The library was supposed to be safe.
The chaos of the halls, the cafeteria, the gym, those were free-fire zones. But the library, with its hush and dust motes dancing in slanted afternoon light, was a kind of neutral ground. A place where you could be invisible.
Lyra was in the farthest carrel, back to the wall, working on her history essay. Economic tensions as a precursor to systemic collapse. The words were a rhythm, a pattern to follow. The fractured lens made the screen blurry, so she relied on the right side, turning her head just so. The tape itched.
She heard them before she saw them. A cluster of footsteps, too loud for this place, a low laugh smothered into a cough. Jax's laugh. It had a particular sound....not mean, exactly. Amused. Like he was watching a mildly interesting experiment.
They fanned out around her carrel. Jax, leaning against the sociology section. Mara, hovering just behind his shoulder, a satisfied look on her face. Two of his usual satellites, flanking. They weren't blocking her in, not physically. They were just… there. Taking up the oxygen.
Lyra kept typing. Her fingers didn't falter. …the perceived instability of existing power structures…
"Finley," Jax said. He never called her Lyra. It was always the last name, like she was a defendant in a trial only he was running.
She finished her sentence. Hit the period. Then, slowly, she looked up.
Jax wasn't big. He was average height, lean. It was all in the posture, the way he occupied space. He had this way of looking at you like you were a menu, and he was deciding what to order. Today, his gaze was particularly focused. It didn't skate over the taped glasses. It lingered.
"That's a look," he said, his voice conversational. "Post-apocalyptic chic. Very… resourceful."
Mara tittered.
Lyra said nothing. Silence was the optimal response. It denied them fuel.
He pushed off the bookshelf and took a single step closer. He wasn't looking at the glasses anymore. He was looking at her eyes. "Heard you've been having a rough time," he said, and his tone shifted. It lost its mocking edge. It became… sympathetic. Which was a thousand times worse. "Family stuff's no joke."
The air in the library felt suddenly thick. The hum of the ancient computers, the distant rustle of a page turning....it all receded.
Her throat tightened. A purely physical reaction. She willed it to relax.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice barely carrying the three feet between them.
"Are you, though?" He tilted his head. His expression was one of genuine, toxic concern. "I mean, it's got to mess you up. A thing like that. Public. Everyone talking. And then… poof. Gone. Like it never happened. Must make you wonder what else is gonna just… disappear."
Every word was a needle, precisely placed.
A cold wave washed through her, leaving a numb, staticky emptiness. It wasn't fear. It was a systems alert, flashing red in the void of her mind. Breach. Breach. Breach.
Her handler's voice echoed. The seam between worlds is the most dangerous place.
Jax was smiling now, a small, knowing curve of his mouth. He saw the hit land. He saw the tiny, almost imperceptible freeze in her shoulders. He'd been waiting for it.
"Just saying," he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for their little circle. "It's impressive, really. How you keep it together. Most people, after a scandal that big… a mom who just… cracks? They'd be a mess. But you?" He gestured to her, to the computer, to the tidy notes. "You're just… quiet. Like nothing happened at all."
Cracks.
He used the word her handler had used. A coincidence. It had to be.
But the chill in her bones didn't believe in coincidences.
Mara was watching her too, her earlier smugness replaced by a sharp, avid curiosity. She was learning from this. Seeing how it was done.
Lyra's fingers had gone still on the keyboard. She made them move. She hit 'save.' The click was loud in the silence. She closed the laptop. The actions were slow, deliberate. A retreat with dignity.
"I have to go," she said, standing. She gathered her things, her movements economical, betraying no hurry.
Jax didn't move. He just watched her, that knowing smile still playing on his lips. He'd gotten what he wanted. Not a scream, not tears. He'd gotten confirmation. He'd pierced the silence, and he'd seen something flinch behind the wall.
"See you around, Finley," he said, as she walked past him.
She didn't look back. She walked out of the library, down the empty hall, her footsteps echoing. The tape on her glasses felt like a brand. A neon sign pointing to the damage.
She pushed through the front doors into the afternoon. The sunlight was too bright. Her mind was a blank, white screen. Then, one question appeared, in plain, relentless text.
Who told him?
It wasn't the yearbook teacher. It wasn't a random kid with a newspaper. The details he had… the specifics… they had the taste of inside information. Of a conversation overheard. Of a file left open.
The ordinary world will demand your presence. See that it doesn't leave a mark.
But it wasn't the ordinary world that had just happened. It was a targeted strike. And the intelligence behind it felt anything but ordinary. As she walked, the chill settling into a permanent, low-grade hum in her veins, a new and terrible equation formed.
If the past was an unsecured server, then someone hadn't just stumbled onto the login page.
Someone had been given the password.