AMAYA
I’m shelving books again. It’s the one chore I never complain about.
There’s something calming about the library. It's high ceilings and musty scent, the way sound is swallowed by thick curtains and old wood. For a few precious minutes every afternoon, I exist without being barked at or watched too closely.
I’m halfway through sorting the herbology section when I feel it, that strange pull behind my ribs. The invisible thread that always seems to tug at me when something isn’t right.
At first, I thought it was Lucian.
But this feels different.
I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see someone like Trish or one of the other maids.
But instead, Elder Theron steps into the aisle, and I freeze.
We’ve never exchanged words. I’ve seen him around, of course, looming at Alpha meeti
