Page 69 of The Alien in the Archive

People I abandoned when it became clear we would lose the war to recognize our evil deeds.

I haven’t wanted to talk about it; I’ve truly believed the Boreans deserved to be forgotten.

But Page is right—someone needs to tell this story, and I’m the only one who can.

The hours slip by unnoticed as I write, the words flowing more easily as I go. I write until my hand aches and my mind feels raw, the memories sharp and painful.

I write about the magisterium and the scholars I once called family. I write about the arrogance and ambition that destroyed us. I write about the beauty of Borealis, the snow-covered peaks, and the shimmering lights that danced in the sky. I write about the blood that stained that snow, the screams that echoed through those mountains.

When I finally stop, the notebook is only partially filled—but it feels like I’ve carved a tumor out of myself and left it on the page. I close it gently, running a hand over the worn leather cover.

Ashlan has curled up near my feet, his antennae glowing dim but steady. I reach down and scratch his head absently, my thoughts drifting to Page. She’s sleeping in Mythara Village, dreaming of Harvard. I allow myself a moment inthat dream…watching her from the stacks, just like I did here in the Obscuary.

I glance at the notebook one last time before setting it aside, knowing I should sleep.

It’s not much.

But it’s a start.

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Walking into the Obscuary today is somehow more anxiety-inducing than when I lost my virginity.

I am, of course, not a virgin. I’m twenty-five years old, and I’ve done my fair share of sleeping around. But I’ve been waiting for this for what feels like forever, and it’s stupid…but sex with anyone but Thorne doesn’t seem all that special anymore.

And I have to spend a whole day trying to focus on my research.

By the time dusk sets in and I start toward his hideaway, I’m wound up tight, every inch of me aching for him, needing him. I’m sure he can feel me, and that somehow makes it worse, the ache between my thighs enough to kill me. The alcove’s secret entrance is already open, Ashlan sitting in my path, tail twitching.

He chirps at me as I get closer, and I kneel to scratch him behind the ears, avoiding his soft antennae.

“Hey Ashlan,” I whisper. “Keeping an eye on your grumpy roommate for me?”

“He doesn’t need an eye kept on him,” Thorne’s voice echoes softly from inside.

I straighten, my heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it does every time he speaks. When I step into the alcove, the familiar scent of parchment and dust andThornefill my lungs.

I breathe him in. Try to get a handle on myself.

Thorne is sitting in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, a notebook resting on his knee. His long white hair is slightly tousled and swept to one side, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his onyx eyes meet mine with an intensity that tells me he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about all day.

“You got here faster than usual,” he says, lips twitching into a smirk. “Impatient to see me?”

“Maybe,” I admit, crossing my arms. “Or maybe I just didn’t have anything better to do.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “Well, you’re here now. Sit.”

I raise an eyebrow and go to sit on the usual couch, but he stops me, raising his hand. “Not there,” he says.

Then…by God, hepats his knee.

I melt.

I take a harsh breath as I step toward him, my dreams becoming reality right fucking now. He opens his arms and I straddle him, knees on either side of his hips.

I’m already so fucking wet.

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