.
"Here's your peach lemon drizzle thing," Percy says, carefully offering a steaming styrofoam cup to Gatz, who's sprawled on their stomach beneath a tree in the Commons.
Gatz takes a long sip, then immediately returns to scratching away at their sketchbook, the pads of their fingers already decorated with smudges of graphite. "It's just a peach tea, Percy. And thank you. It's delicious."
"I don't know what the fuck it is. All I know is I watched them make it and it looked aggressively pink," Percy says. He drops to a crouch, tilting his head slightly, trying to decipher if it's a slinky or an oddly-shaped staircase that Gatz is drawing, but figuring it's better not to ask. "So, how exactly does the peachy drink help with your creative process again?"
"Keeps me happy and caffeinated."
Percy frowns. "Right. And me paying for it?"
"Keeps me happy."
Gently, Percy thwacks Gatz on the back of their neck. Gatz yelps and briefly swats at Percy's hand, but otherwise seems unbothered. Percy joins them in the grass then, knees bent, fingers dug into the frost. "How many pieces left until the showcase?"
"Too many," Gatz says, "but Clover's depending on me. I can't...I don't want to let him down."
Percy frowns, unsure if he's ever seen such a deep furrow between Gatz's brows before. He's about to respond, but then Gatz looks up, narrowing their eyes at something in the distance before they call, "Indy!"
"Indy?"
Percy looks up just as her eyes find his, brightening with recognition before she shifts directions to head their way. Though the morning is certainly chilly, looking at Indy you'd guess it's subzero; her face is buried in her scarf, her hands tugging her coat closer around her.
"You guys are insane," she says once she reaches them. "No one lounges around the Commons in this weather."
"Soon enough it will be too abysmal to even be near a window," Gatz replies. "I'm going to sit in the sun until the very last of it is gone."
Indy seems unconvinced. "Right."
"What are you up to?" Percy asks he gets to his feet again, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "You looked suspiciously like you were in a hurry."
"Dr. Clover asked to meet with me about my project, but I'm not exactly sure what it's about," she replies, and though she tries to shrug it off, Percy can nonetheless tell in the way her eyes study the ground that she is a lot more worried about it than she cares to say. "That reminds me, actually. I have a picture I need to show both of you."
Gatz sets their pencil down. "Is it a cat?"
"No. Why would it be a cat?"
Gatz sulks. "I don't know."
Indy pulls her phone from her pocket, taps at the screen, then turns it in Percy's and Gatz's directions. At first, the image is way too dark, way too grainy to make out anything cohesive, but Percy squints until he sees the glare of light against a license plate, a fair-haired man with his face only half-turned towards the camera.
"I talked to that guy at the auction, I think," Gatz says. "He was real buddy-buddy with Dr. Clover, actually."
"What?" Indy repeats. "He was?"
"Did he say his name was Ovenshine something?" Percy asks, and Gatz nods their head. "The Ovenshines are big in the art scene. It's not super surprising Dr. Clover would have some connections."
"Aiden Ovenshine," Gatz says then. "That's what he said his name was. He gave me a business card, but I don't know where it is. It's very likely I threw it out."
"Gatz." Percy whirls. "He's one of the most influential art dealers in the country. You could have just thrown away the key to your career."
Gatz looks only mildly disturbed by this. "There are other keys, aren't there?"
"I have to go," Indy says, and when Percy turns around again her eyes have gone wide, glossed over like a doll'sâthe way they always do whenever she's just gotten an idea. Whether this is a good idea or a bad one is what Percy doesn't know, and what scares him. "Thank you, for this. I'll see you guys later."
"Indy, are youâ?" Percy starts, but the rest of the words, whatever they might have been, float between them unsaid. Indy's already gone, walking so fast she's nearly jogging towards the faculty offices.
The scratch of pencil against canvas paper starts up again. Gatz says, "She's about to do something stupid, isn't she?"
"I sincerely hope not."
Dr. Clover's door is cracked, but Indy knocks anyway, waiting until she hears a jovial "Come in!" to step inside.
His office matches him so well that it's overwhelming: every visible surface covered in stacks of books, movie posters and framed vintage newspapers on the deep green walls, a burning candle dispensing warm orange scent into the air. The curtains partially obscure the windows, leaving the room grayer and darker than the outside, but somehow cozier at the same time. Dr. Clover sits behind the desk, tapping away at his computer. He looks up, glasses at the end of his nose, and smiles, gesturing for Indy to sit.
"Just the face I was hoping to see," he says. "How've you been?"
Indy figures it's not the sort of question he wants the truth to, so she brushes it off. "Pretty good. Ready for winter break, to be honest."
"Aren't we all," Dr. Clover says with a light chuckle that somehow sounds anything but genuine. There is something about all of this, Indy realizes then, that seems too rose-colored, too surreal, as if this conversation is happening within a dream and not in the real world. "Listen. I was hoping we could talk a little bit about the project you've been working on all semester."
"I was hoping so, too," Indy says, and Dr. Clover's smile dips, just slightly. "You were at the auction at the Mitchells' place, weren't you?"
"I was, yes. I think I ran into Gatz there, but I didn't get a chance to speak with the rest of you. Did you have a good night, at least?"
"Before the blackout, yes," Indy answers. "I didn't know you were friends with such influential people, Professor. Gatz told me you and Aiden Ovenshine are particularly close?"
"We've worked together before. Indy, I'm sorry, but is thereâ"
"What's his connection to the Dobbs family?"
She wishes she knew a better way than just asking outright, but this has always been her brand of journalism, of creation, of anything: the truth first, the truth only. She doesn't know how to do anything else.
For a moment the question hangs in the air unanswered, as Dr. Clover removes his glasses from his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's a look of exhaustion Indy recognizes, as she has put it on the faces of many others before him.
"The Ovenshines and the Dobbs don't associate with each other," Dr. Clover answers, slowly. "They have historyânone that Aiden's directly involved inâbut nothing that matters today. Indy, this is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm worried you're taking this a little too seriously."
Indy's phone buzzes against her hip, but she ignores it. "I am taking it seriously, Dr. Clover. I've already found so muchâthe tools he would need for the maintenance job and the murder weapon don't match up, for one. And eyewitnesses say another car besides the HVAC truck pulled up after Pine left. An innocent man is about to lose his life for this, and nobody cares. How can I not take this seriously?"
Dr. Clover looks at her steadily. "He has to die."
The shock is physical. Indy is paralyzed from it for a second, until she finds enough voice to say, "What?"
"Lamar Pine has to die," Dr. Clover says. "For the good of everyone, that's just the way it is. You don't know what you're doing."
"I..." Though she's moving, Indy has no feeling of doing so consciously. She's getting up, moving towards the door, though it feels like she's floating, like the earth beneath her feet has vanished into air. "I don't believe that's the way it is. I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Indy," Dr. Clover snaps. The kindness in his face is gone; Indy doesn't know him anymore.
"Goodbye, Dr. Clover," Indy says, and steps out, pulling the door firmly shut. She's down the hall and down the stairs and outside before she even thinks to check her phone.
Somehow like she knew it would be, the message is from Jude.
Don't talk to him, it reads. Don't tell Dr. Clover anything