23. Frankie

The cipher bookletfeels heavy in my pocket as I walk into the computer lab after a tense lunch with Dorian in the cafeteria. He ignored me the entire time, and I'm a little salty that he didn't take me to the secret archives below the library.

He's punishing me.

With no other classes until tomorrow, I decide that I should work on my thesis. Holding a large cup of iced coffee in my hand, I step into the air-conditioned space. Goosebumps prickle my skin as a shiver works through me, the door softly closing behind me with a quiet whoosh.

Shaking it off, I head down to the lab. As I make my way down, chatter echoes around me. Nerves flutter inside me as I enter the open space. Several students form a semicircle around the large screen at the front of the room, talking excitedly together. Ignoring them, I put my earbuds in and sit at my spot, my canvas bag between my legs. Sitting at the station is like crawling into bed after a long day. The sheets are welcoming, and the pillowcase is cool. As binaural beats fill my mind and my fingertips fly over the keyboard, I lose myself to the code.

I dive deeper into my thesis, and the world around me fades away. The computer screen's glow is the only thing I can see, the code the only language I understand. The cipher feels like it's burning a hole in my pocket, but I push it to the back of my mind, focusing on my work. I've always had a knack for this kind of stuff, and it shows in my grades. I think a part of me actually showing up here at college was just to prove to myself I could do it.

Hours pass by in a blink of an eye, and when I resurface from my caffeine-fueled trance, I notice that the lab has emptied out save for the same students hunched over a terminal at the far end of the room. I stretch, my muscles stiff from hours spent hunched over the keyboard. As I save my progress, I'm about to gather my things when a snippet of conversation catches my ear—something about Dorian and ancient symbols. The same group of students is still by the front screen, their excitement palpable. I pause, my bag half lifted. Curiosity gnaws at me, fueled by the cold lunch interaction with Dorian. Despite my resolve to focus on my own work, I find myself drawn to the group. The mystery of Dorian's behavior and his secretive project tugs at me, a puzzle I'm unable to ignore.

I lean against the wall, feigning disinterest as I slowly pull out one earbud. The screen flickers intermittently, casting eerie shadows across their faces, making the conversation feel all the more clandestine. Fragments of the group's discussion drift toward me.

"Yeah, I saw him earlier. He was totally zoned into the mainframe, like he was trying to communicate with it," one of the students says, his voice a mix of awe and confusion.

"And did you see the way he was entering those commands? It was like he knew exactly what to do," another adds, her tone both admiring and wary.

A third chimes in, lowering his voice. "I heard from Professor Marlin that Dorian's project on cybernetic algorithms is groundbreaking, like it could change our whole approach to AI, but after today, I'm starting to think there's more to it. Did you see those symbols and coordinates that flashed up? They looked ancient, almost like?—"

The first student cuts him off, scanning the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Shh, not so loud. You know how rumors spread. But yeah, it's weird. Almost like those old sigil myths we joked about freshman year."

Their words fuel a new kind of excitement within me. Dorian's behavior suddenly makes more sense, but it also deepens the mystery of him. What is he really working on, and why is he so secretive about it? I need to know more, but as they start to disperse, I realize I won't uncover anything else today. With a sigh, I plug my earbud back in and head toward the door, my mind buzzing with questions.

That is when he slips into the computer lab like a shadow, his presence almost unnoticed among the hum of machinery and the low murmur of lingering students. Dorian's eyes scan the room with protective vigilance. He moves with purpose, his steps silent but determined as he approaches the mainframe that houses both the source of today's chaos and the reason the other students are still chattering. Somehow, he doesn't even notice me standing off to the side, but he notices all the other students who snap to attention when he walks in.

As he reaches the terminal, his expression hardens. The screen flickers sporadically, displaying flashes of ancient sigils mixed with lines of code and symbols. A part of me is damn curious because those symbols remind me of the cipher.

He places his hands on the keyboard, his fingers poised with an air of confidence that belies the gravity of the situation. Each keystroke is deliberate, a blend of modern technology and arcane knowledge that few could comprehend, much less implement. What is going on? Now my curiosity is committed, and I wish the wall could hide me a little better because it is only a matter of time before he notices me.

Dorian's focus is absolute, the room around him fading to nothing as he enters commands that seem to dance on the edge of magic and logic. Dorian's focus snaps from the screen to the group of students clustered near the main terminal, their whispers growing louder in the now tense atmosphere. He stands abruptly, turning to face them with an intensity I've rarely seen.

"Everyone, I need you to leave the lab now," he commands, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of the computers, leaving no room for argument. The room falls silent, his presence more chilling than the air conditioning that had already filled the space with a tangible coolness. "This isn't a show. The lab is off-limits until further notice."

A wave of quiet dissent ripples through the group, but a sharp glare from Dorian silences it. "Now," he adds, his voice echoing slightly, its reverberation lingering like a ghostly whisper. Reluctantly, the students gather their things and shuffle toward the exit, casting curious and slightly frightened glances over their shoulders.

Once they leave, Dorian turns back to the terminal, his hands poised as if to resume his work. That's when his eyes find me, hidden in the shadow of my little spot in the lab, my presence barely noticeable until now.

For a suspended moment, we just stare at each other. I can feel the tension in the air, thick with questions he knows I want to ask. His face softens, the stern authority melting into a more vulnerable expression. I hadn't meant for him to catch me eavesdropping—not now, not like this.

"Frankie," he starts, his voice lowering to a near whisper, "I didn't see you there. You should go too. It isn't safe here right now."

His words are meant to be a warning, but they only anchor my feet more firmly to the spot. Why isn't it safe? What is he trying to protect us from? The mystery of what he's dealing with wraps around my curiosity, making it impossible to just walk away. The look in his eyes tells me he's burdened by whatever secrets he's holding, and despite his stern directive, a part of me wants to cross the room and say, It's okay, you can tell me, but I stay silent.

"So…" I draw the word out, breaking our staring contest.

"Go to your dorm, Frankie." He dismisses me by turning back to the computer. Bending over a chair, he inputs a few commands then stands up, one arm crossed over his chest while the other is bent. He keeps running a finger across his top lip while his eyes remain completely focused on the screen.

I hate to say I'm intrigued, but I am. Usually, he's angry at the world, but right now, he's angry at the screen, which keeps flickering with images of sigils I've never seen before.

"You're staring at me," he mutters, still looking at the screen.

Irritated at getting drawn into this due to my curiosity, I push off the chair and head over to him. "I'm curious."

"And this is out of your depth." He dismisses me again by bending over the chair and issuing a few more prompts.

"Try me."

"Go away, Ms. Vale."

Back to Ms. Vale, I see. "Fine." I reach down and grab my backpack, knowing when I'm not wanted somewhere.

"Tell me, how are you with ancient text?" he asks as I near the door.

"Well…" I swing around, staring at him. He looks tired, with deep circles under his eyes that weren't there earlier. "I know a little." Mostly due to my fascination with ancient puzzles.

It's kind of like code before computers ever existed, so of course I'm naturally drawn to it.

He pauses then motions me closer with a reluctant tilt of his head. I hesitate, but curiosity wins out, and I approach, setting my backpack down again. As I near him, the flickering images on the screen catch my eye—symbols that feel both ancient and unnaturally powerful.

I can almost feel my shadows vibrate with their own curiosity.

"Alright," Dorian begins, his voice low, barely above the hum of the computer's cooling fans. "There's something about these sigils... They aren't just old, they are potent, charged with a sort of... energy I can't fully explain." He glances at me, assessing my reaction. The air around us feels electric, as if the very atmosphere is responding to the power of the symbols displayed on the screen.

I just hum in acknowledgment and lean against the table that sits in the middle of the room, running my eyes over the symbols that pop and flicker on the screen.

"These aren't just random designs. They are connected to something much older and far more dangerous than your typical academic study," Dorian continues. His eyes shift back to the screen, watching as the symbols pulse. "They are part of a cipher—a key, I believe, that could unlock... well, let's just say some doors are better left unopened."

"But why are you involved with this?" I ask, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. "Aren't you an art major?"

Dorian sighs, his posture slumping slightly as if the weight of the entire situation rests solely on his shoulders. "Because it isn't just academic for me," he admits. "It's personal. These sigils... They might hold a clue to a cu—a secret."

Alright, he isn't telling me the whole story. I raise a brow, staying silent.

He looks away, frustrated, then back at me. "I can't give you all the details—it's too dangerous, and frankly, it's a burden I'd rather not share, but your knowledge of ancient texts might be helpful. Just... be careful. This isn't a game, Frankie." His stern voice is back in play.

His warning sends a shiver down my spine. Part of me wants to run, to leave this all behind, but another part is drawn even deeper into the mystery. First Bishop and the cipher, and now Dorian with another puzzle. It's like they suddenly discovered my weakness and can't help but exploit it—and I'm about to fall right into the trap.

"What do you need from me, Dorian?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

"For now, just help me decipher these sigils. See if anything looks familiar, or if you can make any connections to texts you've studied," he instructs, moving aside to give me a better view of the screen.

As I lean in, the symbols seem to dance before my eyes, a cryptic puzzle that beckons with both danger and promise. Dorian watches closely, his presence a steady force beside me. Despite the risks, I know we're about to step into something profound, and there's no turning back now.

I look closer at the flickering screen, a jumble of intricate lines and curves. Something about the pattern seems familiar, and I dig deep into my memory.

"Hold on," I say, realization dawning slowly. "I've seen this pattern before."

Rummaging through my bag, I pull out a notebook filled with scribbled notes and sketches from various lectures and museum visits. I flip through the pages feverishly until I find what I'm looking for—a detailed drawing of an ancient stone tablet I'd sketched during a field trip to a museum exhibit on pre-Celtic tribes last semester.

"Look at this," I urge, holding the notebook beside the screen for Dorian to see. The hand-drawn symbols in my notes nearly mirror those glowing ominously on the monitor. "These were part of a ritual used for warding off evil. The museum curator explained they were believed to protect sacred grounds from dark forces."

Dorian scrutinizes the drawing next to the digital symbols, a spark of realization igniting in his eyes. "That's it," he murmurs, both intrigued and concerned. "This isn't just random data—it's a ward, a protective spell encoded digitally."

A spell?Magic doesn't exist. Does it?

My heart races with the implication. "So the supercomputer is treating them like they are active, not just historical relics."

"Precisely." Dorian nods, his voice tinged with urgency. "I need to adapt these symbols into a digital ward. The computer must handle them as protective barriers, not just information."

"You act as though magic is real," I blurt out, not sure how he's going to handle it as I stuff my notebook back in my bag.

His fingers pause over the keyboard, his body freezing. "That'll be all, Francesca."

"What?" Is he seriously dismissing me right now?

"Go, Ms. Vale," he snaps and closes his eyes.

He says nothing more to me. Huffing out a breath, I grab my things, and this time when I go to head out of the lab, I don't look back.

What the hell was that? Not my problem. At least, it shouldn't be, but as much as I want to storm out and never look back, something about those symbols—and Dorian's desperate plea—echoes in my mind, refusing to be ignored. It's not just about helping Dorian Gray anymore, it's about unraveling a mystery that might be bigger than both of us. One thing is for sure though…

I'm never helping Dorian Gray again.