The library clock ticked steadily, soft but insistent, the kind of sound that melted into the background until you paid attention and realized how constant it had been all along.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, shifting with the afternoon, strips of gold cutting across the polished floorboards like gentle brushstrokes.
Dust motes swam lazily in the glow, rising and falling with each subtle draft of air.
The scent of old paper lingered—a blend of ink, pine cleaner, and a faint sweetness Noel always associated with afternoons spent here.
He was tucked into a corner table, shoulders slightly hunched, a paperback open before him.
His elbows rested on the wood, fingers absently playing with the dog-eared edge of the page, though he wasn't in any hurry to turn it.
His eyes tracked the words with quiet intensity, drinking them in like they might vanish if he blinked too long.
Across the room, his father worked behind the counter, sorting through the return pile.
