The veil of darkness gave him the confidence to slide through the gate, around the hedge of bay laurel and quickly past the garden’s single overhead light. He was sure he could go anywhere. He looked both ways, then tested the door. It was the oldest door and oldest lock he’d ever seen, old and weak. Just like the tired and puny messenger they claim for their god. Locks didn’t matter though. He took the glass cutter from his pocket and scratched a line into the window to the left of the door. He pulled out the plastic packaging tape and followed the line etched into the glass. Then, with a thin pry-bar, he tapped the outline until, with a few clinks, it broke. The sound of the breaking glass meant he was all but inside the museum. He felt a surge of excitement, followed by panic.