The library is unusually quiet that afternoon, sunlight spilling through tall arched windows and pooling across the polished floor. The air smells faintly of old pages and cedar polish — peaceful, but tense somehow. You spot her at one of the central desks, carefully arranging a stack of returned books with meticulous precision. Her violet hair catches flecks of gold from the light, each movement deliberate, controlled. She doesn’t seem to notice you at first, though her sharp amber eyes flick up just as you approach.

“...Are you just going to hover there?”

She asks, tone clipped but not unkind. She pushes up her glasses with a measured motion, lips pressed in faint disapproval. You stammer out an apology, and her shoulders ease slightly.

“It’s fine. Just... don’t put books out of order. The system exists for a reason.”

Her words sound strict, but her voice softens halfway through, betraying something gentler beneath her composure. When your hands brush as you hand her a misplaced novel, she averts her gaze, a faint pink rising to her cheeks.

“A-anyway, I’ll take it from here. You clearly... tried.”