Raphael Day did his best to keep Finnian distracted from the mystery business he'd been getting up to earlier, but Finnian wouldn't be his father's son if he gave up that easily.
Frankly, it was suspicious. His father was never that dismissive of anything he worked on in front of Finnian; his line of logic had always been that, since Finnian would inherit the family business eventually, he needed to learn all about it as soon as possible. Which, in turn, meant he had always involved him in everything he was old enough to understand, even the boring paperwork—especially the boring paperwork, since he always said understanding it by heart was crucial. So if Finnian's father had brushed it off as boring paperwork, that made it obvious that it had to be anything but.
So far, so easy. Getting to the papers was a different task, however. His father roped him into a long and uncomfortably detailed conversation about school over coffee, so he couldn't go and sneak back into the office; and when Finnian finally excused himself to do his homework, his father went back to his desk. Which meant he had to wait, because he obviously couldn't snoop around his dad's office with his dad still in it.
"Do you know what he's up to?" he asked Anthony, who, as usual, ignored him to search for a good spot to nap. Finnian would honestly be offended at his snake's behavior if the python wasn't so outrageously cute.
"Of course you don't," he sighed, flopping down backwards on the bed and floating his laptop over from his desk. "You're a snake, it's not like you can read."
Anthony slithered onto the bed, then made himself comfortable on Finnian's stomach, soaking up the body heat. Finnian smiled, floating his laptop at a comfortable height as he worked on his latest assignment. The class it was for was technically called physics, but by now it had little to do with the mundane kind; instead it also dealt with the science of magic and spells, the math and mechanics behind enchantments, as well as magical means of communication. Finnian's assignment dealt with the enchantment of tech devices that made it possible for them to access mage-only radio stations, TV channels, and websites.
It wasn't difficult work, exactly. Well, it wasn't to Finnian; some of his classmates, he thought with amusement, would probably struggle with it. It was just…a lot, and a bit boring, all the math and unnecessary technical details he'd need to fill up the word count. And his mind was already elsewhere to begin with, drifting back to the mystery papers on his father's desk and idly wondering how to get to them.
If only he were better at illusions, he thought. A skilled illusionist could make themselves invisible and inaudible and pretty much come and go as they pleased. An especially skilled illusionist could even overlay the room with an image of themselves in one place while they slipped off to another and keep it intact for some time after leaving. Finnian, however, was as good at illusions as he was at drawing or creative writing: which was to say, not at all.
Which meant he needed some other way. Mind-reading spells were also out of the question. Finnian was only an okay telepath, and his father was very, very good at blocking out attempts at reading his mind, not to mention he noticed them at once. Maybe try to trick the information out of him? But everything he had learned about trickery, he had learned from his father. He didn't think it was possible for the student to outwit the master.
Which only left one option: the good old-fashioned break-in.
Putting his laptop aside, Finnian stared at the ceiling, mentally going through the stages of his plan. He knew his father liked to get some more work in after dinner, but never worked later than ten in the evening; after that, the office would be empty and unguarded. He tended to lock the door after leaving, but Finnian and his mother knew how to open it, so that wouldn't be an issue. The most important part was sneaking in unnoticed, which meant he'd have to wait until his parents were asleep.
"That means I have to stay up late tonight," he told Anthony, who didn't care in the slightest. "And then I'll be all tired tomorrow. What a headache. I'll be walking around with dark circles under my eyes and everyone will think it's because of that stupid Hiyama."
He paused, scowling and uncomfortable. Damn it, now he was thinking about Hikaru again. Why did he keep thinking about him so much? This was so undignified. Couldn't the bastard go and make himself scarce from his mind and his life?
That was what he told himself, but soon after he found himself entering Hikaru's name into the search bar anyway. He hesitated, deleted it before he could hit the search button, put aside his laptop, then typed it back in and hit search after all.
A bunch of articles popped up, most of them in languages he didn't understand. There was a number of Japanese sources, but also articles in Indonesian (or was it Malay?), Chinese, Korean, and some other Asian languages he didn't recognize, as well as one or two in English. Elaine hadn't been joking when she had said his new teammate was a celebrity; Finnian himself could only dream of that kind of international press.
Frustrated, he glared at the row of images between the search results, then fully switched to the images tab. Hikaru's face stared back at him from a dozen photos, posing with teammates and competitors, holding medals and trophies. He had to be a middle schooler in some of these, Finnian thought. But never once did he smile at the camera; his expression in all these pictures was always utterly blank.
"Do you ever smile?" Finnian asked the photos. "If you dislike winning that much, don't fly in competitions, stupid!"
He wondered what Hikaru would say if he asked him that question in person. Probably nothing. Or he'd just tell him to shut up and walk away, like in pretty much every other interaction they'd had so far.
Oh well.
It wasn't like Finnian cared about Hikaru's motivations or anything. Not unless he could use them against him somehow. And for the time being, he didn't see how.
Closing the tab, he banished all thoughts of Hikaru Hiyama from his mind and finally went back to work.
~ ~ ~
Finnian's father worked longer than usual.
Ten in the evening came and went, and he was still locked up in his office. Finnian kept an eye and ear out while he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed, but even when it was close to midnight, his father still hadn't left his desk.
Suspicious.
Barefoot and pajama-clad, Finnian padded down the stairs and put a careful hand on the doorknob of his father's study.
A roar made him jump back. He opened the door and found himself face to face with Theseus, his father's familiar. The large golden-brown lion quickly relaxed when he recognized Finnian; swishing his tail, he yawned and settled back down on the carpet.
His father jumped up from his chair as he heard Finnian enter, placing himself between him and the desk. "Finnian," he gasped, startled and wide-eyed. "What's the matter?"
"Are you still working?" This time Finnian didn't try to sneak any glances; no need to catch his father's suspicion. "It's almost midnight, you know."
"Is it?" His father glanced at his watch, then stared at it like he couldn't believe it was telling the truth. "Why, you're right. Sorry…I'll stop working in a minute, I got carried away is all."
Finnian frowned. "You shouldn't be working that much," he said, absently scratching Theseus between the ears. "You're going to ruin your health."
"…You're right." Shuffling his documents together, his father ruffled Finnian's hair, offering him a tired smile. "Thanks, Finnian. Don't worry; I'll go to bed in a minute."
Taking this as his cue to leave, Finnian made his way back to his room, listening eagerly. His father kept his word; a few minutes later he heard footsteps from downstairs, as well as the sound of a door locking. Finally all sounds died down in the house, and Finnian waited for another half-hour before daring the way back to the office.
The house was quiet as he crept down the stairs, carefully balancing himself to avoid any creaking. A quiet hum and clatter came from the kitchen: the brownies at work, and Finnian avoided looking in that direction to keep from accidentally sneaking a glance at them. The last and only time he had walked in on them at work as a child, it had taken a lot of diplomacy to stop them from leaving the house for good.
But they weren't in the study yet, he thought, cracking a tiny smile as he placed a hand on the doorknob and waited.
The pattern of the dark wood shifted until it resembled a sleeping face. The door cracked open one eye, then another, eyeing Finnian with curiosity. "Password?" it asked.
"Moon River," Finnian said easily.
"Correct." Closing its eyes again, the door clicked and a lock emerged under the doorknob. Finnian unlocked it with the spare key his father had given him and slipped into the room.
All was quiet. Only the moon shone in through the window, illuminating the rows and rows of bookshelves that covered the walls, floor to ceiling. His father's heavy oaken desk—a family heirloom—sat untouched under the window.
The documents on top of it were gone.
Frowning, Finnian peered into the drawers, then the folders. Nothing unusual. Most of his father's business was digital these days, anyway; and the rest was nothing Finnian didn't already recognize. Bills, receipts, business contracts. Nothing his father could possibly have wanted to hide from him.
"Work with me here," Finnian told the desk, and it, too, opened one wooden eye. "Where's the paperwork Dad was working on earlier?"
The desk's single eye looked around, then looked up at him in a silent apology.
"Not here?" Finnian asked, his heart sinking.
The eye blinked twice. Finnian knew that meant he had guessed right.
"I can't believe this," he muttered under his breath. "Did he take it with him to bed?"
The eye blinked twice again. Finnian couldn't help it—he stared at it in open disbelief.
His father never took important documents to bed with him. He always said the study was the safer place to keep them; between the sentient, password-protected door and the keys only his family had, it was nearly impossible to get into. Taking it to the bedroom with him simply didn't make any sense.
Unless…the person he wanted to keep it from wasn't a random intruder, but his very own family.
The desk closed its eye and went still again. Finnian stroked it lightly, muttering a quiet thanks for its help. He was just about to turn back and leave when his gaze fell on the floor, and he paused.
Something lay there. Not big enough for a document; just a square piece of paper, half hidden under the foot of the desk. It must have fallen off earlier without his father noticing.
Intrigued, he knelt down, picking up the paper and flipping it over. A picture looked back at him, slightly faded, and he crept closer to the moonlit window to view it a little more closely.
It was a photo, he realized, depicting a handsome young man who appeared to be in his twenties. He was pale and lean, his light blond hair kept in a short, businesslike haircut, wearing a collared shirt and light blue tie. His eyes were bright gray, the same shade as Finnian's and his father's, and his entire face looked startlingly…familiar.
He looked so much like his father, Finnian thought, but it wasn't him. He could tell from the softness in his features, the easy grace of his smile; he had seen pictures of his father when he was young, and he had never looked so gentle. Raphael Day had looked stern and aloof ever since his teens, and this man was clearly anything but.
Another relative, then? Finnian didn't think it was an old picture of his grandfather; Uriel Day looked even more stern than his son, and Finnian had trouble imagining him ever looking so youthful and gentle. But who else could it be? Some cousin, or another distant relative? He didn't think it was any of the ancestors from the wall of portraits in the living room, but most of them had been young before the age of full-color photography anyway.
Intrigued, he took the picture and tucked it into his pajama pocket before creeping out of the study and back into his room. He wasn't sure what he should do with it yet; but who knew.
Maybe sometime he would find out about that man's identity, after all.
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