Broken

The book was not in the library. It was under it. I was on my night shift at the old city archives, shelving returns at 2AM because apparently this job hates me. “Just one more box, Ada,” I muttered to myself. “Then sleep.” That’s when I saw it. Tucked behind a loose brick in the basement. No title on the spine. Just a cover the color of a bruised sky, and words etched in silver: _THE BOOK OF BROKEN THINGS_. My phone buzzed. It was my supervisor, Mr. Uche. *Mr. Uche:* _“Ada, you still there? Lock up in 10.”_ *Me:* _“Yes sir. Almost done.”_ I pocketed my phone and stared at the book. “Don’t touch weird glowing books in basements,” I told myself. But it wasn’t glowing. Not yet. It was cold. Colder than the concrete floor. When my fingers brushed the cover, it _bled_. Not ink. Not blood. Light. Thin, white light, like cracks in glass, spreading from where I touched it and racing up my arm. I yanked my hand back. “What the—” The light died. The air went still. And then I heard her. “—no way he actually did that—” A girl, maybe my age, standing in the middle of the archive aisle. Hair in a braid. Yellow raincoat. She was laughing at something on her phone, pacing between the shelves. I blinked. “Um… hello? We’re closed.” She didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at me. Then her head snapped up. Her eyes went wide. “Wait—” she whispered. And a shadow dropped from the ceiling and swallowed her whole. I screamed. “HEY!” The lights flickered. The book slammed shut on its own with a _THUD_ that shook the shelves. When the lights came back, the aisle was empty. No girl. No raincoat. No shadow. Just me, shaking, and the book in my hands, warm now. Like it had a pulse. My phone buzzed again. *Mr. Uche:* _“Ada? You okay? I heard screaming.”_ *Me, typing with shaking hands:* _“Fine. Dropped a book. I’m heading out now.”_ I should’ve left it. I should’ve called someone. Instead I shoved it into my bag and ran. --- Three days later, I was eating indomie in my room when the news came on. _Anchor:_ “...Missing person: Lila Okoye, 19. Last seen near City Archives three nights ago. If you have any information—” My spoon clattered to the floor. That night, at 2:13AM, the book on my shelf _bled_ again. A whisper, barely there: _“Ada…”_ ---