Elara's POV
"Move faster, ghost girl. Those books won't shelve themselves."
I don't look up at Master Theron's voice. My boss has perfected the art of talking to me without actually seeing me. I'm just another piece of furniture to him.
"Yes, sir," I murmur, hefting another stack of dusty volumes.
The Grand Royal Library's basement is a tomb for forgotten knowledge. Endless rows of shelves disappear into shadows that my single lantern can't quite reach. Books nobody wants, organized by a system nobody uses, maintained by a girl nobody believes.
Perfect symmetry.
I've been down here since dawn, cataloging texts that haven't been touched in decades. Philosophy. Ancient poetry. Agricultural records from two centuries ago. My fingers are black with dust, and I've sneezed seventeen times.
Nobody cares.
Above me, I hear footsteps and laughter from the real librarians—the ones who work in the beautiful reading rooms with sunshine and important visitors. Sara and Mina, who love to gossip about me when they think I can't hear.
"Five years in the basement," Sara's voice drifts down the stairs. "Can you imagine? Her father must be so ashamed."
"Well, what did she expect?" Mina responds. "Acting crazy, claiming she sees things during the full moon. Victor Ashwood had to break their engagement. Who wants to marry someone unstable?"
My jaw clenches. I focus on shelving books with precise, careful movements.
They don't know what I see. Don't know what I carry.
They don't know that three months ago, I watched Sara's husband steal from the tax collection office during a reset. That two months ago, I saw Mina's brother assault a servant girl in the palace gardens—a crime that vanished when the moon rewound time.
I know their secrets. I know everyone's secrets.
And it doesn't matter, because nobody believes me.
"I heard Victor married her sister instead," Sara continues. "Selene is so elegant and normal. Nothing like—"
"The ghost girl," Mina finishes, and they both laugh.
I grip the book in my hands hard enough that my knuckles go white.
Breathe. Just breathe. Their words can't hurt me if I don't let them.
But they do hurt. Every single time.
I disappear deeper into the stacks, into the shadows where nobody looks for me. This is where I belong now—invisible, forgotten, alone.
My pocket watch reads noon. Lunch time.
This is my chance.
I wait until Master Theron leaves for his meal. Then I slip out the servant's entrance at the back of the library, pulling my worn cloak tight against the autumn wind.
The walk to the Forgotten Quarter takes twenty minutes through streets that get progressively narrower and dirtier. This is where the city dumps people it wants to forget—beggars, addicts, those who've lost everything.
People like me.
Except I'm hiding something here. Someone.
The boarding house leans dangerously to one side. I climb three flights of creaking stairs and knock in our secret pattern: twice, once, twice.
The door opens. Mrs. Hilda, my daughter's caretaker, peers out with cloudy eyes that still manage to see everything.
"She's been asking for you all morning, dear," Mrs. Hilda says, her voice crackling like old paper. "Had the nightmares again last night."
Guilt stabs through me. "I'm sorry. I came as fast as I could—"
"Mama!"
The word shatters my heart and puts it back together simultaneously.
Iris crashes into my legs, small arms wrapping around me with desperate strength. I drop to my knees and pull her close, breathing in her scent—honey soap and something sweet that's just her.
"My baby girl," I whisper into her tangled dark hair. "I missed you so much."
She pulls back, and I drink in the sight of her. Four years old, with my dark hair and her father's eyes—though I can barely remember what he looked like. The blue dress I made her from old curtains is already getting too small. She's growing so fast.
Too fast.
"You're sad again, Mama," Iris says, her small hand touching my cheek. "I can feel it."
My daughter is too perceptive. Too knowing. The curse has made her ancient in ways no four-year-old should be.
"I'm okay, sweetheart. Mrs. Hilda said you had bad dreams?"
Iris's face crumples. "Not dreams. The remembering dreams."
Ice floods my veins. "The resets? You remember last night's reset?"
She nods, tears filling her too-old eyes. "I saw Mrs. Chen hurt Mr. Chen. I saw the red on the floor. And then the moon turned everything backward, and everybody forgot except me."
I pull her back into my arms, holding her tight while she trembles. This is my worst fear—that my curse would pass to her. That she'd be trapped in the same nightmare I've lived for five years.
"I know, baby. I know it's scary. But you're safe here with Mrs. Hilda."
"But you're not safe, Mama." Iris pulls back, her expression far too serious for a child. "I had another dream. A bad one. About you."
"What kind of dream?"
"There was a white place with broken windows. And the moon was so bright it hurt to look at. You were there, Mama. But you were sleeping and wouldn't wake up." Her voice drops to a terrified whisper. "And there was a dark man standing over you. He was crying."
My blood turns to ice. "A dark man?"
"I couldn't see his face. But he was so sad, Mama. Sad like you. Sad like me." Iris grips my sleeve. "The moon showed me this. It's important. Something bad is coming."
I force my voice to stay calm even though panic is clawing at my throat. "When did you have this dream?"
"Last night. During the reset hour."
A vision during a reset. Just like me seeing crimes before they happen. But Iris is seeing something else—something that feels like a warning.
"Listen to me, sweetheart." I cup her small face in my hands. "Nothing bad will happen to Mama. I promise. I'm going to be very, very careful."
"But the moon doesn't lie," Iris whispers. "It shows me true things."
I don't know what to say to that. So I just hold her, rocking slowly, while Mrs. Hilda makes tea in the background.
We spend the next hour together. I tell Iris stories about brave girls who save themselves. We draw pictures with the charcoal I brought. I braid her hair and sing the lullaby my own mother used to sing before she decided I was too broken to love.
When it's time to leave, Iris clings to me. "Don't go, Mama. Please don't go."
"I have to. But I'll be back tomorrow, I promise." I kiss her forehead. "Be good for Mrs. Hilda."
"The dark man, Mama," Iris says as I stand to leave. "He remembers too. Like us. He's been alone for so long."
"What do you mean?"
But Iris just looks at me with those ancient eyes, and I realize she doesn't fully understand her own visions yet.
I slip Mrs. Hilda the coins I've saved from my meager salary. It's not enough—it's never enough—but it's all I have.
"Keep her safe," I beg.
"Always, dear," Mrs. Hilda promises.
The walk back to the library feels longer. Heavier. Iris's words echo in my mind: A white place. A dark man. You were sleeping and wouldn't wake up.
It sounded like she was describing my death.
I shake off the thought. Iris is four years old. Her visions are probably just nightmares mixed with reset memories. Nothing to panic about.
But my hands won't stop shaking.
By the time I slip back into the library's servant entrance, my lunch hour is nearly over. I hurry down to the basement, hoping Master Theron hasn't noticed my absence.
The basement is darker than I left it. Someone must have moved my lantern.
I fumble in the shadows, searching for where I left my light. My fingers brush against a book spine, then another, feeling my way through the familiar stacks.
That's when I hear footsteps.
Not above me. Down here. In the basement with me.
I freeze.
"Hello?" My voice comes out smaller than I'd like.
No answer.
But the footsteps continue—slow, measured, coming from the restricted section at the back. The area where we keep texts on magic and history that only scholars with special permission can access.
Nobody should be down here.
I grab my lantern and move toward the sound, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
The restricted section is blocked by a locked gate. I'm one of three people with a key—me, Master Theron, and the Head Scholar.
The gate is open.
Someone is inside, moving between the shelves with purpose.
"Sir?" I call out, assuming it's Master Theron. "Did you need help finding something?"
The footsteps stop.
A figure steps into my lantern light, and my breath catches.
Crown Prince Cassian Noctis stands ten feet away from me.
I know him instantly even though I've never been this close before. Everyone in the kingdom knows the prince—tall, dark-haired, with eyes like a winter storm. He's wearing simple black clothes instead of royal finery, but there's no mistaking the authority radiating from him.
Or the cold danger.
He's the most powerful man in the kingdom. Heir to the throne. Commander of armies. Known for being ruthless and merciless.
And he's in my basement, searching through restricted texts.
"Your Highness," I manage, dropping into a clumsy curtsy. My mind races. What is the prince doing here? Should I offer help? Call Master Theron?
Cassian barely glances at me. His eyes sweep over me like I'm another dusty book—catalogued and dismissed in the same breath.
"I need texts on lunar magic and time theory," he says, his voice cold and commanding. "Ancient ones. Pre-kingdom era."
My mouth goes dry. Lunar magic. Time theory.
The resets.
Is he researching the resets? Does he know about them?
No. That's impossible. Nobody knows except me and Iris.
"I can help you find—" I start, taking a step forward.
"Just bring them to the main reading room upstairs," he interrupts, turning back to the shelves. "And tell no one I was here."
The dismissal is clear. I'm nothing to him. Not worth acknowledging beyond my usefulness.
Heat floods my face—part embarrassment, part anger. I'm used to being invisible, but something about his casual dismissal stings more than usual.
"Of course, Your Highness," I say quietly.
He doesn't respond. Just continues searching the shelves like I've already disappeared.
I retreat back to my corner of the basement, my hands shaking for a different reason now.
The prince is researching time magic.
The same magic that's been cursing me for five years.
It's probably just coincidence. He's probably just a scholar with curiosity about old legends. It doesn't mean anything.
But my instincts—honed by five years of watching and remembering—are screaming that something important just happened.
I try to focus on my work, but I keep glancing toward the restricted section. After twenty minutes, Prince Cassian emerges carrying a stack of books. He walks past me without a word, without a glance, like I don't exist.
The gate clicks shut behind him.
He's gone.
I exhale slowly, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
The rest of my shift drags on endlessly. Master Theron returns and barks orders that I follow mechanically. Sara and Mina whisper and laugh above. The same as always.
But something has changed. I can feel it.
At nine o'clock, my evening shift begins. The library closes to visitors, but someone needs to stay overnight to guard the books. That someone is always me—the ghost girl who lives upstairs anyway.
I light lanterns throughout the main reading room, then retreat to my usual spot in the corner with a book I'm not actually reading.
The hours tick by. Ten o'clock. Ten-thirty. Eleven.
I'm about to close up and head to bed when I notice light still burning in the private study room at the far end.
Someone is still here.
I walk quietly down the corridor and peer through the half-open door.
Prince Cassian sits at the table, surrounded by the books on lunar magic. He's reading by candlelight, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his expression intense and focused.
He's been here for hours.
I should leave. Should give him privacy. But something keeps me frozen in the doorway.
Maybe it's curiosity about why the prince cares about lunar magic.
Maybe it's the strange pull I feel toward someone else who's searching for answers about the thing that haunts me.
Or maybe it's just loneliness recognizing loneliness.
As if sensing my presence, Cassian looks up.
Our eyes meet.
For one second—just one—something flickers across his face. Recognition. Understanding. A mirror of the isolation I carry every day.
Then it's gone.
His expression smooths back into cold indifference. He looks back down at his book, dismissing me once again.
But I saw it.
That flash of something human beneath the ice.
I back away from the door and return to my corner, my heart pounding for reasons I can't explain.
The prince is researching time magic. He's been here for hours, desperately searching through ancient texts.
And for just one second, when our eyes met, he looked at me like he understood something.
Like he was drowning too.
I pick up my pen and journal, writing quickly: Prince Cassian in the library. Researching lunar magic and time theory. Stayed for hours. When our eyes met, I saw—
I stop writing.
What did I see?
I don't know. But it felt important.
It felt like the beginning of something.
I close my journal and watch the candlelight flickering from the study room, wondering what the most powerful man in the kingdom is searching for in the same magic that's been destroying my life.
And wondering why, for just one second, he looked as alone as I feel.