Chapter 18: The Professor's True Face

The narrow path through the old mill district twisted like a serpent, its crumbling walls pressing tight around Ava, Ryder, Lily, and Matt as they fled the Order of the Ivy's relentless pursuit. The night air was thick with the scent of rust and smoke, the distant glow of Jack Grayson's burning apartment fading behind them as they pushed deeper into the shadows. Ava's boots pounded the cracked pavement, her bag bouncing against her hip, the list—singed but intact—its weight a constant reminder of their fragile victory. Ryder ran beside her, his bloodied face set in determination, the crowbar clutched in his hand a silent promise of protection. Lily stumbled but kept pace, her strength waning yet fueled by defiance, while Matt lagged, his breath ragged, his fear a palpable drag on their momentum.

The precinct loomed closer, just beyond the mill district's edge, a beacon of safety in downtown's glow, but the chase had left them exposed, the Order's hooded figures too swift, too close. Ava's flashlight beam danced ahead, catching the glint of a rusted gate blocking their path—a dead end, its bars twisted but unyielding. Her heart sank, the echo of footsteps growing louder behind them, a relentless drumbeat of pursuit.

"Damn it," Ryder muttered, skidding to a halt and testing the gate with his crowbar. The metal groaned but held, its lock rusted shut, and he spun to face the alley, his eyes scanning the shadows. "They're boxing us in—we need another way."

Ava's mind raced, her breath fogging in the chill as she swept her light across the walls. A narrow gap yawned between two buildings, barely wide enough for a person, its darkness a gamble but their only shot. "There," she said, pointing, her voice sharp with urgency. "It might loop around—come on!"

Ryder nodded, shoving Matt toward the gap. "Go—now!" he barked, and Matt squeezed through, his flashlight clattering against the brick as he vanished into the void. Lily followed, her slim frame slipping easily, and Ava went next, her bag scraping the walls, the list's edges digging into her side. Ryder brought up the rear, his broad shoulders barely fitting, his crowbar scraping a shrill note against the stone.

The passage twisted, its walls slick with damp, and Ava's pulse hammered as the footsteps behind them faded, then surged again—closer, sharper, the Order's hunters relentless. Her flashlight caught a glimpse of pavement ahead, the gap opening into a side street, and she burst out, her lungs burning as she scanned their new terrain. The precinct's lights glowed two blocks away, a promise of refuge, but headlights flared in the distance, a black SUV roaring toward them from the opposite end of the street.

"Move!" Ryder shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward a cluster of abandoned crates, Lily and Matt stumbling behind. They ducked low, the vehicle's engine a low growl as it slowed, its tires crunching gravel. Ava peered through a gap, her breath shallow, and saw two figures step out—hooded, their movements deliberate, one clutching a phone to his ear, his voice a muffled snarl she couldn't decipher.

"They're calling it in," she whispered, her hand tightening on Ryder's sleeve. "Jack—he must've told them we're alive."

Ryder's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched them. "We're not making the precinct like this," he said, his voice low and grim. "Too open—they'll cut us off. We need cover, a detour."

Lily crouched beside them, her face pale but fierce. "The art building," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "It's closer—back entrance, near the quad. I've got a key from studio hours. We can hide there, figure out what's next."

Ava's mind clicked, the art building's labyrinth of studios and storage rooms flashing into focus—a temporary haven, a chance to breathe. "Good," she said, nodding. "Lead the way—quietly."

They slipped from the crates, staying low as Lily guided them through a maze of alleys, the SUV's headlights sweeping the street behind them, its engine a constant threat. The campus loomed ahead, its gothic spires shadowed against the night, the union fire's chaos a distant hum now overtaken by the precinct's sirens. Ava's legs ached, her lungs raw from smoke and exertion, but the list in her bag fueled her, a prize worth every step.

The art building's back door loomed, its metal frame scratched and dented, and Lily fumbled with her key, her hands trembling as she unlocked it. They slipped inside, the air cool and heavy with the scent of paint and clay, the silence a stark relief after the chase. Ava locked the door behind them, her flashlight sweeping the hallway—empty, its walls lined with student sketches, a quiet sanctuary amidst the storm.

"Upstairs," Lily whispered, pointing to a stairwell. "Studio 3—big, lots of stuff to hide behind. No windows on the street side."

They climbed, their footsteps muffled on the worn stairs, and reached the studio, a cavernous space cluttered with easels, canvases, and shelves of supplies. Ava flicked off her flashlight, relying on the faint glow of emergency lights, and guided Lily to a corner behind a stack of blank canvases, easing her onto the floor. Matt slumped beside her, his breath heaving, while Ryder moved to the door, peering through its small window into the hall.

"Clear for now," he said, his voice low as he joined them, crouching beside Ava. "But they're not far. That SUV—it's them, and they're pissed."

Ava pulled the list from her bag, its singed edges crumbling slightly as she spread it on the floor, her flashlight beam illuminating the damning lines—Jack Grayson, his father, a dozen others, payments stretching back years. "This is why," she said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her chest. "They can't let this out—it's their whole operation."

Lily leaned in, her eyes scanning the names, her breath hitching. "Wait," she said, pointing to a line near the bottom. "Professor H. Langston – 9/20 – $10k. Langston—that's your art prof, Ava. He's in on it."

Ava's blood ran cold, her mind flashing to Professor Langston—tall, gray-haired, his sharp eyes always lingering too long in class, his cryptic warning weeks ago: Curiosity will get you killed. She'd thought it a quirk, a teacher's flair, but now it snapped into place—a threat, a piece of the Order's puzzle. "He's the one," she said, her voice trembling with realization. "The letter—it was him. He knew I was digging."

Ryder's hand tightened on the crowbar, his expression darkening. "Then he's close," he said, his voice a growl. "If he's part of this, he's not sitting it out—he's hunting too."

A soft creak echoed from the hall, a floorboard groaning under weight, and Ava's breath caught, her flashlight snapping off as she shoved the list back into her bag. Ryder stood, motioning them to stay low, his body tense as he crept to the door, peering through the window again. His hand froze, his whisper sharp with alarm. "Someone's here—stairs, coming up."

Ava's heart slammed against her ribs, her hand finding Lily's in the dark, squeezing tight as Matt whimpered softly beside them. The creak grew louder, footsteps deliberate, and a shadow loomed in the doorway—tall, broad, unmistakable even in silhouette. Professor Langston stepped into the studio, his gray hair glinting under the emergency lights, his sharp eyes scanning the room, a faint smirk curling his lips. He wore no hood, no mask—just his usual tweed jacket, a knife glinting in his hand, its blade a cold promise.

"Miss Grey," he said, his voice smooth and cutting, a teacher's tone laced with menace. "I warned you—curiosity's a dangerous thing. And now you've dragged your friends into it."

Ava stood, her legs trembling but her voice steady, defiance surging through her fear. "We've got the list," she said, stepping forward, her bag clutched tight. "Jack's deals, your payments—everything. You're done, Langston."

His smirk widened, his knife tilting as he advanced, slow and deliberate. "You think a piece of paper stops this?" he said, his tone mocking. "The Order's bigger than you—bigger than Grayson. You've just signed your own warrants."

Ryder lunged, his crowbar swinging, but Langston was fast, sidestepping and slashing with the knife, its blade grazing Ryder's arm, drawing a fresh line of blood. Ryder grunted, twisting to block the next strike, his strength clashing with Langston's precision in a brutal dance. Ava grabbed a canvas from the stack, swinging it at Langston's back, the wood cracking against his shoulder, sending him stumbling. Lily scrambled up, shoving an easel into his path, and Matt—finally moving—kicked a stool, tripping him as he lunged again.

"Run!" Ryder shouted, pinning Langston's arm long enough for Ava to grab Lily and bolt for the door, Matt stumbling behind. They raced down the stairs, the professor's curses echoing after them, Ryder's footsteps pounding as he broke free and followed. The back door loomed, its lock a fleeting obstacle as Ava shoved it open, the night air hitting her like a wave.

They spilled into the alley, Langston's shadow still chasing, his knife a glint in the dark, but the precinct's lights glowed closer now, a lifeline within reach. Ava's breath burned, her resolve a fire of its own—they'd seen his face, the Order's mask stripped bare, and they wouldn't stop until it fell.