The Grand Library was a tomb of silent, ordered knowledge, and Floris Veilstorm felt like she was being buried alive in it. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and lemon polish. Potted ferns and placid ficus trees were scattered amongst the shelves—a token gesture from Lexa Mossbrook to her sister Flora, who ran the city’s great greenhouse. Floris scoffed internally. These plants were boring, neutered things, stripped of all their interesting properties. They held no toxins, no hallucinogens, no life-altering secrets. She longed for the humid, dangerous air of her own laboratory at the top of Storm Tower.

  Her resentment simmered, hot and familiar. Flora got the grand greenhouse, a palace of glass and steel funded by the Petalcrests, all to grow decorative flowers and common herbs. Meanwhile, Floris had to scrounge for every vial and burner, practicing real, vital science in the shadows.

  Her finger stopped on a page, her nails drumming a staccato rhythm against the paper. She flagged down Lexa, who was gliding silently between the stacks.

  “Is everything alright, Floris?” Lexa asked, her voice a librarian’s whisper.

  “This book,” Floris said, not bothering to lower her own voice. “It’s a lie.” She tapped the offending passage, a chapter on medicinal botany written by Flora Mossbrook herself. “Bucha leaves. Your sister claims they contain properties that can cure radioactive poisoning and that they are a key component of the city’s annual vaccine.”

  Lexa peered at the page. “It’s a very popular text.”

  “Popularity doesn’t make it true,” Floris snapped. “Bucha is a mild diuretic. It wouldn’t do a thing against radiation. To print this is not just wrong, it’s dangerous. Does your library serve the truth, Lexa, or is it merely an institution to puff up your sister’s reputation?”

  Lexa’s calm expression didn’t waver. “If you know so much more, Floris, why have you never written a book for our collection?”

  Floris laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. “And trade secret, vital knowledge for a bit of fading fame? Why would I give away my power for nothing?”

  “So that future generations can build upon what you’ve learned,” Lexa countered softly. “So that knowledge isn't lost. We have a duty to share what we know.”

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  “I don’t care what happens to anyone after I’m dead,” Floris said, closing the book with a definitive thud.

  Lexa placed a gentle hand on Floris’s. “I understand your fear,” she said, her voice full of an earnest pity that Floris found infuriating. “You feel you must guard your secrets so tightly because without them, you won’t have as much value to the city. And if you don’t have value, people won’t protect you.”

  Floris snatched her hand away as if burned. “Did you read that nonsense in one of these dusty tomes?”

  A faint blush touched Lexa’s cheeks. “Yes. I read many books here.”

  The anger in Floris subsided, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. “Which one is your favourite?”

  Lexa glanced around the empty aisle, then leaned in closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Floris smirked. “My dear, I am the mistress of secrets. I can harbour one more.”

  “There’s a book,” Lexa whispered, “in the forbidden collection. Elodie herself ordered it locked away. It discusses the Great Calamity in detail, but it also tells the story of our city’s true origin.”

  “I know our history,” Floris interrupted, bored.

  “But there’s more,” Lexa pressed on, her eyes wide with the weight of her discovery. “I found a contingency plan. A protocol, hidden in the appendices. It was created by the founders. It outlines how critical Cape Lumous was designed to be for global trade—a halfway station for all the major sea routes.”

  Lexa took a deep breath. “The book details a plan. If anything were to ever happen to Cape Lumous, a second city was to be built. A failsafe. It’s out there, on the other side of the country. Far beyond the Sea of Sand, beyond the Pearl Mountains, in the great unknown where no one has gone before.”

  The air left Floris’s lungs. The quiet library, the boring plants, her petty resentments—it all dissolved. “That’s not possible,” she breathed. “That would change… everything.” It meant they weren’t alone. It meant there was outside help. They weren't prisoners in their own city. They could see the world.

  A desperate, wild hope ignited in her chest. “The book, Lexa. I need to see it. Now.”

  Lexa’s expression turned to one of genuine regret. “I can’t. It’s gone.”

  “Gone where?” Floris demanded, grabbing Lexa’s arm.

  “It was checked out a few days ago,” Lexa said, her voice barely audible. “By a woman who I didn’t know. But she had the most incredible rainbow-coloured hair.”