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CHAPTER THREE Working For The Knife
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THE HEADPHONES OVER Cecelia's ears managed to muffle most of the sound coming from the ever-bustling NYC, but occasionally, pieces would still make it through the barrier. Sirens blaring on the streets below, the whir of overhead helicopter blades, or the honk of a particularly close car all drew Cecelia out of the state of concentration she'd been attempting to maintain, and eventually, it became clear that tonight just wasn't her night. Her eyes were stinging, red and raw, her foot was cramped from where it had been balanced over the floor, and her stomach growled, reminding her that dinner had been hours ago. There weren't enough Cage The Elephant songs in the world to keep those discomforts from, well, giving her discomfort.
For the past three hours, Cecelia had been at her desk, obsessively working on a piece of machinery she was technically not supposed to have brought home. She'd been told over and over again by her uncle that Chitauri tech was for the warehouse—so many times, in fact, that it had practically been tattooed on her brain—but she didn't see the big deal. Sure, dismantling bombs in her Queens apartment would have been a big no-no, but this tiny little piece of glowing purple the size of her pinky? It was nothing.
A magnifying glass propped up by a water bottle and a copious number of rubber bands zoomed in the area at Cecelia's desk. For once, her lamp was on—Eva had gone to her friend's house for a sleepover, which meant that Cecelia had the whole room to herself. It cast a sickly yellow glow over her current project: a modification of a miniature laser. Well, the jumble of parts that would become a miniature laser in the end.
She'd come up with the idea months ago, figuring that something that could be wrapped around your wrist and disposed of easily would sell for tons on the market. And, surprisingly, when she'd pitched it to Toomes and Uncle, they'd agreed with her. She'd built the prototype a week later, but, though it worked, it was nowhere near good enough to be sold yet. Hence the modification process.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem like she'd be getting it done tonight. With a sigh of finality, Cecelia pulled off her headphones and let them hang around her neck. A yawn split her mouth open, and she finally put pressure on her numb foot, wincing at the pins and needles that jolted through it.
Three hours, and little work had gotten time. Either her lack of focus had been a symptom of leftover tiredness from last night's mission, or today just wasn't one of Cecelia's better days. Honestly, it could be either one. Especially after what had happened at AcaDec practice today.
She pulled open one of her desk drawers, which was innocently filled with empty notebooks, old schoolwork, and stationary. It was such a hassle to either remove all its contents or grope around underneath that she did neither; instead, she concentrated and sank her hand through the supplies. Once she was certain her hand was in place, she let it come back into solidity. Ignoring the irritating sensation of a notebook sticking through her wrist, she grasped the hidden catch and pulled it open.
