He paced once, slow and deliberate, then stopped in front of me. “Recopilación de Linajes de Dragones Notables de este Milenio.”
I stared at him.
“You were searching the archives for it,” he snapped. “Why?”
“Because a man asked for it,” I said. “That’s how libraries work. Someone wants a thing. I find the thing. No one gets abducted in a van.”
“That book isn’t for public access.”
“Neither am I,” I said, tugging uselessly at the zip ties. “And yet here we are.”
He exhaled hard, clearly annoyed. “Did you find it?”
I tilted my head. “Depends. Are you going to kill me if I say yes?”
Silence.
“That feels like a yes-adjacent silence,” I said.
His patience snapped. “Who are you?”
“Artemis Ripley. Head Librarian. Graduate degree holder. Chronic overthinker. Allergic to shellfish and men who ask questions in unmarked fucking vans.”
“Do you know any dragons?”
I blinked once.
Twice.
Then I laughed. I couldn’t help it. A sharp, incredulous bark burst out of me and echoed off the metal walls.
“Oh my god,” I said. “Is this a bit?”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“A bit,” I repeated. “Performance art. Do you have hidden cameras set up in here? Is this some sort of guerrilla marketing thing for… I don’t know, a podcast about rare books? Because if this is truly about dragons, I need you to know they’re not real.”
He didn’t say anything.
I swallowed, forced myself to slow my breathing. Because my brain was a menace, a line surfaced fully formed. I recited it calmly, clearly, as if I was a book being shelved instead of a person zip-tied to a chair.
“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” I met his stare. “That’s Louisa May Alcott. In case you’re wondering.”
His mouth tightened in a flat line. “Stop talking.”
“Oh good,” I said. “Youarefamiliar with literature. That would’ve been awkward.”
He straightened, then with the same flat tone as before, he said it again.
“Do you know. Any. Dragons.”
I leaned back as far as the chair would allow and said, very carefully, “Okay. So, we’re doing this.”
He stared at me.
“You’re serious,” I continued. “You are asking me, a woman with student loans, if I know any dragons.”
“Answer the question.”
