The library smelled like paper, old ink, and restraint.
Galathea Brooks stood at the edge of the long table, palms flat against polished wood, staring at the Codex as if it might move when she blinked. The pages lay open under low lamplight, with symbols drifting at the edges of comprehension -- shifting when she tried to focus too hard.
After the busy hours in the gallery, Galathea decided that going back to her apartment won't be any better so she rode the elevator up to the restricted floor.
Behind her, the door clicked shut.
She didn't turn. She didn't need to. She knows who was there.
"You're avoiding sleep again," said Cael Alexander, her boss, and now it seems her partner in her journey as a Seer. A journey she didn't know was written in her cards until a few days ago.
She traced the margin of the page instead. "And again, sleep keeps getting interrupted by paintings that try to consume me."
A soft exhale --amusement without humor.
