The old library felt warmer than usual that afternoon.
Elena and I had been meeting more frequently, always careful, always quiet. Today she brought extra honey cakes and a small flask of warm herbal tea. We sat on the blanket she always carried, hidden behind the tallest shelves where no one ever came.
We talked about small things at first — a book she had read, the weather, how the forest looked after last night’s rain. But then Elena grew quiet. She looked at me for a long moment, her gray eyes soft but serious.
“Rachel,” she said gently, “I need to tell you something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”
I set my cup of tea down and gave her my full attention. My heart beat a little faster.
“I don’t believe you had anything to do with Chase’s death,” Elena said clearly. “Not for
