Rows and rows of neatly lined books stretch across the library, shelves towering over me like silent guards. Every spine faces outward, each marked with small colored dots—red, blue, green—signaling genres and sections. Fiction, non-fiction, reference books, school textbooks. Everything is arranged alphabetically, perfectly spaced, like the library is competing for some invisible “most organized place on earth” award.
This was supposed to be simple.
I just wanted time for myself. Me, a book, and the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the tall windows like background music. No people. No conversations. No overthinking. That was the plan.
So someone needs to explain why he is here.
After our encounter outside the library earlier, Seven has been appearing behind random shelves like he’
