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Mireille isn’t at her usual desk. My eyes narrow as I scan the room. Nothing looks disturbed. No overturned shelves, scattered pages, or signs of struggle. I move farther inside, my steps instinctively quieter, my senses sharpening. Then I hear faint movement coming from upstairs.

I turn toward the staircase and begin to climb, each step protesting with a creak. It’s impossible to walk anywhere in this place without making some kind of sound. The whole building feels ancient, like it’s being held together by stubbornness and a thread of magic.

I pause on the staircase and peer through the narrow gap between the railing. Mireille sits at the long table, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. I climb the rest of the way.

She glances over her shoulder. “Neressa. Hello.” Her voice is warm but heavy with fatigue. My gaze drops to the cover in her hands. Sinners or Lovers. I’ll always steal a glance at whatever book someone is reading.

“How are you liking it?” I ask. It looks exactly like something I’d devour in a single night.

“I’m inhaling it,” she says with a small smile. “I started it not long ago and I’m nearly done. You can read it next, if you’d like.”

“I think I would.” I smile at her. The “sinners” part of the title has me intrigued. Her long hair is twisted into a tight bun, soft frizz escaping around her face. She looks just as worn as I feel, fighting sleep for the sake of one more chapter.

She lifts her teacup, the porcelain painted with curling ocean waves, and takes a slow sip. I take a seat beside her and my body immediately deflates, exhaustion pulling me deeper into the chair. Why am I so tired?

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Mireille asks, her voice light as a feather. I push myself to my feet and cross the room to retrieve my three hidden books on healers.

“No, thank you, love. I came to check these out.” I show her the stack in my hands.

“Sure, do you remember when to bring them back?” she asks in the tone of a mother speaking to a child.

“I do. Two weeks.” I glance at her, and she nods, satisfied, before pulling a blanket around her shoulders and tucking herself in.

I crave what she has, a life without the weight of crowns and destinies. What I would give for one night where I’m not afraid to fall asleep in case I wake choking on seawater, lungs burning, body fighting for breath.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “Enjoy your book. I’ll come back for it when you’re done.”

“Neressa,” she calls as I turn. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Yes.” I will never say no to her.

“Lock the front door on your way out? And take the back exit. I might fall asleep right here, and I don’t want any drunken pirates wandering in.” I meet her eyes and smile. “Absolutely.”

I tuck the three books into the deepest pocket of my cloak. Luckily, they’re small and light enough not to weigh me down. Maybe reading them will quiet my mind. Maybe tonight, after some answers, I’ll be able to sleep.

I descend the staircase slowly, each step answering with a long, wooden creak that echoes up into the rafters. One by one, I reach for the lanterns lining the wall and pinch their flames between my fingers. Each light dies with a soft sigh, smoke curling toward the ceiling like a departing spirit.

The shadows deepen with every step. By the time I reach the main floor, the library has transformed. A silver spill of moonlight peeks through the fog and pours through the tall windows. It washes over the shelves, over the ladders, over the worn reading tables.

I move through the aisles with care, a silent warden making her final rounds. Snuffing the last remaining lamps, I leave no trace behind. No sign that anyone lingers here.

At the front door, I slide the bolt into place, the metal giving a firm, final click that feels louder than it should in the hush. I flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, the wood swinging softly on its chain. You would think I work here.

Behind the counter sits the narrow back door Mireille never mentions to anyone. Most people don’t even notice it. I do. I always will.

The memory rises the moment my hand touches the frame. Small, starving, shaking, clutching stolen bread to my chest while boots thundered past outside. I wedged myself beneath the counter, certain I’d be dragged back into the street if I were discovered.

Mireille found me. She asked no questions, didn't scold me, just opened this door and told me to run. She saw a feral child and chose kindness. For that, I will burn kingdoms before I let harm befall one of the purest hearts I have ever known.

I slip through the hidden exit and pull it closed behind me, sealing the warmth of the library away like a secret.

The first time I met Maddoc was here at the docks. We discussed our first treaty. I remember the day the royal I’d been working with had suddenly been replaced. I hated the change. I’ve always been a creature of habit, wary of new faces, suspicious of anything unfamiliar. I nearly killed him that first night.

Now I stand where the shoreline folds into dense trees and brush, their leaves turned to shades of red, gold, and dying amber. Autumn has claimed this place, just as death has claimed him.

Sand clings to my boots as I step forward and draw a vial from my cloak. I stare at the spot where we once sat, where I watched him with narrowed eyes calculating how best to end him if needed. Instead, he became the one I waited for. I measured my weeks by his visits.

I press the vial to my heart. “You will always be with me,” I whisper into the hush of the trees. A gust of wind lifts my cloak, curling it around me. The moon brightens through the branches, silver light spilling over the water.