Night fell earlier than usual over Havenport.
Daniel noticed it the moment he stepped out of the staff wing—one of those evenings when the sky turned so dark, so suddenly, that the library's motion-sensor lamps flickered on in confusion. Their glow spilled across the polished floors, reaching into corners like hesitant fingers.
They weren't supposed to react unless someone walked past.
He frowned, adjusting the strap of his satchel as he moved toward the archives. Evelyn was already inside, reviewing the digital scans they had made that afternoon. She'd been quiet, focused, but the crease between her brows had deepened with every new anomaly they uncovered.
Daniel paused outside the door, steadying his breath. Strange… the sensor lights behind him flickered again.
He pushed open the archive room door.
Evelyn looked up at the sound. She had tied her hair up in a messy twist, a pencil tucked behind one ear, the glow of her laptop screen highlighting the soft angles of her face. Tired but determined.
"You're late," she said, but her tone was more relieved than annoyed.
He stepped inside. "Got caught double-checking the east aisle. The lights were acting weird."
Her brows lifted. "Weird how?"
"Flickering. Turning on when no one walked through."
Her expression sharpened. "Again?"
"Yes," he said. "It's the third time this week."
Silence stretched between them—uneasy, meaningful.
The manuscript lay open on the central table where they had left it, its pages still, unnervingly ordinary. It hadn't shifted on its own since the incident two days ago, but the presence of the thing seemed to warp the air around it. Not outright dangerous. But aware.
Evelyn leaned forward, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. "Daniel… I think there's more inside this manuscript than words and ink."
He gave a dry laugh. "That's becoming painfully obvious."
"No." She turned fully toward him. "I mean… I think it's responding to something. To someone. Maybe to you."
His pulse stalled for a beat.
"Why me?"
"You discovered it. It reacted to your touch first. And earlier, when we were going over the scans… the anomalies centered around the notes you handled." She hesitated, then added, "It's almost like it recognizes you."
Daniel swallowed. A part of him wanted to dismiss her theory. Another part—the part that relived the whisper of sounds that weren't quite sounds, the way the manuscript pages seemed to breathe when he turned them—that part agreed with her.
"Has Clara checked in?" he asked, shifting the subject.
Evelyn lifted her gaze. "She should be on her way. She said something about running tests on the ink composition." Her brow arched in amusement. "She sounded excited."
"Clara's always excited," Daniel muttered. "Especially when she's about to prove me wrong."
"You two have history," Evelyn noted casually.
"History?" He scoffed. "More like academic rivalry with occasional moments of truce."
Her lips tilted in a small, knowing smile. "Rivalry can be productive."
Before Daniel could respond, footsteps echoed down the long corridor outside the door—quick, confident, familiar.
Clara Henderson swept into the room like a gust of energy wrapped in a lab coat. Her red hair, loose and slightly damp from the fog outside, caught the light as she dropped her bag onto a chair.
"Okay," she began dramatically, "before any of you ask—yes, I found something. Something big."
Daniel exchanged a look with Evelyn, who straightened with interest. "Big how?" Evelyn asked.
Clara pulled out a sealed plastic container. Inside was a small swatch of parchment with faint black markings.
"The ink," Clara announced, "is not entirely ink."
Evelyn leaned closer. "What does that mean?"
Clara grinned, eyes bright. "It's a hybrid mixture. Something ancient mixed with something more… synthetic. Not modern synthetic—older. Experimental. My guess? Someone tampered with the manuscript centuries after it was written."
Daniel blinked. "So there were two authors?"
"More like two contributors," Clara said. "One original. One manipulator." She looked between them. "And the second one wasn't trying to preserve it. They were trying to activate it."
Evelyn inhaled sharply. Daniel felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Activate.
The word carried weight.
"Do you think that's why it reacts the way it does?" Daniel asked.
Clara nodded. "Definitely. Whatever the second contributor added—it changed the purpose of the manuscript. It's no ordinary artifact."
"It's not dangerous, is it?" Evelyn asked quietly.
Clara hesitated.
Daniel noticed.
"That's not reassuring," he muttered.
"It's… potentially dangerous," Clara admitted. "But not inherently. It depends on who—or what—it's responding to."
Daniel felt Evelyn's eyes on him again. He looked away.
Before any of them could continue, the overhead lights flickered once more. This time, violently. The sound of electricity buzzing through the wires filled the air.
Clara straightened. "Okay, that's not the building. That's coming from—"
The manuscript.
It glowed faintly, a soft pulse beneath the parchment. Not bright, just enough to illuminate the delicate swirls of ink that seemed to shift, rearranging themselves.
Evelyn immediately moved closer. "Is it reacting to us?"
"No," Clara whispered. "It's reacting to something else."
The air pressure changed—subtle, but undeniable. A faint, cold current swept through the room, as though someone had opened a door to winter.
Daniel's heart hammered. "Back up."
The three of them retreated several steps. The manuscript's pages rustled despite the absence of wind, rippling like a creature stretching awake.
Evelyn whispered, "It's… reading us."
Clara grabbed Daniel's arm. "Whoever meddled with this thing… they didn't just alter a story. They created a conduit."
"A conduit for what?" he breathed.
Before she could answer, a shadow appeared in the doorway.
Daniel spun.
A tall man stood there, dressed in a charcoal coat, a faint scar along his jawline. His dark eyes swept over them—not with surprise, but with recognition.
Victor Laurent.
Board liaison. Supposedly here to "oversee funding allocations" for the library.
But Daniel had never trusted him. His presence always felt like a knife—sharp, cold, calculating.
Evelyn stiffened beside Daniel. Clara's grip tightened.
"Working late, I see," Victor said calmly, stepping into the room. His gaze flicked to the manuscript. "And playing with dangerous toys."
Daniel moved subtly in front of Evelyn. "You're not authorized to be down here."
Victor's lips twitched. "I have more authorization than you think."
He walked closer, the soft click of his shoes echoing ominously in the quiet space. The manuscript pulsed again, and Victor's eyes gleamed.
"It's reacting," Clara whispered.
"No…" Daniel murmured, dread blooming in his chest. "It's recognizing him."
Victor stopped just a foot away from the table.
"Well," he murmured, lowering his voice. "It seems the manuscript remembers its master."
Daniel's breath caught. Evelyn's eyes widened. Clara froze.
Master?
Victor extended a hand toward the manuscript. The pages stilled instantly, as though waiting.
Whatever confidence Daniel had evaporated into a rush of alarm. Instinct surged through him—protective, immediate—and he stepped forward before Victor's hand could make contact.
"Don't touch it," Daniel said, voice low.
Victor raised a brow. "Daniel. You don't understand what this is."
"Then explain," Evelyn shot back, stepping beside Daniel despite the danger. "Because it sure looks like you know more than you've told the board. Or us."
Victor studied them—slowly, thoughtfully—as if deciding whether they had earned even a fraction of the truth.
Then he smiled.
A slow, deliberate, unsettling smile.
"I think it's time," he said softly, "you all learned the real history of Havenport."
The lights flickered again. The room darkened. And the manuscript's pulse brightened—steady, powerful, waiting.