The top floor of DuBois Building is an abandoned attic that was once an extra space for equipment storage, before the newer media building was built across the street. Indy comes there alone sometimes, when the dorm's too cramped, the library's too loud, and she has enough stamina to stand the dust. There is something about the old wood and cloudy windows, wind creaking through their seams, that offer a unique sort of solace.

Usually. But now her three closest friends are gathered here—Percy partially turned towards one of the windows, Gatz perched on the edge of an abandoned cardboard box, Sylvia with her back to the door as if ready to split at any time—all staring at her.

Gatz drops their face into their hands, the fingers of which, like always, are speckled with bright paint. "Can I just say what everyone is thinking?"

Percy grunts his agreement, moving his gaze towards the window. "Let's hear it."

Gatz raises their eyebrows. "This, right here, is some white people shit."

"Amen," Sylvia agrees.

"Syl," Indy says. "Seriously?"

"I'm just saying. First of all, I never would've found that book in the first place because the fuck I look like breaking into an old murder scene?" Sylvia says, gesturing wildly, her nails darts of pink as her hands slice and move through the air. "Second of all, the second—the second—some creepy ass ghost wrote me a message, that book is getting destroyed, burned, tossed in the fucking Chesapeake. Are you kidding me, Indy?"

"Hm," Percy says. "Sounds a lot like what I said."

"I get it," Gatz offers, catching, likely, the dismayed look on Indy's face. "You want to help. That's who you are, Indy, and all of us appreciate you for that. But is this—I don't know, whatever this is—worth your wellbeing? Worth your life? What happens if they take you to jail for this?"

"I won't let it come to that."

Gatz frowns. "I'm not sure that sort of thing is in your control. You've already broken one law."

"So you don't believe me, then," Indy says. She takes the journal from her bag again, tossing it to the middle of the floor. They all watch the pages flutter and flutter, settling naturally where Dobbs's ghost left this morning's message. Out of the corner of her eye, Indy notices Sylvia shudder. "You don't believe that this message wasn't there before, and that Elizabeth Dobbs must've been the one who left it."

She's speaking to all of them, but her eyes are on Percy.

Indy waits, the silence creeping along her skin. Her friends shift their weight, glance at the floor. No one objects.

"Humor me, then," Indy says, folding her arms. "That's all I'm asking. Until the project's over, give or take, let's pretend it's really Dobbs that wrote this, and let's pretend that Pine really has been innocent this whole time. You don't have to do more than that. Just pretend."

Sylvia chews her lip, looking at Gatz, who looks at Percy.

Percy shakes his head, taking his baseball cap and twisting it backwards, as if he just needed to give his hands something to do. "Of course we have to do more than that," he says. Finally, he turns from the window, walking to the attic's center, the floor creaking beneath his weight as he does. He bends, plucking the journal from the floor. In his hands, it looks much smaller, much lighter. "We can't leave you to do all this by yourself. You'll end up doing stupid shit, like breaking into old houses."

Indy smirks, rife with an anxious relief. "You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Never," Gatz seconds.

Sylvia widens her eyes. "Duh."

"Fine," Indy allows. She admits it was not one of her most shining moments. "I won't break into any more houses. Just—six weeks, until the project deadline. That's all I need."

Despite what Percy says, she knows she could do it without them. Most of her undertakings in life she's been left to complete on her own, to furnish with her own resources. It might be rash, might be haphazard, but it would be done.

But God, how much easier it would be to have them with her rather than against her.

The trio all share a glance, then give a slow but definitive nod of their heads.

"Okay," Percy says, as Gatz and Sylvie look on in silent agreement. "Six weeks, Indy."

It's barely began, and she already knows it's going to be a long month and a half.

Her friends are not the only ones pretending. Indy must don a costume of her own, acting as if nothing at all has changed, going about her daily routine as if the journal, Elizabeth Dobbs, and Lamar Pine all never existed. It's Saturday, and while she would much rather be holed up somewhere researching more into the case, part of her costume includes showing up for her shift at the perfumery like usual.

The downtown area just outside of Proudley's campus houses dozens of shops like this one: charming family businesses weathered through time, painted windows and brightly-colored doors with bells that ding above your head the moment you step inside. The perfumery, Honey Sweet, belongs to her aunt on her father's side, and while Indy was reluctant at first to take up work there, she admits it's become something of a safe haven for her. The deep mauve of the walls and the plants dangling their long vines over the sides of their pots make it feel like a secret lair, the ornate glass perfume bottles lining the shelves like potions.

The crash of scents, berry and cinnamon, lavender and cedar, gave her a headache for the first week or so she worked there. It didn't take long for her to fall in love with it.

She gets there early, hanging her bag on the hook in the back, taking her apron down from where it hangs in her locker.

"Indigo?" Aunt Jocelyn calls from around an obscure corner—the shop is small, but complicated, so it has a lot of those. "Is that you, baby?"

"Yup!"

Indy hears a light shuffle as Aunt Jocelyn backtracks into her view, resting her shoulder against the doorframe as she balances a cardboard box in her arms. "I left coffee for you up front. You get that fancy cinnamon thing, don't you?"

"Cinnamon dolce?"

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever that means," her aunt says, disappearing down the hall again. "That's what I got you. And I've got that lady coming in for that back order around lunch today, so let me know when she gets here, would you?"

"Of course," Indy calls, finishing the knot on her apron. "Thank you!"

Aunt Jocelyn calls out a jovial reply, but she's already vanished around another obscure corner.

Indy takes her usual spot at the front counter, sipping on the sweet latte and licking the foam from her lips as she pages through the shop's sale ad, memorizing everything that's discounted for today. A peach ginger scent catches her eye—Gatz loves everything peach, whether it's peach-colored, peach-flavored, peach-scented. Maybe she'll bring it to them as a gift, a thank you, maybe, for believing her when it would have been much easier not to.

Indy remembers a time when she was convinced Percy was the only friend she'd ever have at Proudley, a foolish hypothesis based on the fact he was her only real friend in high school, too. How quickly Sylvia, and then Gatz—a botched club meeting both of them needed to escape from had brought them together—made a fool of her in that respect. Proudley wasn't her high school, after all. In a high school swimming with faces not resembling her own, students, faculty alike, she'd been left to play a strenuous social game where she was not welcome as a player anyway. Everyone else seemed to understand it simply enough, but it was as though she'd been given an entirely different set of instructions.

There were still games at Proudley. Indy imagines human interaction itself as a game. Here, at least, the playing field is level; the rules are written in a language she understands, one she's been speaking since birth.

To some people she supposes it comes naturally no matter the form, like Percy. But not everyone can be Percy.

Honey Sweet's bell dings, and with the introduction of a new customer, the shop itself seems more alive. Indy looks up at the person who's just entered, a young black man in a woolen sweater, skullcap tugged low over his ears. He moves to pull his phone from his pocket, a smart watch glinting underneath the lights. A student, maybe? It's something about the look of him, the confidence in his walk.

He spends a good ten minutes aimlessly wandering the store, and Indy watches his confidence drain with every minute that ticks by.

Indy stands, closing the sale ad. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

He looks up with the clear cut relief of someone who has been needing to ask for help this whole time, and has at last been spared. "Actually, yeah. My girlfriend's birthday is soon, so I was hoping to pick something out for her, but..." A nervous laugh. "I'm lost."

Girlfriend. She should think the sentiment's sweet, but she's found herself detached from the word, reacting to it the same way she might to the word dragon or princess. Exciting, enchanting, maybe, but not something she could ever be herself. A fairytale, of which she only occasionally catches a glimpse, always through someone else's eyes.

She shakes the senseless thoughts from her head, putting on her most encouraging smile and sliding out from around the counter. "That's very sweet of you," she says. "Tell me a bit about her. Let me see if I can help."

Five minutes into Indy's lunch break, Aunt Jocelyn knocks on the lounge door. "Your friends are here."

"My friends?"

"Big tall one in a Proudley letterman jacket. Smaller, Frank Ocean-looking one."

Indy blinks. She's only known her aunt to listen to obscure jazz ensembles. "You know who Frank Ocean is?"

Aunt Jocelyn smirks. "Of course. I'm hip, as they say."

"No one says that," Indy sighs, and Aunt Jocelyn gives her an exaggerated scowl. "I'll be out in a second."

Sure enough, Gatz and Percy are wandering around the shop, sniffing all the samples, when Indy comes out of the staff lounge.

Indy leans against the counter, her arms folded. "Neither of you are here to buy perfume, are you?"

Both Gatz and Percy flinch, turning to meet her gaze.

"Correct," Gatz answers, shoving their sample at Percy, who sniffs it and grimaces. "We're abducting you."

"Really," Indy says. "Don't you normally put a bag over someone's head and stuff them in a car when you do that?"

Gatz pauses, as if they're actually taking a moment to consider it. "Yes, but we're reformed kidnappers. It's all consensual here."

"I see. Why am I being abducted?"

Gatz shoots an expectant look at Percy, who sighs, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"I maybe pulled some strings," he murmurs. He seems to be speaking more to the floor than to her. "We have a chance to speak to Lamar Pine himself, but only if we leave now."

Indy jolts. She's torn—some part of her knows she should always expect the unexpected when it comes to Percy, but this sort of unexpected is unprecedented.

"I'll explain on the way," he says. "Are you coming?"