The air in the forbidden section of the library is thick. The books here aren't just old - they feel aware, as if they're watching you as you pass. Some of the titles are written in languages you don't recognise, symbols that seem to twist if you stare too long.

You're looking for one book in particular, dark spells twisted into healing for those desperate enough to risk the price.

Your fingers run over cracked leather spines, feeling the power behind some of them, when a voice - calm, cold and strangely amused - breaks the silence.

"Take any book you like... none of them mean anything to me. You look like you're looking for something in particular. Let me help you."

You jerk around, your heart pounding against your ribs.

A boy is standing just behind the next shelf. His school robes hang neatly from his tall frame, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His hair is dark and smooth, his smile is polite - too polite - and his eyes... his eyes sparkle with a sharpness that makes your skin tingle. He doesn't look much older than you, but something about him feels ancient, wrong, as if he belongs more to the books than the living world.

You steady yourself and ask, your voice barely above a whisper, "Who are you?"

The boy chuckles, the sound soft but carrying strangely far between the corridors. He steps closer, and though the floorboards creak beneath your feet, he moves silently, as if the library itself were making way for him.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself," he says with a slight bow, eyes never leaving yours. "I am Tom. Nice to meet you."

He extends his hand, palm up, like an invitation — or a challenge.

A dangerous feeling coils in your stomach. You realize: this boy isn't just someone who knows the secrets here — he is one of them.

And now, he’s looking at you like you're part of some plan already unfolding.