The librarian didn’t smirk this time; she just nodded like she’d been expecting me. “Welcome home,” she murmured as I passed. I didn’t flip her off. I didn’t speak. Just took the mask, descended, let the cool tiled air wrap around me again.
The platform was alive—same chandeliers, same echoes, but the crowd felt familiar now. I spotted the broad-shouldered man from my first night leaning against a pillar, chatting with two others. He caught my eye through the mask and lifted his chin in quiet recognition. No words. Just that small acknowledgment that made my stomach flip.
I didn’t approach him. Not yet.
Instead I wandered to the far end, where a low blackboard had been set up under an arch—“Fantasy Claims.” Handwritten notes pinned or taped, some typed on small cards. People browsed lik
