"You do realize," the librarian began, his voice low and weary, "that this isn''t a place for idle flipping? Books deserve better than to be used and treated as playthings." He was afraid of what I''d do. Or maybe not—he didn''t strike me as a person who''d fear me. But he cherished his books, and I irritated him.


    I wasn''t the little girl passed out on the floor anymore. I was back to being the crazy, unpredictable creature with a match.


    I tried to be calm—I was calm—calmer than I would have been before, but his words cut like a blade slipping across my skin; not deep enough to truly wound, but sharp enough to sting.


    Dirty. I''d heard accusations before. Careless. Wasteful. Useless. I was infamous. Stupid. People knew me at a glance. Weak. I could guess what he thought as he watched me skimming the pages instead of poring over them—it was easy to assume I was playing, taking the knowledge for granted. He didn''t understand what this meant to me.


    He couldn''t.


    I didn''t understand everything I read, words piled in my brain much like the books on the table, but I glimpsed how the information could fit together.


    I was greedy for it. It reminded me of a time I was eager to learn but didn''t have the opportunity—made to think I was too dumb to learn—led to believe it was my fault and not my teachers.


    For a moment, I considered letting him believe what he wanted. I let Catherine misunderstand.


    It was safer that way.


    I didn''t have to do anything. His misconceptions, my actions, and the rumors made it easy.


    And yet.


    I looked at him, Franklin, my mouth stained with the taste of mint.


    I was unsure but tired. I didn''t want his gaze to change. I didn''t want to see that quiet look of scorn—like that priest—appear in his brown eyes. Maybe, just this once, I could try. Maybe, just this once, I could take the risk.


    I''d failed with Viscountess Rintour, and debated whether my second try would be with Catherine, but this was different. One was blackmail—the other a promise of mutual benefit, but he was different, so why couldn''t it be him?


    My fingers curled, digging into the cover of the book in my hand before I forced myself to breathe. I cast my eyes down, the words flooding in before I carefully shut it.


    I straightened, my eyes scanning for Catherine.


    She had a pile of books in her hands but was inching away, her eyes on the man opposite me. Her steps were unsteady and there was recognition in her eyes, and something else...


    Fear.


    Her gaze on him was heavy and uncertain. She didn''t have time to waste worrying about me. Yet, she hadn''t reacted like this earlier.


    He, Franklin, the librarian, lifted his hand, waving at her, shooing a starving dog. Catherine didn''t spare me a glance, setting her load down and scampering away.


    I met his gaze, curious, but not daring to change the topic. "I—I''m not playing." My voice shook, and I had to clear my throat.


    He raised an unimpressed brow. "No?"


    "No," I paused, taking a breath, then another. "I don''t need to--" I didn''t know how to explain it. The books I''d read didn''t give me a word, and Gideon was a secret I''d never share.


    Gideon, I called, not feeling desperate, only a little ashamed and unsure. He''d said it was fine to ask questions. What should I say?


    You don''t know the word and that''s fine. Tell him you don''t have to keep the book open for long. A glance is enough. It''s called an eidetic memory in my world, but I don''t know what it''s called here.


    My hands clenched, feeling sweaty. No matter how I practiced, I couldn''t control my body''s natural reactions. That meant I needed more practice.


    I can do this. "I don''t need long. A glance is enough."


    Franklin''s frown deepened. "Oh? And why is that?"


    I hesitated, my heart racing.


    This was the moment, do or die.


    I could still turn back.


    I could smirk, play it off, throw a tantrum, and let him think I was just being arrogant. I could take it back, protecting myself. But I resisted that instinct.


    I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be understood. I wanted to be appreciated.


    I was grateful to Gideon, but it wasn''t the same.


    This seemed small compared to all my other secrets.


    So, I leaned forward, lowering my voice, terrified. "I don''t forget what I read." I felt guilty saying it. This wasn''t my ability—it was Gideon''s, and I was lying while taking credit, but that didn''t change the truth that the knowledge was in my mind and would stay there even if Gideon left.


    Silence settled between us, stretching long enough that I started doubting whether I''d made a mistake.


    Should I have stayed quiet?


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I wanted to make a joke, tell him I was lying, and mock him for even listening.


    Then he spoke. His voice had lost its irritation, fear, and weariness—replaced with something else—something I couldn''t identify. "You don''t forget?"


    The librarian, Franklin, studied me, like an intricate puzzle or meticulous lacework. His gaze wasn''t dismissive. It wasn''t scolding. It wasn''t accusatory.


    It was searching.


    Without a word, he snapped his finger—a book flew off the shelf, flying into his open palm—a heavy tome, its text promising to be dense and complex, not the kind I could easily memorize if I were lying. He opened the book to a random page and showed it to me.


    "Then you''ll have no trouble," he said, tapping the page, "telling me what it says here?" No sooner had he said the words, and I glanced down, he snapped it shut.


    The feeling came, a rush, standing on unsteady ground, but it filled me with joy.


    I met his gaze and recited the words in a steady voice.


    "Magic is complex, its study multifaceted, in this chapter I explore the three known methods for forming magic circles, examining--"


    When I finished the Librarian, Franklin said nothing. He simply sat back, exhaling through his nose, his expression unreadable.


    The silence threw me back to the start. My shoulders tensed, preparing for accusations, dismissal, scorn.


    But he only looked at me before he spoke, his voice soft. "Interesting."


    That was all.


    I laughed, not as worried as I probably should be.


    ***


    I''d changed.


    Anxiety, my constant companion.


    Cathrine, quiet, walked two steps behind me.


    I''d changed my mind. The duel was at a draw and if Cathrine wanted something, she''d have to take the risk. I didn''t need her and didn''t owe her anything. I''d reconsider if that changed, but for now, my jewelry was enough to buy the information I might want.


    The hallway was emptier, the shadows deeper, a mixture of light crystals and lamps lighting the way.


    I wasn''t interested in dinner, having taken to fasting pills with a little too much ease, but I had to be present—for today, still toying with the idea of acting out and getting punished again. There was nothing I needed to do in the coming week, having completed the quest after Franklin disappeared, a contemplative look on his face—calmer with Catherine gone.


    There were things to fill the time, but nothing immediate.


    I wanted to visit the library again, but once was already too many times and more would raise too many flags. Part of me wanted to see the Librarian, to reassure myself that he''d keep my secret, but I also wanted to absorb more books.


    There was information in my mind, but they were loose threads, unconnected, waiting to be woven. I remembered, but didn''t understand.


    Too soon I was at the door, knowing the warm family scene I''d see inside made me unwilling.


    My steps paused.


    The maid was acting differently. Her eyes drifted inside the room before snapping forward and scanning the hallway.


    There was a lull in the air, a whisper of power that I recognized but couldn''t place.


    The crackle of the hearth was missing, but it wasn''t cold.


    As I lifted my foot to turn back, she spotted me, waving me forward.


    It was too late. The relief in her eyes made it clear she''d been waiting for me—that filled me with trepidation.


    I forced my feet forward, sweeping into the room with the blustering arrogance I''d practiced to perfection. I didn''t look around, throwing myself into my seat sullenly. Bastien was beside me. I noted his tightly balled fists and was determined not to get involved in whatever was happening here. After playing with my food for a bit, I''d make excuses and go to the staff quarters to see what effect running into Typhon would have.


    The room was silent. The weight of the stares on me was heavier than usual, but felt different—cautious and grimy, curious and amused with that lull I felt earlier.


    I flinched. I should have stayed in my room, suspicion be dammed.


    I wasn''t slow or stupid, no matter how often my mind or others said otherwise.


    I''d somehow found myself at the center of a storm.


    "Jal," the Duke called, something like restraint in his voice.


    I looked up, forcing curiosity and fear into my demeanor. "Father?"


    My breath hitched.


    At the table were three extra people I didn''t expect to see. Typhon and Franklin sat on either side of the Duke with Franklin on the right, pushing the Duchess down the row by one. Her two daughters sat beside her, one after the other, and she''d shifted, sitting slightly forward and at an angle, almost as if to protect them behind her back. Typhon and his son were on the left. Zagan''s chair was in place—like its permanent spot wasn''t against the wall. Bastien was beside him, unused to sharing his space, and then me.


    "This is my uncle Lord Franklin Amber." The Duke raised a hand, palm open, facing upward, gesturing to the man on his left. "This is Typhon Mir and his son Zagan Mir." He switched hands, motioning to his left. The Duke''s tone was... respectful—even more so than when introducing Typhon.


    "Hello," I said, owl-eyed, my confusion real.


    The dining room felt smaller than usual. They''d incorporated me, making me part of what was happening with all the separated parties joined together.


    The hearth wasn''t lit, but it wasn''t cold, like the library earlier. The world was kept at bay in a way that only magic could achieve.


    It was bright too, like day except the lamps were out and the light crystals dim. I didn''t dare investigate, but knew Franklin was the cause.


    The only thing in the room that felt tangible was the steady shaa of rain beyond the window.


    I waited.


    Servants walked in, placing food on the table now that everyone was seated—now that I''d arrived, making it clear they''d waited for me when they''d never done so before.


    I was wondering what that meant when it hit me—stronger and worse than the smell of burning wood. The scent itself wasn''t wrong—savory and rich with notes of toasty, meaty, and nutty aromas, but the thought and the memory made my stomach rebel.


    The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, the charred edges still sizzling as the servant set the dish down in the center of the table. Fat rendered in heat. Crisped skin. Deep and smokey notes underneath that were caused by pimento wood and charcoal.


    It smelled the same.


    I swallowed hard, unwarping a mint and forcing it into my mouth, trying to settle my stomach.


    The smell hit hard and lingered—now my mind offered words along with the memories.


    Meat rendered in heat causes collagen to break down and water evaporates out. As the skin dries, it allows the remaining fat and protein to develop the signature crispy texture.


    That process, fat oxidation, and sugar breakdown cause the characteristic meaty smell from sulfur and furaneol formation.


    I remember this smell being appetizing.


    I remember coming out of confinement, starving and tearing meat from bone like a starving beast while they watched me in amusement while I was too hungry to care.


    The scent twisted my gut.


    A body burning. Flesh bubbling, crisping, blackening, peeling from the bone in a way that should never be associated with food—that shouldn''t be witnessed or remembered.


    It was the same.


    A pig and a person.


    My son or Milly.


    It smelled the same—roasted pig and human flesh.


    My throat closed, bile creeping up. My fingers curled into a ball, nails biting into my palm, resting on my lap, barely hidden by the table.


    Not here.


    Not now.


    This was war, and the person who faltered lost.


    I forced air into my body, breathing through my mouth, but that didn''t help.


    I tasted it.


    it was everywhere, inescapable, and damaging.


    "You''ve gone pale." The Duke''s voice was calm, curious, and accusatory.


    My gaze snapped up, meeting his, and then I looked away. He was watching, always waiting, weighing what I was thinking, how I fit into the mold he''d created, judging whether I colored over the lines.


    "I''m fine," I said, barely above a whisper. My reaction was too strong, and they''d be suspicious no matter what I said, but I still had to offer a reason, and I saw no need to lie. "The smell of the meat isn''t sitting well with me."


    "It hasn''t bothered you before," The Duchess said, hiding behind her fan, her eyes flickering between me and the librarian, Uncle Franklin, Lord Amber.


    I could feel my father and Franklin watching me, too.


    Lord Amber said nothing, not about our conversation in the library or my odd behavior.


    Not a word.


    But that didn''t mean he wouldn''t.


    That didn''t mean he hadn''t already.