disturbed in at least a year. Heavy dust has settled over the whole thing, and broken links and sections of chain still lie in front of it, like the door keeps getting broken into and whoever maintains it just shrugs and slaps a new chain on each time. Super effective, obviously. Once we’re inside, the archives are only a few doors down, and Remi’s anticipation is like a third presence in the hallway with us, peeking over my shoulder.
Okay, breaking into the archive, step one: make sure no one else is in the room. I can’t tell for certain—not like I have access to camera feeds from here or anything—but I can query the door’s locking system and see if anyone has entered since closing time. The answer is no. There’s always the possibility some professor or student came in before closing and simply stayed to work after hours, but we’ll just have to take that risk. When I finally pop the lock, Remi sucks in a nearly inaudible breath beside me.
I crack the door slowly, carefully, my eyes doing one quick sweep of the room, followed by a slower one to look for things I missed. Nothing. Open the door wider—still nothing. The air vibrates with the force of Remi’s restraint as they graciously refrain from shoving me out of the way and bull-rushing the precious manuscripts. I slip inside and to the left to make way for them before they lose their patience, closing the door after them and relocking it. When I turn back to the room, though, the look on Remi’s face steals my breath.
They stare up at the shelves and shelves of books, files, and old data storage media as if seeing the face of a goddess, awed and humbled and glowing with some inner light.
As determined as I am to keep up my end of the passive-aggressive silence, I just can’t. Not with them looking like this is the best day of their life. I need to share it.
I step to their side and shift my weight just a hair closer. “Is it everything you thought it would be?” I ask, silently begging them to just look at me.
And they do, turning to offer a shadow of their usual beaming grin. My own half-mustered smile fades too. Have I really gone so far as to ruin this for them, something they’ve been wanting for years?
They turn back to the stacks with a hum and nod. “Yes. It’s . . . a lot. I’m going to hit up one of the search terminals and see what the database can turn up about maz-15 and the spellplague. We might be here all night. I hope you brought something to entertain yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need entertaining. I can help, you know. I wasn’t as good in school as you, but I can still read and stuff.”
They don’t rise to the bait, only turn and stride toward the nearest terminal. I stare at their retreating form for a moment longer, nursing the disappointed ache in my chest. What will it take to get back to normal?
While Remi types away, scribbling down call numbers on the provided scraps of paper, I take to wandering. I think I was expecting dusty shelves with ancient paper books, maybe, or a clunky old early model deck with barely functioning computer files. Instead, the shelves are completely free of dust, and reading stations along the outer walls hold boxes of white gloves for handling delicate objects. Heavy-duty dehumidifiers churn away, keeping moisture levels low, and UV lights glow from inside the air vents, where they kill off mold spores before they have a chance to enter the room.
My eye catches on a map on the back wall, focused on the southern part of our continent. Jattapore features prominently, a bright coastal city with stylized dolphins cresting in the sketched ocean. A plaque next to it explains the date and provenance of the map and includes a note about the shape of the coastline, which apparently does not reflect the present day due to sea-level rise and the hurricanes that slam into the city every few weeks.
Part of me wishes Jattapore would wash right off the map. How are we ever supposed to get back to normal when my friends always have it as their backup plan? What even is normal anymore? A few days ago, they were on the cusp of moving to Jattapore for good. Then I thought maybe