Klara
The storm had been building since third period, but by the time the final bell rang on Tuesday afternoon, the sky had completely collapsed.
A torrential downpour lashed against the high, leaded windows of the school library, turning the glass into a blurred, watery shield against the outside world. Inside, the lights were low, struggling against the gloom of the overcast sky. The library was practically a tomb. Most students had rushed home to beat the rising water on the roads, leaving only the soft, rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof and the low, mechanical hum of the old heating vents.
I had chosen the absolute furthest corner of the biography section, wedged between two towering shelves of dark oak. I wanted the shadows. I wanted the isolation. I needed whatever buffer I co
