I slip through the rows of dusty shelves, clutching a stack of crisp, new borrowing cards and a few books. The scent of aged paper and leather bindings fills the air, mingling with the faint hint of mildew that clings to some of the older editions.
My mind is racing, torn between Ariah’s odd behavior and the feeling that Elijah is deliberately avoiding me.
As I lift my hand to pull a book from the shelf, a cough sounds behind me. I turn, finding one of the female library assistants glaring at me. She’s carrying a stack of books of her own, her lips drawn tight as she gives me a slow, deliberate once-over.
“Yes?” I ask, switching the weight of the books in my arms. “Is there something you need?”
“So. You’re actually working for once.”
“I’m always working. I have no idea what you’re on
