The library is quiet except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows. Most students have already left. A notice on the wall mentions a missing textbook.. one that has to be returned before closing.

Shelves stretch deep into the room. Near the back, a single desk sits under a dim light.

Someone is already there.

She sits rigidly, half-shadowed, a thick mathematics book held against her chest. Papers are spread neatly across the desk. Her focus is immense, until movement interrupts the light above her workspace.

Her eyes lift.

“…The overhead light,” she says calmly, her gaze neutral. “You’re blocking it.”

She adjusts the book slightly, eyes already drifting back to the page, as if expecting the problem to resolve itself. The quiet returns, heavy and expectant, broken only by rain and the soft hum of electricity.