The leather-bound record book let out a soft thud as Ryleigh gently closed it and returned it to the shelf. She traced her fingers along the spine before stepping back and letting out a soft breath. There was something sacred about the library—something that smelled like ink, time, and forgotten stories.
As she walked out of the pack records room, the shift in atmosphere was almost jarring. The main section of the library was bright and open, lined wall to wall with shelves of books—some polished and new, others so old their pages curled and crackled like autumn leaves. Dust floated in the air, caught in streams of afternoon sunlight pouring through tall arched windows. It was peaceful here… almost like the world outside didn’t exist.
Ryleigh wandered through the aisles, her fingers brus
