Azariah sat behind the counter in the library, humming to himself. The room smelled of paper and had the sound of paper rustling and soft whispers of people speaking.

He adjusted his glasses to see the paper better. Azariah was making an account of all the customers borrowing books. Much better to do it on paper the online, he supposed: he was a bit old-fashioned. Azariah ran a hand through his curly hair, tapping the desk.