Page 23 of The Alien in the Archive

I need space.

Or I need…someone who understands.

As I step into the quieter outer halls, the suffocating buzz of the atrium fades. The Obscuary is several floors above, nestled in the twisting labyrinth of the library’s oldest tunnels and stacks.

I know I shouldn’t go back so soon. I should take a break, do some other research after that dream.

But my feet seem to have other plans.

I tell myself I’m going back for research, for answers. That’s why I’m here, after all. That’s why I haven’t told Riley or Davina about Thorne—because he’s the only one who might hold the key to the questions I’ve spent years chasing.

But deep down, I know it’s not just that.

I can still feel him, an invisible string pulling me closer with every step I take. It’s maddening, this strange connection that defies logic, that makes me ache in ways I don’t fully understand.

By the time I reach the lift that leads to the Obscuary, my resolve is crumbling. The air here is colder, heavier, and the faint hum of the library’s wards grows louder, a constant reminder of the power contained within these walls.

I hesitate at the entrance, staring at the heavy iron gate that marks the boundary of the Obscuary. It’s not like Ihaveto go and visit Thorne today…in fact, I should probably play it cool and wait. I wouldn’t want Davina to find out.

Right. I’ll go in, do some research…maybesee Thorne after I’ve taken some notes and worked on organizing my project. I don’t have to race to his lair.

I just want to.

And it hasnothingto do with my dirty dreams.

9

THORNE

Watching her has become my newest habit—one I should break, but won’t.

At some point in my long life that may have been rude or embarrassing. Or perhaps I would’ve been bolder, more domineering, used my influence to force her to spend day and night with me.

As it is, I watch.

And I wait.

I feel fairly confident she’ll return, if her dreams were any indication. I only caught bits and pieces of them, but she thinks so loudly they were hard to ignore.

And they were graphic.

I didn’t mind that.

I lean against the end of a towering bookshelf, observing her from afar, quiet as death itself. She’s seated at one of the narrow study tables in the outer stacks, her brow furrowed in concentration as she flips through a thick, weathered Skoll tome. A glow lamp hovers beside her, casting warm light over her face, her dark hair, the scattered papers covered in her rushed, untidy handwriting.

She works like she’s chasing something—some truth just out of reach, pulling her forward with every word she reads and every note she scribbles.

Her intensity is magnetic.

Maddening.

I’ve seen hundreds of scholars pass through the Obscuary in my centuries here, each with their own peculiarities and ambitions. Mlok cultists…Merati physicists. Each have had fascinating minds, as anyone does who visits this particular corner of M’mir.

But none have ever intrigued me like she does.

None have touched me, mind to mind.

It’s not just that, though. It’s the way shefeels—the energy she carries, the curiosity that radiates from her. She’s louder than anyone else I’ve met, even compared to Boreans from long ago.

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