Two nights later, the basement of the Public Library hummed with the sound of cooling fans and frustration.
"You're sloppy," Jinx said.
She spun her chair around, kicking her heavy combat boots up onto the control desk. The blue light from her monitors reflected in her eyes, making her look like a neon ghost.
"You're supposed to be a phantom, Noah. Phantoms don't leave DNA samples on window latches."
Noah paced between the rows of metal shelving units. He wasn't wearing his tactical gear or the beige cardigan he had destroyed. He was wearing a wrinkled grey pullover that had seen better days, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
"It was a mistake," Noah muttered, shoving a box of files back onto a shelf. "The wind caught my hair. It happens."
"It happens to amateurs," Jinx snapped. S
