AELIA REVA
Two days later, the quiet of the library greets me the way it always does with the smell of paper and ink, with the faint creak of old floorboards under my steps. The wide windows let in stripes of light across the polished tables, and I take a moment to breathe in the calm. Here, away from council meetings and whispered plans, I can almost convince myself that life is still ordinary.
Almost.
My hand brushes the ring as I set a stack of borrowed books on the front desk. It glints faintly under the sunlight, and a small warmth rises in my chest. People notice it now, people notice me now. I'm not just Aelia anymore. I'm Luna, and every step I take inside this town feels heavier because of it.
The bell at the door jingles. Mrs. Etten, a woman who has lived here longer than most buildings have stood, walks in with her grandson clutching her skirts. She looks at me with a smile that softens her lined face.
