“It’s not you,” he says. Peeling off a pair of white gloves, he discards them next to the book. “I leave for Atlanta in a few hours.”

“Ah.” Allard smiles. “Good luck.”

“Hopefully I don’t need it.” He brushes past us without so much as a glance at me, but his nearness sends a rush of heat up my spine all the same. He’s much taller than I am. But then, most people are.

The door sucks closed behind him, and the buzz fizzles.

“I thought you said the campus was deserted?” I ask, staring after him, the air stagnant without his energy filling it.

“It is. Garrett’s parents—Whitney and Jeff—live here year-round. They’re the heads of the training program and the only people beyond me who know your identity. I’ll introduce you to them when they return from their summer heist.”

“Does he know—”

“You can trust your secret is safe.” She cuts me off before I finish my question. “Garrett doesn’t get special treatment. He’ll be leading his Initiation Heist this year and is headed out for some extracurricular practice. If all goes well, we’ll be adding the secret recipe for Coca-Cola to our archives soon. He was studying…let’s see…” Heading to the desk, she puts on his white gloves, studying the cover of some ancient text. “Interesting…”

“What is it?” Joining her, I study the cracked brown cover. “It looks really old.”

“The Voynich manuscript… It’s a legendary book dating from around the fifteenth century written in a secret language and filled with illustrations of zodiac symbols, naked people, and plants that don’t exist.” She opens the book, revealing colorful flowers painted over illustrated symbols that look like they were written with a quill.

“So cool. What does it say?”

“Nobody knows. Some people think it’s a medieval alchemic Kama Sutra, others think it’s an anatomy and biology book, while still others think it’s a hoax—gibberish. It was stolen from the Beinecke by yours truly, as a matter of fact.” She smiles, and her eyes take on the hazy glow of memory. “We thought we’d try our hand at deciphering it before anyone else could make up their own version of what these codes mean. Many have tried, and personally I think it might be unsolvable, but at any rate, it’s safe here.”

“What does it have to do with the recipe for Coke?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. Maybe Garrett was deciphering it for practice.” She shrugs. “It’s good to train your brain how to think when faced with code. Maybe he was getting in the right mindset.”

“Maybe…” Peering at the strange illustrated plants and random symbols, I feel my stomach knot. I can’t imagine making sense of it.

Seeming to read my thoughts, Allard says, “Let’s start with something easy.” Closing the Voynich, she heads to the glass tower, and I expect her to wave a hand so the doors will slide open, but instead, she punches in a code on a keypad and pushes the door open manually. She disappears inside, returning a couple minutes later with another book, this one with an eight-point cross on the cover.