The library breathed with age. Its stone walls were cold and pale, etched with faint cracks that told stories of centuries past. Rows upon rows of towering shelves rose like narrow cliffs, their tops swallowed by shadow. The air smelled of dust, ink, and old leather. Every sound—footsteps, shifting books, quiet voices—felt magnified beneath the vaulted ceiling. Aniela moved carefully through the narrow aisle, her boots whispering against the floor as her fingers traced the cracked spines of books.
Her thoughts were louder than the room itself. She replayed the instructions over and over, afraid of missing something important. The task felt heavy, like a weight pressing against her chest. She told herself to focus, yet her mind drifted, wondering how long this search would take, whether sh
