Astrid
The lunch bell rang and students poured out toward their afternoon classes in loud, scattered streams. Reed didn’t follow them. He turned the opposite direction instead, and after a beat of hesitation, Xander and I fell in step behind him.
We were heading away from the main academic buildings entirely, toward a part of campus I hadn’t explored yet. I was about to ask where exactly he was taking us when the library came into view, and the question died in my throat.
It dwarfed every other building I’d seen so far. Towering stone pillars rose up on either side of a set of doors easily three times my height, stained glass windows catching the afternoon light in fractured colors across the steps. Students moved in and out carrying stacks of books like it was nothing, like this wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever stood in front of.
I stopped walking without meaning to.
My mother used to talk about this place. She’d laughed once, counting stolen coins on her bed, and told me that someday I’d read every book in that library, like it was a promise she fully intended to keep.
She never got the chance to see if she was right.
I wish you were here, I thought, and made myself keep walking before either of the twins noticed I’d fallen behind.
Inside, the smell of old parchment settled over everything, rows of shelves stretching farther than I could see in either direction.
Xander groaned, dragging his feet like he was being led to his own execution. "I hate books."
"Books probably hate you too," I said without looking at him.
He looked genuinely offended. "They’ve never even met me."
"Can we focus?" Reed said, already moving toward the front desk.
I bit back a smile and followed.
The librarian, an older man with sharp eyes behind thin glasses, recognized the twins instantly, offering a polite nod before his gaze landed on me and lingered.
"So," he said. "You’re the scholarship girl."
I forced a smile. I was already tired of that particular introduction following me everywhere I went.
Reed explained we needed access to the Royal Archives for our project, and the librarian nodded like this was routine, unlocking a heavy wooden cabinet behind the desk and retrieving an old bronze key.
"Don’t damage anything," he said, handing it over. His eyes flicked to Xander. "Especially you."
Xander pressed a hand to his chest, wounded.
The archive doors creaked open onto a room thick with dust and sunlight, shelves stretching up into shadow, packed with scrolls and genealogy books and maps that looked older than the kingdom itself. I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
It was beautiful. It was also, quietly, terrifying. Every secret the crown had ever recorded was probably tucked into one of these shelves somewhere, waiting for the wrong person to find it.
Reed started assigning sections without much discussion, sending Xander toward one row and taking another for himself, leaving me to start on a third. Xander wandered off, and within minutes I heard him sigh dramatically from somewhere behind a shelf.
"I’m bored already."
Neither Reed nor I looked up.
I was scanning titles when a large leather-bound volume caught my eye. Royal Genealogies, the spine read, gold lettering worn thin with age. I hesitated, then pulled it free and opened it carefully.
My eyes landed on a surname I recognized instantly, and everything in me went still.
I snapped the book shut, too fast.
"Find something useful?" Reed asked, not even looking up from the shelf he was searching.
"Wrong book," I said, too quickly, and looked up to find him already watching me.
His expression gave nothing away, but he studied me for a beat longer than the moment required. "Then keep looking," he said finally, and turned back to his own section.
The second his attention shifted, I slid the genealogy book behind a row of thicker, less interesting volumes, my hands trembling badly enough that I had to press them flat against my thighs afterward.
A loud scrape echoed through the archive, followed almost immediately by a much louder crash.
I turned in time to see an entire shelf tip sideways, scrolls and books cascading to the floor in a cloud of dust, with Xander standing frozen in the middle of it holding a single scroll like it had personally betrayed him.
The librarian came storming in. "Mr. Ashwood!"
Xander raised both hands. "In my defense—" he pointed at the collapsed shelf, "—it started it."
The librarian did not look remotely convinced.
I couldn’t help it. A real laugh escaped before I could stop it, and I clapped a hand over my mouth immediately, though it was far too late to take it back.
Xander spun toward me, delighted. "You enjoyed that."
"Immensely," I admitted.
Even Reed, crouched down to help gather the fallen scrolls, looked like he was fighting the corner of his mouth into staying still.
We spent the next twenty minutes putting the shelf back in order under the librarian’s watchful, unimpressed eye. By the time we finished, Reed checked the time and decided we’d done enough for the day.
The librarian locked the archive doors behind us as we filed out, and I let myself breathe a little easier. Nothing had been found. Nothing had been discovered. I’d survived another day without giving anything away.
We were nearly at the main doors when the librarian’s voice cut through the quiet behind us.
"Mr. Ashwood."
We all stopped. Reed turned first. "Yes?"
The librarian held up a familiar pink notebook. "Did you leave this behind?"
Reed frowned, glancing at it. "No."
My stomach dropped straight through the floor.
That was my notebook. Ivy’s notebook, technically, the one she’d lent me on my first day of classes. I’d tucked my mother’s letter inside it that morning before leaving the apartment, meaning to keep it safe, and I’d never taken it back out.
The blood drained from my face so fast I felt lightheaded.
The librarian was already flipping it open, scanning the first few pages for some indication of whose it was, his thumb catching the edge of a folded piece of paper tucked between them.
Reed’s eyes shifted toward me. Xander’s followed a half second later.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was watch the librarian’s fingers work the fold open, and pray to whatever gods were still listening that he closed it again before either of them saw what was written inside.
The librarian’s thumb caught the folded paper. He started pulling it free.
My body moved before my brain did. "Wait!"
Every head turned toward me.