It took us barely five minutes to reach the Fox Library Facility.
According to Theo, it wasn't just any anomaly — it was one directly affiliated with the Vice-Director. Access was restricted to the Field Investigation Department and a few high-ranking officials from the other branches.
In simple terms: it was one of the Bureau's best-kept secrets.
The anomaly itself took the form of a modest library and a single librarian. No monsters. No distortions. No time loops. Just quiet.
And yet, they said that spending time inside dissolved any trace of contamination — like fog burned away by morning light.
'What does it get out of working for the Vice-Director?' I wondered as we approached the entrance.
But the thought drifted away as soon as we stepped inside.
Warm light washed over us. Not the sterile, artificial glow of Bureau lamps — but something softer, like candlelight filtered through amber glass. The scent of old paper and faint sakura blossoms filled the air.
A man stood behind the counter, tall and thin, wearing a navy cardigan and circular glasses that caught the light. One of his eyes was deep black. The other a light, soft gold. His smile was calm — not forced, not eerie — just genuine. He raised a hand in greeting as though we were old friends.
"Good evening, Agents," he said softly. His voice carried the kind of warmth that made the rain outside seem like a distant memory. "You're here for cleansing, yes?"
Theo nodded. "That's right. One screening and one partial cleanse for contamination check."
"Of course," the librarian replied with a graceful nod. "Make yourselves at home."
And somehow, we did.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretched out before us, forming gentle curves instead of sharp aisles — as if the building had grown around the books. Massive pillars spiraled upward, their surfaces carved with words in a language I didn't recognize. The shelves reached so high they seemed to disappear into the ceiling, which shimmered faintly like it was breathing.
Between each row stood long tables of pale oak, lined with plush chairs and small reading lamps that glowed like fireflies. The corners were cozier still — small nooks framed by velvet curtains, armchairs sinking deep enough to swallow you whole. The air carried the faint hum of old jazz playing from somewhere unseen.
Circular staircases twisted upward to the second level — not a full floor, but a balcony of sorts, with more reading spots and hanging plants trailing down like green waterfalls.
At the far end of the library stood a tree.
A Sakura tree, vast and ancient, its petals glowing faintly as they drifted downward and vanished before touching the ground. Its roots curled around the base of a fountain that trickled softly, the water glowing a pale rose hue.
I stopped walking without realizing it. "...It's beautiful," I murmured.
Theo glanced at me with a small smile. "It's easy to forget this place is an anomaly, huh?"
"Feels too… peaceful for that."
He chuckled under his breath. "Don't get too comfortable. You might never want to leave."
Maybe he was joking — but part of me thought he was right.
The librarian approached once more, his footsteps nearly silent on the polished floor. "Please, take your time. The library welcomes all who enter with good intent."
Theo motioned toward one of the couches near the tree. "Sit. The process won't take long."
As I followed him, I could feel something subtle in the air — a kind of warmth that wasn't physical but emotional, pressing gently against my chest. The exhaustion, the unease, the leftover chill from the rain — all of it slowly began to melt away.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, my mind went quiet.
And maybe, just maybe, I understood why the Bureau called this place a Benefit.
I sank into one of the couches near Theo. The cushions were so soft and warm they almost coaxed me into sleep the moment I touched them. It wasn't like the usual Bureau furniture — sterile, rigid, made to keep you alert. No, this one seemed alive in its own way, breathing faintly with the rhythm of the room itself.
"So," I asked, leaning back, "what do I have to do to get rid of the contamination here?"
Theo stretched his arms behind his head, eyes already half-closed. "Nothing at all," he said. "The place takes care of it on its own. The air, the light — all part of it. If there's only a trace of contamination, the librarian handles the rest personally."
"That sounds… surprisingly simple," I said. "How do I know when to leave?"
He yawned softly. "Technically, you can leave whenever you like. But the library's cleansing runs for about two hours. Five hours is the maximum stay. Once that time's up, the librarian will politely—very politely—ask you to head out."
"I see…" I tilted my head back against the couch, watching faint petals drift down from the glowing Sakura tree. "So not all anomalies are bad, huh?"
Theo smiled faintly without opening his eyes. "Strange, right? But yeah… this place's one of my favorites."
"I can see why."
For a while, we both sat in silence. Only the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance and the rustle of turning pages broke the stillness. The smell of sakura blossoms mingled with old parchment, like rain falling on warm wood.
Curiosity nudged me. "What happens if someone refuses to leave after the five hours?"
Theo cracked an eye open, smirking. "Two agents from Security are stationed here. If you try to overstay, they'll toss you out and make sure you don't get another invite."
I chuckled softly. "This place must be pretty popular."
"Sure is," he replied, stifling another yawn. "But it's not just peaceful — it's useful." He gestured lazily toward the towering shelves. "These books? Half are normal, sure. But the other half — manuals, reports, even stories about other anomalies. Some of them written by people who never came back."
My eyes widened a little. "That's… incredibly useful, yeah."
He grinned. "Told you."
I rose from the couch, stretching lightly. "Then I'll go find something to read. Can't just sit here and nap like you."
"Your loss," he mumbled, eyes already closed. "Wake me if the world ends."
I smiled and wandered off between the shelves. The deeper I went, the quieter it became — not the kind of silence that presses on your ears, but a soft, breathing quiet, the kind that makes you feel like whispering.
I trailed my fingers along the spines of the books. Some titles shimmered faintly before fading. A few whispered when I passed, the words in languages I couldn't recognize.
It must have been fifteen minutes before the librarian appeared beside me, silent as the air itself.
"Looking for something in particular, Agent?" he asked softly, his voice smooth and low, like warm honey.
I hesitated. "Uh… yes, actually. A book or list of anomalous items. Preferably consumables, if that's not too specific."
The librarian adjusted his glasses, smiling knowingly. "Ah, a curious soul. A dangerous but admirable trait in this line of work." He gestured gently. "Please Follow me."
He led me toward the far side of the library — a smaller section near the front counter. The shelves here were older, darker, and smelled faintly of cedar. Five thick tomes rested on the middle shelf, each bound in worn leather and sealed with red string.
"These cover documented items," he said. "The one you seek is the third from the left."
"Thank you," I said with a polite nod.
"You're very welcome, Agent Weaver," he replied — though I was certain I hadn't told him my name.
I tried not to think too hard about it and took the book.
When I returned, Theo was already asleep — head tilted back, a quiet snore escaping now and then. His hand still loosely gripped his ID card, like a child holding a favorite toy.
'He fell asleep in twenty minutes? I envy him,' I thought with a faint smile.
I sat back down, flipping open the tome. The pages smelled of rain and smoke, each word handwritten in deep, faded ink. Somewhere between faint whispers and Theo's steady breathing, I realized something odd — the longer I sat here, the lighter my chest felt.
Like the weight of everything — the blood, the fear, even Charles' smile — had started to dissolve quietly into the warmth of the room.
For a moment, I simply sat there, letting the stillness wrap around me. The gentle rustle of pages, the soft hum of distant rain against the glass dome above, the faint scent of old wood and cherry blossoms — all of it blended together until it felt like the world had forgotten how to hurt.
'Was I actually contaminated… or is this just how it feels to properly relax?'
I leaned back, balancing the book on my knees. Its pages were fragile, yellowed around the edges, ink slightly smudged as if time itself had tried to erase what was written there. Each chapter spoke of something stranger — potions that whispered when swallowed, meals that consumed you in return, candies that rewound time by one breath.
But the "White Apple"?
Nothing.
I flipped through another dozen pages, scanning each entry carefully. Still nothing. My eyes began to ache from the tiny handwriting, looping and elegant, almost too delicate to exist.
Ninety minutes passed. My tea — I hadn't even noticed the librarian had brought me some — had gone cold beside me. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Maybe I should just give it up…" I muttered, voice barely louder than a breath.
As I leaned forward to close the book, a shadow fell across the page.
"Excuse me," said a soft voice.
I nearly jumped out of my seat. The librarian stood before me again, quiet as ever, hands folded neatly in front of him. His expression was calm, almost serene, like he'd been standing there for hours, waiting for me to notice.
"Uh— yes?" I asked, trying to steady my voice.
He smiled faintly. "Your colleague mentioned the two of you came to cleanse any possible contamination." He paused, adjusting his glasses. "I am pleased to inform you it has been done. Your colleague is free to leave."
'Huh?' My brow furrowed. "And… what about me, then?"
The librarian slowly blinked once — then tilted his head slightly. A shadow of confusion crossed his otherwise perfect composure.
"Pardon?"
"Well… wasn't I contaminated as well?"
A short silence followed.
"I fear you weren't, Agent Weaver," he finally said.
'…Huh?'
His voice was as soft and kind as always.
I tried to laugh it off. "That can't be right. I was in the diner, same as Theo-- I ate—"
He raised a hand, stopping me gently. "You may have consumed an anomaly," he said, "but that does not mean it consumed you."
My throat tightened. "What do you mean by that?"
The librarian only smiled again — polite, warm, unreadable. "Perhaps it is best left for another time."
And with that, he turned, his steps making no sound as he disappeared between the rows of books, swallowed by the golden glow of the shelves.