“So do I,” Theo murmurs.
My cheeks heat.
“And the third?” Malachi asks.
She swings her thumb at Charming. “She was pleasant to him.”
“That is a serious lapse of judgment,” I say.
Charming rolls his eyes.
Gwyneth gestures around us. “There have been some changes,” she announces.
I spin in a circle to take in the Living Library. The last time I stood here, it felt hollow. Grand, yes, but abandoned. Like a story paused mid-sentence and left to gather dust and disappointment.
“This is different,” Hart says, taking in the room alongside the rest of his brothers.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
The key librarian appears from the top of one of the spiral staircases, glasses perched on the end of his nose in constant judgment. “You’re back.”
“And you’re here.”
He shrugs. “Given the invasion, I rather appreciate the clarity of the All Knowing even if I had to repair an inordinate amount of books to get everything in order.”
“Not my doing,” I point out.
“No, but you were the cause,” he volleys.
“Rude,” I mutter. “Accurate, but rude.”
He adjusts his spectacles and peers over them at me like I’m an inconvenient footnote. “Things have changed.”
“I see that.”
The shelves are no longer just towering—they aregrowing. Curling upward and outward in spirals that didn’t exist before, threading through one another like branches of an ancient, sentient tree. Walkways have formed between them, bridges of woven ink and parchment. Clusters of murmuring books drift together like flocks, their pages flicking open and shut as if gossiping. Some dart away when we pass while others hover closer, curious. Ink runs through the air in thin, glowing streams, connecting from shelf to shelf like veins.
But that’s not the biggest change. There are people everywhere I look.
“Why and who?” Nash trails off.
“Refugees,” Gwyneth says.
Creatures—some I recognize, some I don’t—are scattered throughout the Library. A wolf sits in one corner, spectacles perched on his snout as he carefully turns the pages of a book with one claw, muttering to himself. A glass slipper leads acharge of various sentient footwear across the wooden floor. A black cat slinks across the floor, eyes focused on three mice in tiny waistcoats arguing over a map while making threatening motions with tiny swords.
Gwyneth snaps her fingers. “No hunting in the Living Library,” she growls.
The black cat freezes before plonking its butt down and licking its paw as if it has no cares in the world.
Oh, to be a cat.
“Hello, beautiful,” I coo.
“Do not adopt it,” Nash snaps.
“What if it adopts me?”
“We’re establishing a temporary freeze on the acquisition of new team members,” Theo replies with a huff. His hand brushes mine, grounding me, reassuring me that he has my back. But it’s also a reminder I need to solidify my connection with him and the twins. It’s a hard job keeping five sausages happy, but I’m the maiden for the job.
