Reluctant thief Baz Barret is tasked with stealing from the formidable archaeologist Rei Collingwood--who happens to also be his college crush and rival--but when Rei goes missing after the burglary, Baz must find her before he's blamed for her disa...
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For someone lawfully buying his way into a museum, Baz was too nervous. The exchange was so simple: hand over money, receive a stamp on his wrist. Still, his hands shook. The ordinariness of his surroundings exaggerated the adrenaline coursing through him.
It took guts and a certain amount of mental rewiring to reach the point of walking through the one-way turnstile. He had to leapfrog right over all doubt. The pulse was good for smashing down back seats and for terrifying, aggressive downtown driving. It only served to make him jumpy in the museum.
Jitters felt too much like foreign substances pulsing through his bloodstream, urging a buried need to take something, just to take the edge off. His skin prickled, nerves craving.
Baz focused on his breathing, taking in the surroundings. A distant memory gave him direction, the recollection of Gwen and Cheng arguing the day after the party. It hadn't been that long ago. Logically, Baz recognized that fact, but the day seemed to stretch for eons. When had he really woken up? Three days earlier? How could so much be crammed into a few hours? It didn't make sense. It especially didn't make sense when Baz could so clearly remember cowering under his comforter for days at a time, miserable and flu-ish, letting chemicals dissipate out of his system. In those weeks of withdrawal, it was hard to do anything. How could he accomplish absolutely nothing in those days, but succeed in breaking into a house, getting kidnapped, escaping, and going on a limousine joyride over the course of eight hours? How could he experience those opposite ends of the spectrum?
The more he thought about it, the more surreal it became. Better not to think about it at all. Better to focus on what the hell he was going to do next.
What Baz knew was limited. He could only guess the direction of Rei's office. He guessed that it had already been searched for 'evidence' shortly after she vanished. He knew that Rei asked him to meet her there.
There had to be a reason she wanted to meet there. Was it a thing? Did she need to talk to someone? Was there something to be taken care of? This time, no one handed him a print-out of what to look out for.
There was some kind of business Rei had. That was something. Baz also had a head start. That was something, too. He was not without advantages. The obstacles just also happened to be sizable ones.
He floated through time.
The exhibits in the right wing focused on the kinds of things Baz had studied in school: the classics of the Renaissance, the tapestry and relics echoing the same themes that existed in Da Vinci's work. Replicas of his designs occupied the space, flying machines suspended from the ceiling. In some cases, they weren't replicas at all, just ideas manufactured into realities. Failed realities, in a lot of cases, but that was because the exhibit didn't strive to prove Da Vinci perfect. There were so many failures, imperfections, an inability to reconcile design with physics, but the amazing thing was that he had thought it at all, possible or impossible.
