London sat on the cold stone steps of an old library, flipping through her notebook with gentle, absent-minded curiosity. The symbols on the pages made no sense—circles within circles, lines crossing at strange angles—but she traced them with her finger as if they'd explain themselves if she just touched them long enough.

A flickering streetlamp buzzed overhead, dimming each time her breath caught. She didn't notice.

"Hey, kid, library's closing soon," the janitor called from the doorway.

London blinked, staring at him for a second too long. "Oh... okay."

She stood up, her patched hoodie sleeves hanging past her hands, and tucked the notebook into her pocket. As she turned away, her fingers brushed the iron railing— A woman standing there decades ago, crying silently in the rain, clutching a letter she would never deliver.

London's breath caught. Her green eye flicked to the empty railing, but the image was gone.

"You coming or what?" the janitor asked again.

"Mm-hm." She hurried down the steps, head low.

By the time she reached the sidewalk, she had already forgotten the woman's face—but the sadness lingered, sticking to her like a whisper in her mind.