Henri hated going to these things. Had it been up to him, he'd have gone into the city to further celebrate his graduation from Westminster School. But it wasn't up to him. Nothing in his boring life ever was.

Grumbling obscenities, he fidgeted with the platinum cufflinks attached to the black sleeve of his suit jacket. He didn't mind dressing up. In fact, he relished the opportunity to flex his very expansive, and expensive, wardrobe. But tonight's venue had a strict dress code. Basic tuxedos and loafers only. No exceptions. No room for color or personality either. His father was to blame. A sack of potatoes had more personality than he did.

For the past four years, Henri had been forced to wear a stupid uniform. Westminster School didn't often encourage stepping outside the box they built for its students. He figured that's why his father sent him there in the first place. What he didn't expect was to be forced back into another uniform the moment he arrived back in the States.

With a sigh, he stole a glance through the tinted window of the SUV shielding him from the rain outside.

The Smithsonian Institute stared back at him in all its glory.

Its big, white central building overlooked the street like a deity viewing its beloved creation. The Greco-Roman architectural style wasn't Henri's personal favorite, but he supposed it looked nice enough. Banners displaying Egyptian imagery hung between the trio of pillars at the top of the quartz staircase. From his perch, Henri spotted his parents' smiling faces among a few of the banners. He scoffed.

If his parents wanted to host their event at a museum, they should've picked the Louvre.

"Ready to go, Mr. Henri?" Jeffrey, his chauffeur for the night, said from the front seat.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

The old man chuckled. "And how many times do I have to call you Mr. Henri until you accept it?"

Henri rolled his eyes. Jeffrey had been calling him that since he was a child. He wasn't old enough to be a mister then, and he certainly wasn't old enough now. His eighteenth birthday was only a few weeks ago.

Though, he supposed there were worse things to be called. Jeffrey at least had the decency to call him by his name. Others rarely addressed him with it. Most of the time they just referred to him as "Simon and Aminata's son" or that "Beck boy". There were a few others he'd rather not mention. Mention of any of them made his blood boil and his joints tighten.

"The ceremony should be starting soon," Jeffrey told him. "Your parents will want you inside."

"I'm well aware of what they want, thanks, Jeff."

They made sure of that.

Through the rearview mirror, he spotted Jeffrey peering disapprovingly at him. He crossed his arms and lowered his gaze to his glossy dress shoes. They were squeezing the hell out of his feet. His eyes were drawn back to the cufflinks gleaming on his sleeves. His mouth twitched.

A graduation gift. One of many. He hated it, just like all the others.

"They wanted to be there, Mr. Henri," Jeffrey said, his voice softer than the plush seats of the SUV they sat in. "Truly, they did. But something—"

"Yeah, I know. Something came up."

Something always came up.

"Henri—"

"Let's just get this over right, yeah?"

He didn't bother waiting for Jeffrey to respond. He was already out of the car.

#

Everyone had gathered around the various glass cases placed throughout the museum's spacious showroom. They marveled at the artifacts secured by velvet rope and the odd museum worker. Spotlights from the high ceiling illuminated the impressive collection.

Henri had to admit—he was impressed. The Beck Foundation—the organization founded by his ancestors dedicated to discovery and anthropology—managed to bring back a massive haul from their most recent expeditions across Northern Africa. Now helmed by his father and mother, the Beck Foundation had unearthed yet another treasure trove of history for mankind.

A Nobel prize likely resided in the wings. Henri groaned at the thought of attending yet another ceremony in the name of his family.

He made sure to keep away from the crowd roaming about the brightly lit room. He stood beside the snack table, nursing a glass of punch while he watched others move past him as if he weren't there. Being invisible wasn't new to him. His parents might've been multimillionaires and revered celebrities, but no one even knew who he was.

Sometimes he appreciated the anonymity. At other times he loathed it. All it did was remind him of just how encompassing the shadow of the Beck name was. It weighed more than sky and sat upon his shoulders as if he were Atlas. But he was no titan. He was just a boy who loved history, tabby cats, and other boys.

He brought his cup of punch to his lips. His nose crinkled at the sweet taste of it. Too much sugar. It tasted like a kid's drink. Of course, alcohol wouldn't be served to him here, as he wasn't twenty-one yet. While his time in the United Kingdom had been anything but perfect, he did appreciate their drinking age laws.

He scanned the crowd before him. They all were dressed in their posh suits and dresses likely designed by some pompous designer who charged way too much for their clothes. It wasn't like he was any better. His own suit likely cost more than he would've liked to admit. A drop in the pond for someone like him, though. As far as he was concerned, his family's bank account was deeper than the Grand Canyon.

"Deviled egg, sir?"

Henri flinched at the voice. It was deep, with a hint of rasp. Boredom was laced throughout his words. When Henri's eyes landed on its owner, he nearly choked on his own spit. Eyes bulging, he gawked at the young man holding a platter beside him.

He was tall—like, professional basketball player tall. His coarse hair had been coiled into shiny, black locs, which were tied into a ponytail atop his head. Henri could see the taut muscles pressing against the fabric of the man's dress shirt. A blush pushed through Henri's golden complexion. Warm, brown eyes stared back at him.

"Er, sorry, what did you say?" Henri managed to get out.

The man showed him the platter. "Would you like a deviled egg, sir."

"You mean an hors d'oeuvres?" He crinkled his nose. His parents could've bothered to select better dishes for tonight. "Er, no thanks. I'm vegan."

An annoyed look flashed across the waiter's face. Henri cursed himself. His smart mouth often got the best of him.

"Suit yourself," said the handsome waiter. He turned heel and headed into the crowd to offer the other museum patrons the tiny egg dish. Henri found himself watching the man for the next few moments. His mind buzzed with static. He barely noticed the girl clad in a rainbow-colored eyesore of a dress settling in next to him.

"You're gonna catch flies if you keep your mouth open any longer," Thea told him.

He pressed his lips into a flat, unamused line. "I haven't seen you in two years and that's the first thing you say to me?"

"I'm just looking out for my little brother."

"You? Looking out for me?" Brow furrowed, Henri tilted his head at her. "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"

Thea scoffed before playfully punching him in the shoulder.

Henri grinned at her before wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. They might not have been biological siblings, but that never mattered to them. While she never ceased to work his nerves, she was the closest thing to a best friend he'd ever had. The worst part about moving to London for school wasn't being away from his home or his parent—it'd been moving away from her. While he attended Westminster School, she'd convinced their parents to send her to some prestigious art school in New York. Henri might've been the book's smart sibling, but Thea was by far the more creative. Some of her work belonged in one of the many museums their family frequented. Though, some of her canvasses were the stuff of nightmares...

"Why didn't you get that guy's number?" Thea wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Henri. "He was cute."

"I'm out of his league."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Henri rolled his eyes.

"You know we're supposed to be up front with Mom and Dad, right? They're about to give their speech," Thea told him.

"How was I supposed to know that? I've barely talked to them since I got off the plane."

"Jeffrey didn't tell you? He was supposed to tell you."

"That man has the memory of a goldfish. He's like a hundred years old. Remind me, why hasn't he retired yet?"

Thea smacked him upside the head, which earned her a sour scowl from Henri. "First of all, he's seventy-three. Second, Jeffrey is like family. He loves working for us."

"Family that we pay to do things for us."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Come on. Mom and Dad want us up there."

"Aye, aye, captain." Henri gave her a sarcastic salute before following her into the crowd. As they wove through the people still gathered around the display cases, one of the artifacts on display caught his eye. Quite literally. The spotlight in the ceiling glinted off the bronze placard mounted beneath it, blinding Henri for a split second as he passed by.

Inside the case was an old map. Its corners were singed and faded ink the color of spilled wine stained the sandy parchment. Glossy hieroglyphs decorated the borders of the map. His steps faltered as he got closer.

"Hey, Thea," he said, turning to his sister, "what's th—"

"Hurry up, loser, they're about to start."

Thea snatched his hand and yanked him away from the map. He gave it one last look before allowing himself to be pulled through the crowd of people as if he were a fish on a line.

They made their way to the front of the showroom, occasionally greeting random people who recognized them as the Beck siblings. Eventually, Henri spotted his father's distinct, bald head towering above the cluster of donors and benefactors surrounding him. They erupted into laughter upon hearing whatever lame joke he likely made. Simon Beck didn't possess a humorous bone in his body, but when it came time to impress potential business partners or future donors, he turned into a stand-up comedian.

The man's small audience parted as Henri and Thea arrived before them.

"Ah, there you are!" The sound of his mother's voice made him smile. "We were starting to wonder if you had gotten lost. The museum is massive, to be fair." Despite having spoken to her over the phone a few hours ago, he never got tired of hearing it.

While Henri's father often lacked charisma and empathy, his mother—Aminata—made up for it tenfold. The sun had nothing on her when it came to brightening up someone's day. Most, if not all, of his positive childhood memories involved her; long afternoons learning French, finally beating her at chess, and—his favorite—watching her spend hours cooking. The woman was a wizard in the kitchen.

She swept him up in a hug, her slender frame somehow nearly lifting him off his feet. He breathed in her familiar scent—shea butter and honey—and a smile blossomed on his lips. He peered over her shoulder. His eyes met his father's. As his mother released him, he and his father shared a tense, quiet look.

"Henri," Simon said flatly.

"Dad."

The man examined him as if he were another one of his underperforming projects. "You need a haircut."

Says the man with no hair.

That's what he wished he said. Instead, he muttered a pathetic, "Yes, sir."

"Nice to see you haven't forgotten your manners. Perhaps your time in Westminster was useful after all."

Henri balled his fists to his side. If he clenched his jaw any harder, he feared it might snap right off. Before he could pop a blood vessel, his mother stepped forward and placed a hand on her husband's chest pocket. A tight smile rested on her full lips, but the look in her eyes suggested she was anything but happy.

Simon sighed. "It's good to have you back, Henri."

"It's good to be back, sir."

"Alright, let's get started." With his family now at his side, the patriarch of the Beck family faced the crowd of people before them. After gathering their attention, someone handed him a microphone.

Henri's entire body went stiffer than the Washington monument as he realized just how many eyes were trained on him. Coughing awkwardly, he averted his gaze to his shoes and waited for his father to speak.

"I'd like to thank you all for attending this wonderful event tonight. Without you, none of the work the Beck Foundation does would be possible. Because of you, we've been able to discover pieces of the past and further assist mankind with its understanding of itself. Please, give yourselves a round of applause."

The audience did as they were told. They all looked rather pleased with themselves. Henri wondered how much money was standing in that room. There were business owners, heirs and heiresses, and politicians amongst them. They'd pledged a portion of their funds to the Beck Foundation in the name of advancement, knowledge, and a generous tax break.

He rolled his eyes. These events were just an excuse to round up a bunch of rich people and pat themselves on the back. As he glanced at his sister, he figured she must've felt the same way he did. While they contrasted more than apples and oranges, they often found common ground when it came to recognizing the privilege they unfortunately held.

But even their privilege didn't protect them from the harsh nature of the world they lived in.

"Before we open our newest contribution to The Smithsonian's collection to the public, we wanted to allow you to see what we managed to find during our expeditions." Simon gestured towards the glass cases dispersed throughout the room. They reminded Henri of buoys in a lake as they stood out amongst the sea of people with their eyes trained on Simon Beck. "In the last eight months, the Beck Foundation has embarked on several expeditions throughout Egypt in search of remnants of ancient civilizations. Our mission has always remained the same: uncover the past to help us understand our future. Our expeditions helped us to realize that—"

The doors at the back of the room burst open. A security guard stumbled through with sweat dripping down their face and their pistol clutched tightly in their hand. Concerned rumblings rippled through the audience like a riptide. Apprehension and confusion buzzed in the air.

Henri and Thea exchanged wary glances before peering at the panting security guard.

"What is the meaning of this?" Aminata stepped forward, her voice carrying throughout the entire room.

The security guard swallowed hard. "Ma'am, there's been a—"

A gunshot echoed in Henri's ears. His eyes widened as he stumbled backward as if he'd been punched in the gut.

The security guard hit the ground face-first. A red spot, quickly growing in size, spread across the back of their grey uniform. Screams rang out. The crowd backed away from the doors. All eyes were on the fallen security guard, but Henri was looking beyond them.

His eyes were locked on the six masked men barging through the doors with military-grade assault rifles in their gloved hands. Mechanized helmets covered their heads, black visors shielding their faces from the view of the plethora of witnesses around. Red lasers poured from the attachment on the tops of their firearms. One of them surged ahead of the group. With their rifle in one hand, they let off a few shots into the air.

The crowd shrieked as they sunk to the floor. Henri remained upright. Fear had snaked its way around each of his limbs. He couldn't move even if he tried. Thea had moved behind him, her hands and legs trembling slightly. Their parents watched the six men with stony expressions on their faces.

A million questions swirled around inside his head like a cyclone.

Up ahead, the masked man who fired his gun stalked forward. While Henri couldn't see his face, he knew his eyes were trained on him. He barked a command at his accomplices in what sounded like Serbian. They nodded and darted off into the crowd. Their leader scanned the room until he found what he came for. He marched through the kneeling members of the crowd. Slinging his gun around his shoulder, he retrieved a handgun from his waist. He pointed it at one of the display cases.

Henri's eyes widened. The map.

Then the gunman fired his weapon at the glass.