Our Attachments to Blair.

Alyssa, apparently, has a saying:

“If it looks like it can be made into a trap, it already is one.”

It’s something I wished she’d brought up earlier.

I caught a glimpse of someone watching me, as I put books back on the shelves, flipping through one after another and never once catching any relevant information.

I confess I hadn’t just been looking for Ambrose Bierce; I had also been searching through ‘missing persons’ records for anyone matching my own description.

It isn’t that it bothers me too terribly, not remembering who I once was. The memories I have now – the good, and the bad – are what form the ‘me’ that Blair loved. The ‘me’ that Alyssa feels for.

It wasn’t until I drew a precariously perched book that I realized Alyssa and I weren’t alone.

Other books toppled over, having been leaning against the thick volume I’d taken, and I saw the whites of their eyes.

The bookcase lurched, and was pushed on top of me.

I landed with my good eye to the floor, unable to see my attacker; the heavy shelves had pinned my legs, and I was able to wrench one free without help.

Alyssa came by quickly, but wasn’t able to do much to lift it – it was heavier and sturdier than anticipated.

For it to have been pushed so easily…it must have been a proxy.

The Archivists were coming, and we could hear the doors being sealed.

Windmill was tied up outside, and while we knew he could hold his own for a while against them, hiding out or simply running wasn’t an option – we’d both read about what The Vision had shown Blair, and we had no way of knowing how long Windmill would be able to hold out for.

It was fortunate for us that, between the pair of us, our attachments to Blair have compelled us to keep everything that belonged to xim near.

Alyssa – maybe not incredibly powerful, physically, but practiced – kept the Martyrs back while I put knowledge I hadn’t realized I had to good use.

I loaded the grenade launcher Blair had brought back, and shot through the library wall.

We climbed through the hole left behind, and caught up to Windmill – mostly unharmed, and the blast had shocked the attacking Martyrs enough that they’d backed off before too much damage had been done.

Before the library was out of sight, I launched one last grenade at the building.

We’ve run for miles.

I can still see the smoke.