Damon
Jackson was already waiting for me in the back corner of the restricted wing, lantern burning low beside a pile of neatly stacked volumes.
He was so focused that he didn’t notice as I approached, not until I stopped at the table and said quietly, “What did you find?”
“You’ll want to see this,” he said, voice steady. I could hear the seriousness of his tone and knew I should prepare myself for something I wasn’t going to like.
He opened the top book with care, revealing a page marked in the corner. The script was narrow, precise, penned in a hand I didn’t recognize but seemed official.
“It’s the healer’s log,” Jackson said. “Of a personal nature, not in any official capacity. It was filed under the pre-expansion records. Which is odd, being a diary and not a report.”
I stared
