Page 89 of Artifice

Then he walked away.

It was risky, but Olive knew what she had to do.

She walked past one of the administrators and pretended to accidentally run into her. She mumbled an apology, blaming it on her clumsiness.

But when she walked away, she had a set of keys in her hands.

Keys that would get her into the dispensary—which was just what she needed.

She turned down the hallway and paused.

Glancing behind her, she saw no one was looking.

Olive checked her watch. Based on what Simon had told her, the night supervisor would be making rounds in the west wing for approximately twelve more minutes. It wasn’t much time, but it had to be enough.

The key slid into the lock with a soft click. Olive held her breath as she turned it, wincing at the slight squeak of the hinges as the door swung open. She slipped inside and closed it behind her, using her phone’s flashlight to scan the room.

Metal shelving lined the walls, filled with neatly organized medication bottles, blister packs, and small cardboard boxes. At the center stood a stainless-steel table with a digital scale and pill counter.

A logbook lay open beside a computer terminal.

Olive moved to the shelves, scanning labels. Standard pharmaceuticals occupied the front sections—antibiotics, painkillers, antihistamines.

Nothing unusual.

She checked her watch again. Ten minutes.

She moved deeper into the room.

The back wall featured a separate cabinet with a keypad lock. Amateur. Olive pulled out a small device from her pocket—a thermal sensor that would reveal which numbers on the keypad had been recently pressed. Four digits glowed faintly: 2, 5, 7, 9.

Four digits, sixteen possible combinations.

She started trying them systematically.

2-5-7-9. Error. 2-5-9-7. Error. 2-7-5-9. Error. 2-7-9-5 . . .

The light flashed green. The lock disengaged with a soft hiss.

Inside the cabinet, a different type of organization system awaited. Here, medications were arranged not by name but by alphanumeric codes.

Each shelf contained identical amber bottles with white labels bearing designations like “NZ-40X” and “PL-17M.” No pharmaceutical names, no dosage information—only codes and lot numbers.

Olive pulled out her phone and began taking photos of the cabinet’s contents. She selected three bottles with different codes from different shelves and slipped them into the padded inner pocket of her jacket.

As she closed the cabinet, Olive froze.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside.

CHAPTER 48

Olive quickly closed the cabinet and verified the lock had reengaged.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the jingle of keys.

She glanced around frantically, looking for a place to hide.

There—behind a supply cart in the corner.