Master Cornelius's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Cornelius carried the chest into the old mine shaft where the compound's founders had once dug for blue ice. The entrance was half-collapsed, hidden behind drifts of snow that hadn't been disturbed in years. Inside, the air smelled of stone and frost. He set the chest on a shelf carved into the wall and tried to catch his breath. His hands were still shaking. The photograph slipped from his coat pocket and landed face-up in the snow at his feet—his wife and children smiling back at him, the edges creased from years of carrying it everywhere. He had missed his daughter's tenth birthday to present a paper on structural integrity in ice architecture. The paper was rejected. He picked up the photograph and stared at faces he barely recognized anymore, then set it beside the chest. Next to the stolen vials, the happy family looked like evidence from someone else's life. A broken marble statue stood against the far wall, its face cracked down the middle. Snow had collected in the crevices, making the fractures look deliberate, almost beautiful. Cornelius pulled his certification from his bag—Master of Arts, signed by three academy directors who no longer answered his letters. The elegant calligraphy and gold seal caught the dim light filtering through the collapsed entrance. He had spent eight years earning it. Thirty-one years defending it. And now he was hiding in an abandoned mine with stolen pigment and a plan to rob a girl who had done nothing wrong except possess what he wanted. He tried to set the certification beside the photograph, but his hand wouldn't cooperate. The paper fell into the snow. He left it there and walked back toward the entrance, leaving the chest, the photograph, and the certification in the dark. Outside, wind cut across his face. He couldn't finish the ritual—not because of the interruption, but because he had finally seen what he looked like standing next to his own achievements. The transference was still possible. The vials were safe. But when he thought about performing it now, all he could see was that cracked marble face staring back at him from the dark.