The obnoxiously loud door June had just stepped through was the only way in or out of the lab proper, except for the emergency fire door to her left, tucked into the opposite corner. That door was a one-way ticket, as it couldn't be opened from the outside.

Cold air with a dry, coppery taste blew June’s hair back lightly. Heartless steel and soulless glass filled her vision. Devices that spun, devices that shook, devices that heated, devices with lasers, devices that magnified, and tubes and beakers and burners and liquids rested on various tables. The translucent white ceiling glowed from within like a sickly glow worm. June wondered what kind of noises she might hear if she Shifted. Would it be musical and harmonious like the forest? Not likely. Even now she could hear discordant artificial buzzing and humming.

Each scientist had a dedicated space to work within. And the first of those spaces belonged to Dr. Chase. The more senior a scientist, the farther from the door sat their private little scientific fiefdom. Cordelia’s was the farthest from the entrance, which meant no one walked through her area unless they were invited.

Though she’d only seen Dr. Chase’s work area a handful of times in the year since he’d come to the lab, June still knew its layout well enough. She scanned the floor, tables, surfaces, white boards, and equipment slowly. Nothing appeared noticeably out of sorts. The calculations on the boards were different, sure, but that could be expected.

June continued to Dr. Crushov’s work area next. Nothing looked amiss in the area dedicated to Cordelia’s new least-favorite person, except that more slate-gray metal boxes sat on a table. She walked forward into the work area of Aunt Violet.

As evidenced by her area’s proximity to Cordelia’s, Aunt Violet was the second most senior scientist at the lab. She hadn’t earned her seniority through organization or cleanliness, however. June couldn’t have memorized the layout to recognize variations, because the area was so wildly different every time she saw it. The only consistency lay coiled up in five different clear tanks of various sizes, which alerted June to one big change since the last time she had visited the lab—then, there had only been four tanks.

“Aunt Violet got a new snake?” she called to Cordelia, who had reached her own area.

“Yes,” Cordelia replied, walking back to join June. “A Burmese Python.”

“Woah. That explains why the new tank is enormous.” June studied the Burmese, and it studied her back. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized the tank wasn’t latched shut. She leapt forward and locked it.

“June! You know not to touch anything here!”

“The cage was unlocked! What do you want me to do, just let it slither out and eat someone?”

“Unlocked? Are you sure?” Cordelia tilted her head.

“Positive. You can thank me for noticing something you didn’t and saving lives.” At her own mention of saving lives, her conversation with Brendan about heroes flashed in her mind. She smirked at the memory.

Then another memory filled her mind, this one of Aunt Violet. June had just turned seven. Going to the lab with Cordelia meant June could race up and down the hallway and pretend to be flying. And that day, she had been flying so fast her hair had streaked behind her. At least until she tripped and flew into the glass wall with a violent thud. Then her hair had become her worst enemy as it scraped between her head and the glass, the pain like a hot knife on her scalp.

Cordelia and Aunt Violet had rushed out of the lab to find her sobbing on the floor. Mr. Moseley had sped down the hallway from the entrance where he sat. While Cordelia helped her up and examined her, she also lectured. “You don’t have the coordination to run like that, June.”

“I wasn’t running, I was flying,” June said between heaving breaths.

Cordelia had given June a loaded, warning look. “I’ve told you, you will never fly. It’s impossible for humans to fly. Go sit in my office and read your almanac.” Then she’d gone back into the lab. Mr. Moseley had watched her go and shaken his head ever-so-slightly.

Aunt Violet cupped her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” June sniffled.

“You know, June, people can’t fly, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. You could be a pilot. Or a paraglider. You could study bird anatomy and be the first person to design synthetic wings for people. Those would save a lot of lives.” Aunt Violet had smiled. She was beautiful and warm and her smile made the pain in June’s head fade.

“Thanks, Violet,” Mr. Moseley had said. “I’ll tell you what, June-bug. If anyone is going to figure out how to fly, it’s you.” He patted her shoulder. “This might help too.” He’d looked around furtively, like Cordelia was going to pop out from behind a fire extinguisher, winked at June, and handed her a small package of fruit snacks.

That day June had decided she wouldn’t just pretend to be a bird—she would really study them too. She smiled at the memory and realized Cordelia was staring at her. “What are you smiling about?” she demanded.

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“Nothing,” June replied, and followed Cordelia into her work area, which had undergone a true ransacking. Every door on the filing cabinet hung open and crooked. Papers littered a worktable and the floor. The equipment was all untouched, but Cordelia’s computer glowed—she never left her computer on.

“What do you notice?” Cordelia asked.

“Well, obviously someone targeted you.”

Cordelia nodded. “On to my office.”

She turned on her heels and sped back toward the door. Before she could reach it a man in a dark suit stepped through from the other side and held up a hand in greeting—the man who had watched her in the hallway and whispered to his partner as June approached the lab.

For a brief instant, June thought Cordelia might simply barrel over him. That would be dumb; his demeanor practically screamed detective. He surely wouldn’t appreciate being run over by a pale, grumpy woman in a purple dress. Plus, he could help them find Mr. Moseley.

Cordelia skidded to a stop inches from a collision. “How can I help you, Detective?” she asked, and as June stepped up next to her she marveled at the smile Cordelia had plastered on her face. June knew it was forced because it didn’t reach Cordelia’s eyes, which were narrow and contained all the warmth of a crocodile’s.

“Am I that obvious? I thought the suit and this haircut might help me blend in.” He smiled, but his was a genuine smile. He had a kind face, with wrinkles around his sharp, piercing eyes. Under his dark suit June could tell he stayed in shape—there was none of the typical bulging she noticed on many adults, especially ones with dark hair turning gray. Then she looked down at her own figure and frowned—even in a t-shirt and jeans she had bulging in places, and she wasn’t even an adult yet.

“I’m Detective Abernathy.” He turned to June. “Hello there young lady.”

“Hi—”

“This is my daughter, June,” Cordelia interrupted.

Detective Abernathy nodded and smiled again. “I know. I have a few questions for you, Dr. Robinson.” He pulled a small notepad out of the breast pocket on his suit. “Can you tell me what was taken and what our burglar wants from you?”

“I can’t because I don’t know,” Cordelia lied. June wrestled to keep her face blank. Why not tell the police the truth if it might help find Mr. Moseley?

“Really? No idea what ‘it’ is? You know, the ‘it’ written in blood just over there?” From this side of the glass wall the message appeared backward but no less creepy.

“I wish I did,” Cordelia said. “I would do anything to help Roger.” June hoped this was true.

“It would help him if we knew the research they wanted or ‘the place where it began’? Any ideas there?”

“None.”

“Really? That’s a shame, because we’re all on the same side here, right? We all want to assure the safety of Mr. Moseley, don’t we?” The detective looked sidelong at Cordelia.

She nodded. “And since we’re on the same side, are we done now? I’m in a hurry.”

“Just a few more question first, quick and painless.” He grinned. Cordelia did not grin back. “What do you do here Dr. Robinson?”

Cordelia looked out at her office door across the hallway; the door had been shut. “Surely you already know.”

“Humor me.”

“I own this facility and I study genetics.” Cordelia’s words were coming out so cold now that June was surprised she didn’t see frost around Cordelia’s lips.

“And the others? Dr. Chase, Dr. Crushov, Dr. Langley—what do they study?”

“Molecular engineering, robotic engineering, genetics.”

“Who owns the poisonous snakes?” Detective Abernathy asked.

“Venomous,“ June interjected.

The detective turned. “Sorry?”

“If they inject you with it, they’re venomous, if their skin is coated in it, then they’re poisonous. But not all of the snakes are venomous.”

He grinned at June. “Right. So who owns the venomous snakes?”

“Dr. Langley,” Cordelia said.

The detective scribbled in his notepad. “I’m assuming your daughter can verify that you were at home this morning and never left?”

“That’s correct. June and I were home all morning. Done now?”

“Dr. Crushov handles your security system, correct?”

“You already know he does.”

If Cordelia speaks any more sharply, someone is going to get sliced, June thought. Which didn’t make sense, since they all wanted to get Mr. Moseley back.

“Can anyone access the building without a keycard?” Detective Abernathy asked.

“I should hope not.”

“Would something happen if a door were left propped open?”

“An alarm would sound,” Cordelia said with a tone that implied it was obvious.

“An alarm would sound,” the Detective said, “and the system would have a record of it, wouldn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Does that door—” he gestured to the emergency exit “—set off an alarm if it’s opened?”

“No. Not unless it’s left open for more than ten seconds.”

The detective put his notepad back in the pocket of his suit coat. “Here’s the million-dollar question. We checked the access records and no one opened a door from the outside this morning before we arrived except Mr. Moseley. He opened the front door at 6:07 am on the dot. And the camera footage from outside your front entrance shows he was alone. We know that everyone who works in this building left last night. But a curious thing happened at 5:57 am. The camera that records outside that door”—he pointed to the emergency exit again—“was sprayed with something that coated the lens, rendering it useless. And just seconds later, that same door opened. Now you and I can agree that there is no card reader outside the emergency exit. Heck, there isn’t even a handle or a way to open the door from outside. That means no one is entering the building through it, unless it’s opened from the inside. So tell me, Dr. Robinson, how did that door open from the inside at 5:57 am?”

Cordelia’s forehead wrinkled. “Who called you here, Detective? Who discovered the note about Roger?”

“We discovered the note, ma’am. No one called us—the alarm system was triggered by a panic button at Mr. Moseley’s desk, at 6:09 am. We arrived here before anyone else, at 6:29 am. The building was empty.”

Cordelia frowned. “Have you told any of the others here what happened? That the back door opened from the inside?”

“We have not,” the detective replied.

“Good, please don’t. Are we done then?”

The detective nodded. “One last thing ma’am.” He proceeded to list off six names, which June recognized as the five people who’d gone missing recently, plus a new name that shocked her. Michael Lark had disappeared. “Did you know any of them?”

“I did not,” Cordelia said, and now June could have sworn she looked a little nervous, like there were cracks appearing in her polished surface.

The detective didn’t appear to notice, and he didn’t ask June about Michael Lark, luckily. “See, quick and painless, as promised,” he said, fishing in his pocket for a card. “But I do hope you’ll call me if anything comes to mind. Same team, remember?” He handed her the card.

“I hate sports metaphors,” Cordelia replied as she pulled June toward the door.