I thought Damon's night would be impossible to follow.
Then Ethan came for me at exactly 2:14 p.m. with a blindfold.
Not the sexy kind.
A soft silk one, pale gold, smelling faintly of old paper and ink.
"I need you to trust me," he said, voice gentle but nervous behind his glasses.
I let him tie it.
He took my hand (careful, like I was made of glass) and led me through the palace. I heard doors open and close, smelled dust and parchment, felt the air grow cooler and quieter until the only sounds were our footsteps and my own heartbeat.
When he finally stopped and untied the blindfold, I forgot how to breathe.
We were in the restricted archives.
Not the pretty public library with chandeliers and velvet chairs.
The real one. Underground. Endless shelves towering three stories high, rolling ladders, floating lanterns that glowed soft blue. Books chained to the walls. Scrolls in glass cases. The air itself felt heavy with secrets.
