(Callum's POV)

Lacey had dragged me down to some shops after we arrived at our apartment complex. It was rundown, which is what you would expect of two students abroad. We could hear rats scuttling in the walls around us, squeaking and clawing out holes in the drywall. I nearly lost it when one of the rodents—the meanest looking by far, with half a whisker missing, a hole in one ear, and a good chunk of its ear gone—ran over my sneaker and back into its cave under the bed.

Lacey frowned at the bed. "You know how many bugs are probably on that?" she spat disgustedly.

"That's what we get for staying at this dump—it's like one of your Super Fate's in the States."

"Super 8," she corrected, "and I don't think they're this bad. At least they change the sheets once a week. Here it's like… once a year." Lacey glanced around the room, seeing nothing but a work desk, a banged up lamp in one corner, and a sofa and old television in another.

"Dibs on the sofa," I called, plopping down on the couch, immediately regretting it as an unknown liquid soaked through my tracksuit bottoms.

Lacey smirked at me, then walked over to the work desk. She sat on the top, testing if it would hold her weight, and smiling. "This is my bed," she declared.

"Fine, but don't come moaning to me about having a stiff body in the morning."

"At least I won't be covered in bed bugs and rat urine."

I stuck my tongue out and quickly changed out of my sopping shorts.

I was walking with Lacey through the Louvre a few days later. We had both been antsy to begin with, but after a few sleepless nights in the Hotel de Rats, we were aggravated, irritated, and more than a little impatient to begin this thing.

We were in a tour group, obnoxious tourists gawking and taking pictures at every little thing they saw, ignoring the poor bloke employed to be the guide. As we wandered through the expansive halls, Lacey would say some random fact about a painting, or about an artifact. Turns out, she knew a lot of random things, like how the artist created this paint stroke, how the technique of this was done by who and where and when… Okay, at first it had been a little annoying, I won't lie, but now… it had grown on me. It was another part of who she was, another mannerism she wasn't aware of. It was these things that drew me in closer, that made my heart go wild and my head spin at the thought of being with her, forever. Of hugging her. Of kissing her. Of making her laugh and smile. Of just being with her… in more ways than one.

God, if I had said that aloud, she would've slapped me. But honestly, I'm a guy… At this age, my libido's a beast. If there was any chance she agree, I'd tell her everything, try to do everything…

Lacey hit my side playfully. "You paying attention?" she asked. "We've got a reason to be here."

At first I was confused, and then I realized: I was supposed to be taking as many pictures as possible, all of the security cameras and their locations.

"Sorry," I mumbled, quickly snapping shots of everything.

I didn't think she would notice if I took a few pictures of her. She was a perfect model, not strikingly beautiful, but more quietly pretty. Her face said it all—pensive, serene, happy. There was one of her staring at the Mona Lisa, perhaps contemplating why the woman was smiling, like every other observer before her. Although I was told not to by the tour guide, I had managed to capture a snapshot of that: two beautiful young ladies smiling for God knows why.

The tour lasted around an hour, with all the tourists going back out the main entrance. Lacey seemed a little sad to be leaving, but quickly plastered a smile on her face. However, it quickly faded. "I didn't get any pictures of you," she sighed. "How will people know you've been here?"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "They'll just have to believe me."

"But I—"

"Let it be," I said. "Don't worry; I took a bunch of you."

Lacey rolled her eyes. "But none of yourself."

I shrugged and we headed back to the apartment.

Phase One: complete.

Phase Two was harder. It took more planning, as in, several all nighters worth of planning. First we had to construct a model of the Louvre, and then add in all the security measures, find the angles of the camera lenses, figure out the most effective way to get inside, to get out, and five back-up routes. Lancaster had set us up with inside connections—who, he wouldn't say, but it was a reliable source. All of their information checked out.

Lacey was the one to begin supplying us. She had backpacks ready, filled with maps, fake ids, passports, money, and textbooks, all so if we were stopped and searched, we would match our student abroad cover well enough to avoid suspicion. However, inside a hidden pouch, were a small box of matches, a candle, and a glass cutter. That was all Lacey claimed we needed for the mission to be a success.

Later that day, we both took a light nap, although we both didn't sleep very well. The stupid rats were getting bolder, and would scurry out the room once it was quiet, nibbling on our shoes and clothes. After a gourmet dinner of microwaveable ramen and Coca-Cola, we suited up.

Black spandex covered by sweats, and a black hoodie shoved in my backpack for when we arrived at the museum. Lacey was dressed in dark jeans and a jacket, a black beanie on her head, her bright blue eyes bright and alive.

"You ready Callum?" she smiled, zipping up her backpack and slinging it over her shoulders.

"I guess," I shrugged. "I'm just… nervous. It all seems a bit sketch to me." Lacey giggled, and I could feel heat rush to my face. "What's so funny?"

"The way you say that sounds weird," she giggled again. "Sketch," her voice was low, an awful British accent marring the world.

"I don't sound like that!" I laughed, stepping close and grabbing her.

"Yeah you do! Admit it!"

I buried my face in her hair, smelling the perfume of her strawberry shampoo, trying to hide my foolish grin. "Say I don't," I said. "Say I don't talk like that and I'll let you go."

"Who says I want you to?" We both froze, and I could feel Lacey tense in my arms. "I-I mean that, you know, that um, I guess I feel safe with… with you."

Every word caught in my throat, making what came out of my mouth to be an unintelligible squeal. Lacey stepped away, her face red, stumbling to get her pack and open the apartment door. "Wait," I said, but she was already outside, slipping down the hall. I grabbed my backpack and ran after, locking the door behind me.

(())

Traveling through Paris at night was, in a sense, a horrifying experience. It was dark, and once we had left the quaint areas with bright little shops and entered the darkness of the back alleys, all sense of safety was gone.

Lacey got us to the museum in no time. She read the French road signs easy enough, and always stopped when I was falling behind, but never looked at me directly. I think she was still a little embarrassed.

The American girl was quite adept at sneaking around, I must say. After we arrived, we tugged on our dark clothing and packed the rest in our packs. Our entry point was a window, and from the ledge Lacey took the glass cutter and sliced along the edges. Very carefully, she caught the glass as it fell out, and stuck her head inside. "Coast's clear," she whispered to me. "Get in."

I had to slide past her to scramble inside, plopping down silently, watching in awe as she slid in beside me. "Now what?" I asked. Lacey put a finger to her lips, spun me around, and reached inside my bag, pulling out a little baggie. I never recalled packing it, but Lacey had known exactly where it was.

She pulled out a square of plastic wrap, handed me the pane of glass, and pressed the wrap into the gap in the wall, trimming the plastic to size, and gently placing the glass onto it.

"There," she declared. "If we need to make a quick getaway, just push out the pane, and climb over."

I nodded. "Are we ready?"

"Let's go."

It's easier than one would think to infiltrate a museum, albeit with inside help. The confusing twists and turns didn't affect us; we had a map. We knew where every security camera and trigger was, and we knew when their lenses would turn away from us and scan somewhere else, giving us just enough time to sneak down the next corridor.

We didn't travel far from the window. Our target was just a few feet away, lying on a pedestal, vulnerable. Our inside source had deactivated the pressure plate, and had taken off the bulletproof casing around it. The glass container was on the ground beside it, ready for us to put back in its place.

The artifact was small, but worth a ton of money. It was a simple key, a locket as the handle, and I honestly couldn't tell what the big deal was about it. Lacey, however, was enthralled.

"It's beautiful," she smiled, gingerly picking it up, tucking it inside a velvet box. She kept the lid open, admiring its rusted exterior, tracing the design on the neck with her finger.

It just looked like a key to me, with a string attached. I snorted; this was what we were stealing? This is what we were risking detainment and abuse for? Pathetic.

"For something this risky, we should have been stealing the Mona Lisa," I grumbled. "What's so special about a stupid key?"

Lacey gasped, her brow furrowed as if I had insulted her. "This is a priceless necklace worn by Queen Elizabeth during her coronation! Do you know how precious this is? I have a piece of history in my hands!"

I rolled my eyes, then smirked. "Oh, so now you're looking at me again?"

Lacey blushed furiously, angrily looking away. "I was just caught up in the moment," she argued, stowing the necklace in her bag. I bent down and grabbed the glass box, carefully putting it on the square pedestal.

"Oh, wait, we forgot the weight."

"The weight?"

"Yeah, to imitate the key when the trigger plate gets activated in…" I glanced at my wrist watch. "… Five minutes." Lacey nodded. "And about earlier? Don't worry; I'm an expert at seduction."

The girl rolled her beautiful eyes and sighed. "Just shut up and get going Casanova."

I know it's shorter—I'm losing interest in this. :( Oh no… But you know what to do! Read, review, love.