Wyatt had snagged Mirabe’s number a while back when he had to dig up some info on her. Thanks to the whole Incense of Calm sco, he had made sure to save it in his contacts,


    [Ms. Mirabe, James is just a bit scratched up, nothing serious. You can rx.)


    After sending the text, he waited for a moment for a reply, but when none came, he pocketed his phone, yawned, and strolled outside the vi.


    The next day dawned.


    Mirabe was up with therks, but it was still early, and she didn’t feel like getting out of bed just yet. Snuggled in herforter, she reached under her pillow for her phone, tapped it to life, and saw the message from Wyatt fromst night.


    Good to know all was well. She replied with a brief “Got It” to Wyatt.


    With the phone in her hand, Mirabe scrolled through her Messenger group chats. Then something seemed to jog her memory, and she exited Messenger to open her browser. She typed in “Riverdale Antiques Exhibition“.


    Instantly, a myriad of search results popped up, with the chatter mostly centered around the emerald pendant featured at the exhibition.


    “Emerald pendant?” Mirabe pondered. Her finger caressed the phone screen.


    She recalled a reminder from Cool Autumn Breeze.


    With Riverdale being so tight on security, and yet all this info spilling out over the, especially about the pendant, it felt like a breadcrumb trail left on purpose.


    A yful smirk crossed Mirabe’s lips as she checked the exhibition dates. It was a two–day affair, having started yesterday, and her flight back to Ashford was at seven tonight. Since she was here, skipping out on a little recon felt like a missed opportunity. And she hadn’t yetid eyes on the emerald pendant.


    Thinking it over, Mirabe sprang out of bed with newfound energy and fired up herptop.


    A flurry of keystrokester, and her screen went dark – a canvas of ck against which strings. of cryptic characters danced swiftly.


    Thirty seconds in, and instead of darkness, her screen now showed multiple live feeds. One mini–screen was unmistakably marked with “National Antiquities Museum.”


    Her gaze never strayed from the screen, and her fingers tapped a rhythm on the keyboard. Two minutester, she killed the program and wiped her browsing history clean.


    Stretching, Mirabe stood, headed to the bathroom for a quick freshen up, pocketed her phone, and left her room.


    10:40


    In the second–floor dining area, Mirabe had just picked out her breakfast when her eyes caught Vincent sitting by the window. He had sheets of paper in front of him and was deeply engrossed in writing something.


    For a moment, Mirabe considered her approach. Then, with the te in her hand, she made her way over and sat opposite him. It was only then she saw he was working on thest physics problem from yesterday’s prelims. Without interrupting his train of thought, she began nibbling on her breakfast sandwich.


    Five minutester, Vincent seemed to realize someone was across from him. He looked up to find Mirabe leisurely enjoying her meal and did a double–take.


    Noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the distinct redness in them, Mirabe couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t pull an all–nighter, did you?” The boy looked like he’d been cramming books non–stop.


    Vincent’s voice was rough, and he reached for his water ss, taking a long drink before replying hoarsely. “No, just woke up really early.”


    Mirabe’s eyebrows twitched involuntarily. Well, you don’t look ‘early riser‘ fresh to me.