There he was.
Across the open air of the library’s center, one floor down, hunched over, as if he’d been hurt.
She raced to him, knocking over stacks in her path. As she approached, she could see that Zev was moving, breathing, lucid. He wasn’t hurt, he was reading—crumpled up, holding a massive old book in his lap, entranced. He jumped when Alistair approached. He called out in surprise, and for the first time realized he couldn’t hear his own voice, or hers, or anything. She grabbed him by the arm, but realized she had no idea how to get back to the waiting room. They were lost.
She mouthed “Let’s go,” and tugged Zev up from the ground. They both ran, looking for any way out, but Alistair wasn’t sure if they were getting closer to the entrance or slipping deeper and deeper into the st
