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I turn to face him. “Therehasto be. I got in somehow.”

He doesn’t respond, flipping his book back open as if I’ve said nothing.

I keep searching, pulling out each volume one by one.

“You’re not going to find a door inside the books.”

I ignore him. The books are strange, bound in materials I can’t identify, marked with symbols I can’t read. Toward the end of one shelf, there are five bound in black. The air around them feels different, slightly heavier, as though they’re holding more than just words.

I ease one from the shelf and open it carefully. The pages are covered in the same flowing script as the one Sacha is reading, alien and indecipherable.

“What language is this?” I hold it up.

“High Meridian.” He doesn’t look up. “The formal written language of this realm.”

“Can you read it?”

“Of course.”

“What does it say?”

He sighs, and sets down his pen. “That particular volume discusses the theoretical principles of elemental resonance in non-corporeal manifestations.”

I blink at him. “It does what now?” It sounds like a sciencetextbook and a seance had a baby. “Can you explain in more simple terms?”

“It’s a treatise on certain forms of magic. Not particularly useful for your current situation.”

I slide the book back into place, and take out another. This one is heavier, colder to the touch, bound in something that might be leather. Even before I open it, I feel as though I’m being watched.

I glance over at Sacha, but his head is down … ignoring me again.

I lift the cover. The pages inside are filled with diagrams alongside the text. Intricate patterns that remind me of constellations or circuit boards.

“What about this one?” I hold it up.

His head rises and his expression changes … just slightly. “Put that back.”

The sharpness in his tone cuts through my curiosity. I freeze. Panic flares, brief and hot, before I can talk myself down.

“Why? What is it?”

“A text beyond your understanding.” He rises from his desk, and crosses the room slowly, eyes locked on the book like it’s dangerous just being open. “Some knowledge does not belong in the hands of the untrained.”

I should do as he says. His intensity is warning enough. But every instinct that got me into trouble as a kid urges me to rebel against his authority, and the way he parcels out information like throwing scraps to a starving dog.

I flip to another page. A drawing spans both sheets. A circle filled with interconnected lines and symbols that seem to pulse intime with the light in the chamber. At its center stands a figure that might be human but isn’t quite—taller, more angular, with tendrils of darkness flowing from its outstretched hands. The shadows surrounding it don’t sit still. They press outward, like they’re testing the edge of the page.

My fingers skim the outline. A jolt of cold shoots up my arm—sharp, immediate,real. My whole body locks up for a second before I snatch my hand back. My heart pounds hard against my ribs, shallow and fast.

Sacha is beside me in an instant. “The book, please.” His voice is quiet, but firm.

“What is this?” I point to the central figure, trying to ignore the pins-and-needles sensation still crawling across my skin. “It looks like?—”

“It’s not your concern right now.” His voice remains level, but there’s an undercurrent I haven’t heard before. Not quite anger. Something darker. A warning wrapped in velvet.

His eyes settle on my hand for a heartbeat too long. But it’s enough to kill what remains of my small rebellion.

I close the book and hand it to him, aware I’ve crossed some invisible boundary. Whatever game of information we’re playing, I’ve just lost a round. He returns it to its exact place on the shelf. Whatever that book contains, he clearly doesn’t want me asking about it … which only makes me more determined to find out what he’s keeping from me.