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The librarian looks at him. "Books."

"Which books?"

"Ones they apparently remembered existed after ignoring them for twenty years." Interesting.

Caelen sets the authorization on the desk. "We're not confiscating anything." She reads it. Slowly. Then again. Her eyes stop on our names. Mine longer than the others. Vaelith. Of course. Then Corvell. Something shifts. Small. Gone before I can understand it.

"Research." She says.

Nyra nods. "Pre-Silent War civic records."

"What kind?"

"Settlement ledgers. Census records. Witness accounts." The woman's expression changes. Barely. Nyra places our copied citations on the desk. "Specifically these." The librarian takes the first page. Reads. Second. Third.

Her eyebrows rise. "Where did you get these?"

Nobody answers immediately. The Silent Archive is sealed. We aren't technically carrying originals. But I doubt the Council would enjoy us advertising what we copied before they arrived. Rhyven answers. "Academy research." Not a lie. Not useful either.

The woman looks at him over her glasses. "You should consider politics."

"No."

Cassian coughs into his hand. She reads again. Then taps one title. "Western Settlement Ledger."

Nyra leans closer. "You have it?"

"Possibly."

"Possibly?"

"Young woman, this library survived two fires, three floods, one war, four incompetent administrators and approximately seven hundred years of people putting books back wherever they felt like."

Cassian nods. "Heroic."

She looks at him. "I haven't decided whether I like you."

"Most people need time."

"I doubt it will help." I look away before she sees me laugh. Her name is Mistress Elowen Marr. We learn that five minutes later when she makes us sign the research ledger. All five names. Purpose. Date. Authorization. Weapons declaration. Cassian stares at that section. "All of them?"

Mistress Marr looks toward the sword on his back. "Unless one is imaginary." He begins writing.

She disappears into the back of the library. Returns with three keys. Nyra watches them like they're sacred relics. "Basement." Mistress Marr says. "Older civic holdings."

My pulse picks up. "How old?"

"Old enough that if you tear anything, I'll have you executed before the Council gets the opportunity."

Caelen nods. "Understood."

Cassian whispers: "I believe her."

"So do I."

The basement stairs are narrow. Stone replaces wood halfway down. The air cools. Rhyven goes first. Of course. Caelen last. I am placed between them without anyone discussing it. I don't complain.

Mostly because the staircase is steep and I would rather not die proving a point.