Like it had never been in doubt.
Which was deeply unfair, because it had been in doubt to me for years.
Somewhere between Iceland, near-death experiences, and being carried through the sky on the back of a dragon who refused to let me fall, something in me had stopped bracing for failure.
Arthur hadn’t fixed me, but he had stabilized the ground under me long enough for me to remember who I was.
And apparently, who I was… finished things.
My boss was still sulking about my disappearance. He had been livid when I returned, right up until Arthur quietly gifted the library, aka my boss, a handful of ancient gold coins from his personal treasury. After that, my boss became deeply invested in my well-being and professionalhappiness.
Funny how that worked.
I carried the package into the break room.
Two interns were already there, leaning against the counter, pretending not to watch me while very obviously watching me. One of them had their phone halfway raised, like this might turn into content.
“What is it?” the taller one asked. “Because if it’s cursed, I want to be here for that.”
“Statistically,” the other added, “it probably is.”
“Probably,” I agreed, setting the box down. “That’s the appeal.”
They scooted closer immediately.
I slit the tape and lifted the lid. For half a second, nothing registered. Then I saw it.
A book.
Not just any book. My book.
My name was on the cover. Clean. Real. Official. The weight of it in my hands was solid in a way my brain struggled to catch up with.
I made a sound I did not recognize. It might have been a laugh. It might have been a small emotional malfunction.
“Oh my god,” one intern whispered. “She’s crying.”
“I am not,” I said automatically, even as my eyes burned. “This is just… happening.”
The other one clapped once, then covered their mouth like they had forgotten where they were. “Wait. You wrote a book? Like. A real book?”
“I wrotethebook,” I said, running my fingers along the spine. Every late night. Every deleted paragraph. Every moment I thought I was wasting my time lived inside these pages. “It’s mine.”
They stared at it like it might start glowing.
“That’s iconic,” one of them said reverently. “Do you know how many people manifest this and never get it?”
I smiled down at the cover, my chest tight in the best way. “Apparently, I got it.”
The taller intern crossed their arms and tilted their head. “You know,” they said casually, “it’s still wild that we work for a literal doctor.”
The other one perked up immediately. “Oh my god. That’s right.” They straightened theatrically. “Dr. Ripley.”
I narrowed my eyes. “We agreed you were not going to make it weird.”
“We did not agree,” the taller one corrected. “You requested.”
“It’s hot,” the other one said reverently. “Academically,” they added a beat later.
