The door of the library clicked shut, sealing the room in a comfortable, dust-mote-filled silence.
Ines stood by her desk. She looked at the sturdy wooden desk. She couldn't help it. Her eyes traced the edge where her hands had gripped the wood. She looked at the rug where she had knelt. The air still seemed to hold the faint scent of Carcel's herbal soap and the musk of his desire.
She shook her head, physically shaking the memories away. Focus, Ines.
She pulled out the thick stack of cream-colored papers, tied neatly with a black ribbon. It was heavy.
"Here," Ines said, her voice low. She handed the bundle to Gladys. "I am done with this volume. The printer can have it today. The next one... well, the next one will be out next month."
Gladys, who was sitting with her leather satchel on her lap, took the manuscript with a reverence usually reserved for religious texts.
