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"Would you like me to prepare copies of these passages?" I offered, falling back on the practical. "I can have them ready within the hour."

"That won't be necessary," he replied, straightening. "I only needed to confirm the exact wording." He carefully closed both documents. "But I appreciate the offer, Miss Fairbairn."

I returned the journal to its place on the shelf, then carefully repackaged the charter folio, tying the green silk cord with the proper archival knot Edwin had taught me—loose enough not to stress the binding, tight enough to secure the contents.

"Is there anything else you require?" I asked, placing the folio back on its shelf.

The man reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and withdrew a small object. "No, you've been most helpful." He extended his hand, offering me what appeared to be a small brass token. "Please accept this as an acknowledgment of your assistance today."

I hesitated before taking it, my fingers closing around cool metal. The token was simple—a brass disc stamped with the seal of Everwood on one side and a wax impression on the other. The wax bore the mark of the Civic Council—a circle of seven linked rings.

"It's a recognition token," he explained, seeing my confusion. "The Council issues them to acknowledge particularly valuable service. It can be exchanged for a small stipend at the Hall of Records, if you wish. Or kept as a mark of appreciation."

I curled my fingers around it, feeling its weight. "Thank you."

He inclined his head slightly, then pulled his hood back up as he prepared to brave the rain once more. "I'll be sure to pass along my compliments to Archivist Fairweather. You're a credit to this institution."

With that, he turned and made his way back through the Archives. I followed at a respectful distance, watching as he opened the heavy oak door and stepped out into the gray afternoon. The door closed behind him with a solid thud, leaving me standing alone in the sudden quiet.

I opened my palm and looked down at the token, its surface gleaming dully in the Archive's light. A recognition of value. Of being seen not as someone to be protected or controlled but as someone who knew things and could be useful.

My hand trembled slightly as I tucked the token into my skirt pocket. A strange feeling bloomed in my chest—not quite pride, not quite validation, but something adjacent to both. I had helped. I had known what to do, what to find. And someone had noticed.

I returned to the east alcove, where Ellie was still sleeping peacefully. The rain continued its steady percussion against the windows, and the ledger I'd been transcribing waited patiently for my return. I sat back down on the floor, resuming my cross-legged position among the scattered papers.

For a moment, I didn't continue my work.

I just sat there, listening to the rain, to Ellie's gentle breathing, to the occasional distant rumble of thunder.

The Archives felt different somehow—not because anything had changed, but because I was seeing myself differently within them.

Not just a woman hiding, a mother protecting, but a person with knowledge and skills.

A person who could stand on her own authority, if only for the span of time it took to retrieve the right document.

I picked up my quill and dipped it carefully in the ink. Merchant Halloran's anxious ledger entries awaited my attention.

The afternoon passed in the rhythm of raindrops and quill scratches.

Ellie woke once for feeding, her mood much improved from the fussy days of teething.

I nursed her while continuing to read through the ledger, speaking some of the entries aloud to her, as if the everyday concerns of a long-ago merchant might become a strange kind of lullaby.

"Six crates of pottery, three damaged in transit," I read softly as she nursed. "Compensation requested from carrier. Note: Expect resistance on this front."

Ellie watched my face as I spoke. I wondered what she made of these words, of my voice forming them. Would she grow up loving books and records the way I did? Would she find comfort in the orderly progression of knowledge, stored and preserved against time and forgetting?

The main door creaked open again as I was burping Ellie, her small body warm against my shoulder. This time, the familiar tap of Edwin's cane accompanied the sound.

"Miss Fairbairn?" he called, his voice echoing slightly in the main chamber.

"In here," I called back, gently patting Ellie's back.

Edwin appeared in the archway, looking slightly dampened by the rain but otherwise composed. His gray hair was disheveled as always, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose. He carried a leather satchel under one arm, likely containing council minutes for archiving.

"Productive afternoon?" he asked, steps slowing as he took in the scene—me with Ellie, the transcription work spread across the floor.

"Yes," I replied, adjusting Ellie's position. "I've completed half of the Halloran ledger. And—" I paused, suddenly uncertain how to describe the visit. "We had a visitor. From the Council, I believe."

Edwin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"A man inquiring about the post-war charter regarding militia settlements. I..." I met his gaze directly. "I showed him to the reference room and helped him locate the specific document. And Councilor Merrick's annotations regarding the disputed provisions."

Edwin was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he moved into the alcove and settled carefully into the chair by the small desk, setting his satchel aside.

"You found the charter?" he asked. "And the amendment?"

"Yes."

Another pause, longer this time. Edwin removed his spectacles and polished them methodically with a handkerchief. When he replaced them, his gaze was clearer, more focused.

"Good," he said.

"He left a token," I added, reaching into my pocket. "A Council recognition token, he called it."

I held it out, and Edwin leaned forward to examine it without taking it from my hand. His eyebrows rose slightly.

"Well now," he said, sitting back. "That's not something they distribute lightly." He gave me a considering look. "Who was this visitor, exactly?"

I felt a flush of embarrassment. "He didn't give his name."

Edwin's mouth twitched with what might have been amusement. "Tall? Neatly trimmed dark beard with a bit of gray? Speaks as if he’s been to one too many diplomatic breakfasts?”

I blinked, then let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s… accurate.”

Edwin nodded, not looking particularly surprised. “That would be Councilor Turren Thenholt. Senior arbiter on the Boundary Committee.” He folded his hands over his cane. “A difficult man to impress.”

I looked down at the token still resting in my palm. Brass and wax, a simple thing—but sudden weight settled behind it.

“I didn’t know who he was,” I admitted quietly.

“No.” Edwin’s expression softened with something close to approval. “But it didn’t stop you, did it?”

I shook my head, the edges of embarrassment fading. “No. I just—remembered the amendment. And the annotations.”

His slight smile creased the deep lines at the corners of his mouth. “As you should’ve.”

He leaned back, studying the shelves as if measuring something invisible in the air between us.

“I’ll need to adjust your schedule,” he said after a moment, as though we were mid-conversation. “The transcription work remains important, of course, but so does access supervision. We’ve too few who know the full catalog.”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. “Are you saying—?”

“I’ll speak plainly, Miss Fairbairn,” Edwin interrupted, reaching for his satchel. “I’d like to expand your responsibilities. Discretion, organizational knowledge, and initiative—these are qualities we don’t come across every day. Especially not bundled into someone who does the job without fuss.”

He pulled a stack of parchment from his satchel—minutes from the morning’s council meeting—and set them atop the desk with gentle finality.

“From now on,” he said, fixing his sharp gaze on me, “you’ll handle classified retrieval unless otherwise instructed.” He paused, then added almost offhandedly, “We’ll need to log you as Archive Keeper’s Aide on the official roster.”

I stared at him, the title feeling much too large in my ears.

“I don’t know what to say.” I didn’t trust myself to say anything more than that.

Edwin just nodded again, like we were discussing the weather. "Good," he said again.

I clutched the recognition token in one hand and tried not to let it feel too heavy. Tried not to let the memory of a man I once loved—who would have turned this small marker of trust into levers—darken the moment.

“Thank you,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Edwin waved a hand, already turning his attention to the parchments on his desk. “Leave the Halloran ledger with me. You can begin working through the Brinewell accounts tomorrow—on the main desk this time. You’ve earned a chair.”

I did laugh then, quiet and breathy. “Still can’t promise I won’t miss the floor.”

“Suit yourself,” he murmured without looking up.

I finished organizing my alcove carefully, stacking the parchment in the proper order on Edwin’s side table, and replacing my tools in the supply chest beneath the window.

Ellie slept on undisturbed, her thumb tucked under her chin in a way that made something in my chest ache—not with worry, but with affection so deep it left me breathless.

Her life was still small things: sleep and milk and teething balm. But mine had begun to swell again, stretching beyond blind flight. Beyond survival.

Slowly, silently, roots were finding soil.