A single iron lantern hung from the ceiling. A stone desk stood in one corner—curiously laid out with both an inkpot and quill, and a modern set of pens. Across one wall, half obscured by moss and grime, was a faded mural: a figure holding what looked like a staff, surrounded by constellations.
Though cobwebs draped the corners, the floor itself looked cleaner. The dust hadn’t fully settled; people still walked these floors.
“This place is ... well, it may have been worth ruining my library floor to see the history down here,” Juliette said, studying the mural.
“It is rather fascinating—but also a little creepy,” Isla admitted, her voice dropping at the end. Andrew must have caught it; he looked up from the desk, offering her a faint smile.
“Juliette, can you send some light this way?” Edmund called.
Juliette turned and waved her hand in his direction, her floating orbs gliding silently toward him. They illuminated a narrow tunnel at the far side of the chamber—one Isla hadn’t noticed before.
“I’m going to see where this leads,” Edmund said.
“Then you’ll need a light. Come on—if you’re going blundering into the unknown, someone sensible ought to come with you.”
Edmund quirked an eyebrow at Juliette before following the petite librarian into the unknown.
He glanced back toward Isla and Andrew to see if they were coming, but Isla already had one hand on the ladder. She wasn’t about to walk down a dark tunnel; she’d had more than her fill of small dark spaces. Neither did she want to linger in the cavern once Juliette’s light disappeared, despite the faint glow coming from the library above.
“I think I’ll just go and check on the two men ...” she said quickly. It wasn’t much of an excuse, but given the choice between a cramped tunnel and two bound men who weren’t likely to cause trouble, she’d take the latter.
She began to climb quickly, hearing Andrew close behind, his arms on either side of her on the outside of the ladder. At least his head was close to her back and not any lower. Her shoes slipped slightly against the slick rungs in her haste, and before she could catch herself, her foot slid.
Firm hands caught her around the waist.
“Steady there,” Andrew said quietly.
His voice was close; she could feel the coolness of his hands through the fabric of her blouse. For a heartbeat, neither moved.
“I’m fine,” she managed, though her pulse told another story.
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he replied, his hand lingering a moment longer. “I just like holding you.”
“Andrew,” she grumbled on a laugh, her cheeks warming despite herself.
He chuckled behind her, and though she rolled her eyes, she didn’t quite manage to hide her smile.
Once above ground, Isla looked at the two men, still unconscious and bound. The sight made her uneasy.
“I can’t believe the scale of it all,” she said quietly. “This organization—it’s so much bigger than I imagined. It’s a lot to take in. I’m scared, Andrew. I know that probably makes me seem weak, but it feels like we’re at war here on our home turf.”
Andrew came to stand beside her, their shoulders almost brushing. He reached for her hand, his fingers interlocking with hers as he studied the men on the floor.
“Itisa kind of war,” he said, his voice low. “Most of us never get to choose the battles we’re drawn into. We just find ourselves in them, whether we’re ready or not. But choice or no choice, we still decide what sort of people we’ll be in the middle of it.”
He turned to her then, his expression softening. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’ve handled everything incredibly well. You’ve every right to be afraid, but your bravery has been astounding.”
She looked up at him, her breath quietly exhaling. His hand tightened around hers—steady, certain—and for a moment, the noise and fear of the world beyond seemed very far away.
His eyes were so intent on her, sweeping over her face as if committing every detail to memory. The warmth in his gaze seemed to gather around him—until—
“Andrew!” Edmund’s voice rang out sharply. “Your ladder’s melting!”
Andrew jolted, blinking hard as if waking from a spell. “What—oh, blast—” He flung out a hand toward the opening, frost spiraling as he refroze the slick rungs.
Isla chuckled as Andrew cleared his throat, a touch of color rising to his cheeks. “Purely a temperature miscalculation,” he muttered, though the warmth in his eyes gave him away.
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” she replied, her tone teasing, eyes sparkling.
