Chapter Thirty-Five - FITZ

                                    

                                          


                          
Two and a half hours left. The thought invaded Fitz's mind with the vengeance of a raging fire. 
                          
He had been in the midst of Everblaze before. His memories of that time were sharper than most, the kind of memories that became clear with trauma. 
                          
It seemed backward that his worst experiences had to stick with him for life instead of fade away. Instead, the happy times were things he had to grasp for, the things that eluded him most. At least, it seemed that way in times like this. There was a ticking clock hovering over their heads, clicking in the back of their skulls, invisible yet refusing to be ignored.
                          
	Two hours and twenty-eight minutes left.
                          
	"Run the plan by me," Belisia ordered. Fitz, Stina, and Maruca completed a circle surrounding her desk, which she had cleared by sweeping all the loose papers and files onto the floor. They were studying a floorplan of the St. Louis Art Museum. Loose notes and random tidbits were scrawled on notecards that were connected by colored strings. Organized chaos—Fitz had discovered that was the environment Belisia thrived in. 
                          
	"We'll enter through the garden entrance," Maruca said, ever serious. As far as Fitz knew, she hadn't slept at all. "I'll fry the sensors and cameras with my psionopathy. Fitz and Stina will feel the area to determine if there are any people inside. If there are, we'll try to avoid them. If not, we'll move as normal."
                          
	"Let Horse Girl continue," said Belisia. Stina scowled, and she smiled back. "To make sure you're paying attention. As much as I'm sure she would like to, Maruca can't complete the entire mission."
                          
	"What, so Maruca doesn't get an insulting nickname?" Stina asked in disbelief.
                          
	Fitz noticed Maruca's nose upturning in annoyance, but he was surprised to find he didn't feel the same. Despite everything going on, despite the invisible clock in the room—two hours and twenty-five minutes left—Stina managed to be a constant that he could rely on for comfort.
                          
Maruca caught Fitz's eyes. She was looking at him, at his mouth, which he now noticed was inching upward. She looked away, saying nothing to scold Stina, like Fitz had thought she would.
                          
Out of his periphery, he saw Stina's eyebrow rising, but thankfully she didn't mention anything. "Um, okay, being seeeeeeeerious, we enter through the garden entrance, blah blah, then we find the elevator."
                          
"Fitzroy, your turn," Belisia cut in.
                          
He moved for the first floor blueprint, tracking their route with his finger. "We're on Level One. We cut straight through the Ancient American Exhibit, then turn left. From there it's a straight shot to the African Exhibit. Since we don't know where the painting is specifically at, we'll branch off to find it. I'll keep a telepathic link open between the three of us, so we'll all be notified when one of us finds it."
                          
"Then you go back upstairs, run through the Sculpture Hall, and back out the way you came in," finished Belisia. "Do you all have that?"
                          
"What if we miss any sensors or cameras?" Maruca asked, wringing her hands.
                          
"If, in the—hopefully—rare case you do, get away from the museum as fast as possible. If you're caught, it will be a nightmare getting you out of jail."
                          
"And if we're caught, we won't be able to help you defend this campsite," Maruca muttered.
                          
"Jonathan's gang is pulling their most dangerous bluff," argued Belisia.
                          
Stina flourished an arm at the Ancient. "Thank you!"
                          
"It doesn't matter," Fitz snapped, the clock—two hours and sixteen minutes left—darkening his mood. It didn't matter because no matter what happened tonight, they wouldn't be coming back to this campsite with the painting. It felt wrong to betray Belisia like that, to not tell her what their real plan was—meeting Jonathan's gang in the sculpture garden to give them the painting—but that was what it took to protect these people. Fitz didn't know any of them, but he wanted to protect them.