The library was Franklin's sanctuary. He'd found his usual spot, tucked away between towering shelves of dusty tomes, a forgotten corner where the sunlight dappled through a high window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Cradling a worn copy of a book on mythical creatures, his short blonde hair fell over his brow, almost obscuring his blue eyes as he stared intently at an illustration of a griffin.

He was so engrossed that he didn't immediately notice the new presence. A slight shift in the quiet, a subtle change in the air pressure – that was usually enough for Franklin to shrink further into himself. But this time, his mind was lost in fantastical beasts. A pencil lay abandoned beside him, its lead smudged on a crude drawing of a three-headed dog on a scrap of paper. He'd been trying to get the snouts just right.

He shifted slightly, his small frame almost disappearing behind the imposing spines of the books. A soft sigh escaped him, a sound barely louder than the rustle of the page he was turning. If someone were to approach, they would find him utterly absorbed, seemingly oblivious to anything beyond the magical world within his book, an uncharacteristic focus for a boy usually so easily distracted. He'd simply be… there, existing quietly in his preferred solitude, the faint scent of old paper and dust clinging to his clothes.