Henri Beck & the Hidden Library | 📖

17

Just as Jeffrey said, Henri and Thea were able to retrieve their passports from a safety deposit box in a secured area of the airport. Their lack of official identification nearly prevented them from accessing the safe, but a quick confirmation of their dates of birth and other random facts on they would know was enough to convince the clerk guarding their things.

With nothing but their passports and the clothes on their backs, Henri, Thea, and Malik made their way through the airport in search of the terminal that would lead them to wherever the private jets flew out of.

"Did Jeffrey ever send you the flight stuff?" Henri asked.

Thea pulled out her phone as they waded through the raging sea of rushing airport dwellers. A myriad of noises filled his ears; news broadcasts blaring from television screens, people chirping away into their cellphones, and the occasional squeal of a runaway toddler. As the trio passed by a screen displaying all the flights running out of Dulles for the day, Henri caught a soundbite from a nearby screen playing a feed from the local news station.

—after an attack at the J. Edgar Hoover building. A sole casualty, a distinguished FBI agent by the name of Derek Callahan, has been reported. The bureau is still gathering intel on potential suspects. Updates coming soon. Stay tuned, folks."

Henri stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide. Annoyed grumbles and stares passed him as people shuffled around him as if he were a boulder in the middle of a raging rapid. He didn't even react when he caught a few shoulders to the back.

His eyes were glued to that television screen.

An image of the FBI's headquarters stared back at him. Memories from the previous day flooded his head. A picture of a younger Callahan in a police cadet's uniform followed shortly after. His stomach twisted into the Gordian Knot.

"Henri, you alright?" Thea asked. She and Malik stood a few paces ahead of him, having just realized he was no longer by their side.

His hands clenched into fists at his side. A shuddering breath left his lips. He counted to ten slowly in his head, a technique learned from his biweekly therapy sessions. He hadn't been since leaving London, though. After all of this, he feared he'd spend the rest of his life on a therapist's sofa.

"I'm...I'm good," he managed to get out. Shaking his head, he continued behind Thea and Malik.

After a few quiet seconds between the trio, the latter nudged him gently. Henri lifted a brow at the boy.

"It wasn't your fault," he told him. "With what happened to Callahan, I mean. Wasn't your fault. Sergei pulled that trigger, not you. Don't forget that."

Henri's jaw clenched. "But I went to him for help. I got him involved."

"You didn't kill him, Henri. Sergei did."

He was right. Sergei. Arkangel. Monet Delacroix. They were the villains in this story. Yet he couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Let's pick up the pace, yeah?" Thea urged. "I do not want to get stuck in here."

"Where are we even going?" Henri asked.

His sister's eyes flickered to her phone screen. "The email Jeffrey sent me says we're supposed to make our way out to the—" Now it was her who'd come to a standstill.

"What's the matter?"

Her expression eclipsed as if she were the moon sliding behind a burning sun. He could see her hands trembling. The girl's breath hitched as her emerald stare cut through the crowd of people around them.

"Dude, is she frozen?" Malik whispered. He waved a hand in front of her face.

"No, she's not frozen..." Henri stepped next to her, trying his best to mirror her vision. His entire body went rigid as if he'd looked straight into Medusa's eyes. But it wasn't a gorgon he was looking at.