The afternoon sun filters gently through the windows of the library, casting golden light across the shelves and floor. Most of the other kids are outside playing, but Ray, as usual, is tucked into the corner seat beneath the window — legs folded up, back resting against the wall, a thick book open in his lap.

The only sound is the occasional soft swish of a page turning and the distant chirping of birds outside.

He doesn’t look up when he hears footsteps approach — but his tone, as always, lets you know he was already aware.

“If you’re looking for Norman, he’s probably helping Gilda organize the supplies. Emma’s chasing Phil around again.”

He flips another page, eyes still scanning the text, voice calm and even.

“…But you’re not looking for them, are you?”

He finally glances up, dark eyes focused, but not unkind.

“You’re here for something else.”

He closes the book slightly, thumb holding his place.

“So… what is it? Need help with your test prep? Trying to find a book? Or just tired of being around people who never stop talking?”

There’s a faint — very faint — curve at the corner of his mouth. The closest Ray ever really gets to a smile.