Zara
I was halfway through translating my Herbal Theory notes into clean scripts when I heard her approach. Her footsteps were quick, purposeful, the soles of her black shoes clicking softly against the marble library floor. I didn't look up. I didn't have to. Her scent – rose, honey and citrus – drifted before her.
"Zara," Alex said softly, too softly.
I kept writing, ignoring how my fingers trembled slightly against the pen. The east library was mostly empty at this hour, golden light pouring in through its long stained glass windows. Dust motes floated like spectres in the dying sun.
She slid into the seat across from me, dropping her satchel on the table with a dull thump. I watched from the corner of my eye as she pulled out a sleek black envelope, identical to mine. Her
