The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,129

remained level-headed and focused. You figured out a way to get up to the forty-seventh floor when all obvious routes were blocked. You went head-to-head with Artemis and won, and most importantly, you succeeded in securing the files.” Dr. Brighton held up the pale blue file folder for Landon to see.

“I never paid attention to it before,” Dr. Brighton continued. “I only saw you as that broken boy, haunted by his past and unable to progress, but what I failed to see, Landon, is that you’re logical, clever and you’ve got a level of creativity when it comes to your abilities that I’ve never seen before. That’s a powerful combination. But most of all, you’ve got passion.”

Landon looked perplexed. He was trying to piece together what exactly Dr. Brighton was trying to tell him.

“Tenacity and perseverance are two things one can’t teach,” Dr. Brighton said. “They have to come from within. You have to be born with them, and you’ve got them. Those things are what drive you to succeed. That constant curiosity you face, that inability to accept the way things are, that need to know everything—it’s just your mind pushing you to be better, to be the best.

“I know the fire that burns within you.” Dr. Brighton passionately pressed his hand at his stomach. “That same fire rages in me.

“Never lose that passion, Landon. That hunger for understanding will keep you honest. We may not be able to know what’s in this file, but we are allowed to wonder, and we are definitely allowed to question whether or not we’re doing the right thing.” Dr. Brighton looked at Landon compassionately. “And know this Landon: what you did today was definitely the right thing.” Dr. Brighton stood tall and turned back toward the lift. In a more jovial tone, he continued, “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. That mission sure took it out of me.”

“Agreed,” Landon replied with a smile.

“Perhaps I’ll just sleep on the couch in the faculty lounge tonight. I don’t think I can bear trekking out to my apartment.” Dr. Brighton rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to sooth the aches of his exhaustion. “I’m just too tired.”

“Yeah, it would really suck to have to find your way out there at night . . . especially after what we just went through.”

Landon and Dr. Brighton laughed as the lift activated and descended into the lower levels of the Olympic Tower.

• • • • •

When Landon entered the locker room, the rest of the guys from the Pantheon had already unsuited and left, returning to their rooms to get some well-deserved rest. Landon disengaged his nano-zipper and slowly pried his tactical uniform off with as much grace as possible. Noticing the bin filled with the suits of his teammates nearby, he set it with the others and dressed in the clothes he had stored in his locker.

Once ready, Landon headed out of the Olympic Tower to his bedroom on the fourth floor. Exhaustion had set in by this point and his thoughts concurrently quieted. Every concern about Celia and Artemis, every question about Project Herakles and every worry and concern faded away into the recesses of his mind. Thinking about nothing but his bed, he strolled through the dark halls of the Gymnasium, stumbled into his room and plopped down on his soft mattress. The moment his head hit the pillow he was out, lost in a deep, dreamless sleep.

However, his mind could only stay quiet for so long. Soon visions crept up through his subconscious and flashed through his blank slumber. Images of the suited guards strewn about the Metis Labs lobby in a state somewhere between sleep and death faded in and out. They were so vivid; his mind reconstructed the scene in perfect detail with limbs oddly contorted and numerous Morphium-12 darts stuck out of the casualties’ backs, arms, legs, necks and even their faces—the horrid remains of a desperate battle. As the images rushed through his thoughts, Landon tossed and turned in his bed. The suited men were their enemy, but no matter whose side they were on, images of the battle’s fallen victims were scarring enough to remain burned into his brain.

His visions changed to Project Herakles. Glimpses of the test tubes, the labels and the file folder flickered in and out of existence. They moved through his mind with incredible speed, but one image continued to resurface—an image that even his dreams seemed to consider