The Hollow Files

The library didn’t open until seven.

But at six fifteen, Lira was already there—waiting in the shadows of the East Wing staircase, watching the door from behind a statue of some long-dead founder with moss growing in his beard.

She hadn’t told Eren what she planned.

If the Society had marked them both… it was safer this way.

The librarian, Mr. Aldrin, arrived exactly on time, his steps sharp and his keys jangling from his hip. Lira waited until he unlocked the heavy oak door, stepped inside, and disappeared behind the counter.

Then she slipped in after him.

---

The library at Valemont was cathedral-like—tall shelves, stained-glass windows, and that thick, ancient-paper silence that demanded obedience.

She didn’t go to the main shelves.

She went left. Toward the side stairwell marked “STAFF ONLY.”

At the base of the stairs, an iron gate blocked the path, wrapped in rusted chain. But the chain wasn’t locked.

She hesitated.

This was where they said the Society kept their old files—the Hollow Records.

Things never meant to be read. Histories that didn’t want to be remembered.

Lira pushed the gate open.

---

The basement smelled of mildew and time.

She moved through narrow aisles, past cabinets with no labels, folders stacked in uneven towers.

Then—she saw it.

A locked drawer, half-pulled out, labeled only:

“Restoration: Failed Subjects. 2023–2024.”

Her fingers trembled as she pried it open with the edge of a ruler from a nearby cart.

Inside: photographs. Medical charts. Redacted names. A single name unredacted:

Lira Vale.

Status: Failed. Returned. Unstable.

And beside hers—

Eren Cai.

Status: Suppressed. Unknown Variables.

Her stomach twisted. The photo attached wasn’t the one she'd seen in the mirror. In this photo, she looked… altered. Paler. Hollow-eyed. The date on the corner was from four months ago.

Someone had been watching her before she came back.

---

Suddenly—

Footsteps. Upstairs.

She shoved the file back and closed the drawer silently.

The stair door creaked open.

Lira ducked into the far end of the aisle, heart pounding.

Someone stepped into the archive.

She peeked between shelves—and froze.

Cassia.

She was alone, hair wet from the shower, a notebook clutched to her chest. She moved with purpose—like she belonged here.

Cassia reached a drawer farther back, flipped through it, and pulled something out.