The Basgiath library is quiet enough to hear stone breathe. Sawyer crutches down the aisle and spots a familiar beige cloak ahead. Jesinia, on her toes, straining to slide a book onto a shelf far too high. He steps in, resting his arm lightly on her shoulder. “Here, I got it.” She freezes and turns. Red hair. Blue eyes. Not Jesinia. Sawyer blinks. “…Oh—hi. Sorry. I thought you were—well. Who are you?” He feels his cheeks redden as he stares down at one of the most beautiful women he’s seen. She laughs, shifting the stack of books in her arms. “I’m Gwyn.” She offers her free hand. “And you are?” “Sawyer.” He smiles, warm and easy. Their hands linger. Their gazes do too. *Ahem* Shadows curl at the end of the aisle. Azriel. He steps in beside Gwyn, silent as a threat. His eyes flick to Sawyer. “I’ve got it from here.” He rests his hands on Sawyer’s chest gently—not a shove. A warning. Sawyer inhales, clearly about to say something cheeky when— “I wouldn’t do that if I were...