Quinn sat in her office, drumming her fingers against the arms of her overstuffed chair. She lifted her fingers and examined them, turning her hand around. She was still trying to process exactly what had happened. When she found out that Sarila had been a major player in the plan to poison the Balisors, it broke a part of her comprehension. This was someone she’d met, talked to... spent an actual day with.

It all happened so fast.

She replayed it all in her head.

Instead of summoning Milaro, she’d had this sudden dread hit the middle of her stomach. She’d known, with far too much certainty, that they had to get to Milaro and let him know.

When they arrived there to find her already engaged in combat with them — the revelation felt far too convenient for all of them. As if contrived by some unforeseen spell to release the information at a specific time point from Irias’ brain.

It also ruined her first visit to Milaro’s palace, which irked Quinn no end.

In order to refocus her mind, she conjured a white-hot flame and made it dance from fingertip to fingertip, back and forth, swirling and diving, completely in her control. There was no way, had she not had complete control over that flame, that she could have killed Sarila.

The pale birch-like Salosier burned to ash in her mind, over and over. The flames played on repeat, licking away at the sneer on her face, while it slowly turned her entire body to ash. But not a typical ash, since they weren’t technically made out of wood. It was more like petrified wood, if she’d gotten the descriptions from her friends and mentors right.

She sighed, glad that at least the images constantly flashing through her head also included a litany of the names of the people Sarila listed so proudly to have helped to or directly eliminated, including Escadril. It still pained Quinn that she’d been there, right there, and hadn’t noticed a thing. She’d thought Sarila was ever so slightly distant and not overly friendly, but she didn’t think she was a cold-blooded, genocidal maniac.

Quinn had lost count of all of the names that were listed. All she’d wanted to know was if this person had only harmed Escadril, then maybe, maybe, they could still be rehabilitated. That’s what Hal did, right? Or at least he tried to, if they were redeemable.

But how was she the person to judge that? She wasn’t. That was the entire point. But she had judged it to be a risk she couldn’t afford to take. Especially when she considered the Balisors.

Quinn had no regret about her actions purely based on that involvement alone. It was Sarila who had made it possible for the infection to spread through her cousin Salosier’s encampment, which was wild when Quinn thought about it. Who did that?

She sighed and shifted ever so slightly. Sarila’s loyalty to the Jeneshu clan was the only reason for saving Narilin’s people. She’d only saved them from the infection and directed it to the Balisors out of a sense of belonging to the initial clan. Not that it extended to killing her husband.

Quinn sighed, put her head in her hands and felt Aradie press her wings against her neck in a sort of hug from the owl. It was full of comfort, accompanied by pictures of hot chocolate and cushions and fluffy onesies. Quinn wasn’t entirely sure how Aradie knew about warm onesies and fuzzy slippers, but that sounded really good, actually.

There was nothing you could do, Quinn, the Library said. Its tone subdued to levels Quinn had never heard before, but then again, the Library was always with her, had witnessed everything, and experienced what Quinn went through. Even if maybe that experience was ever so slightly dulled.

“Maybe, maybe there wasn’t.” She muttered, still trying to convince herself.

Quinn, you’ve been here almost six months. This literally began centuries ago. Before you were ever created. You are not responsible for this.

And Quinn knew that on a super intimate level, but at the same time she wished there’d been something she could do. The turmoil in the hospital pushed against her sensory net. She could feel it, them rushing around trying to heal Nishpa. It gnawed at her stomach, and she knew it’d take a while. Nishpa was in bad condition.

Quinn, you cannot beat yourself up.

“I’m not beating myself up,” Quinn said, her exasperation coming out. She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I am picking each incident and analyzing it. Understanding it and putting it away. So that I don’t crash and burn. So that I don’t rebound. So that I have successfully dealt with the thing I have done. For my own resolution purposes.”

The Library paused as if it wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that. Aradie cooed low in her throat with understanding and knowing, keyed in to Quinn’s conversation with the Library as she was.

“Look,” Quinn said, “I’m not about to bottle it up. But like I did when Milaro revealed that I wasn’t who or what I thought I was, I have a process and I must understand what happened on a level that I can dissect it deal with. And thus I’m examining exactly what it is I did earlier.”

Understandable, the Library said. I’ve just not seen people deal with something like this... this way.

Quinn shrugged. “Milaro gave me excellent tools to separate out thoughts. It’s a pretty handy tool. Not only can I do a heap of quick thinking, like on a totally different level, but compartmentalizing emotions,” she clarified so as not to draw ire, “not getting rid of them, but compartmentalizing them while I analyze different aspects of factual situations. Frankly, it’s a good coping mechanism, because it allows me to truly assess if I’ve suffered any serious damage to my own psyche. If I’m gonna stay the Librarian for hundreds or thousands of years,” which Quinn couldn’t even wrap her head around right then, “then I’ll need to do a lot of compartmentalization.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

True, the Library said.

“Excellent, now let me deal with my trauma, please.”

The Library let out a half laugh. Always, I just hope you know that we’re all here for you, too.

“Oh, I know,” Quinn said, “but right now, right now, I just need my brain and me and a bit of time to sort through events.”

Quinn dove back into her thoughts, ensuring she was taking care of everything. The turmoil in the hospital bothered her. She knew Geneva was there, as were Milaro and Miles, who were checking on Nishpa.

She really needed another calibration with the system so she could feel more. Witness more in the Library without having to be there. Having a deeper connection was only going to benefit them in the long run, especially right now. The surgeon, Nivit, was currently occupied and would be assisting with Nishpa shortly. She could mostly keep track of Nishpa without getting underfoot by simply focusing her sensory extension in that area. It allowed her to continue her mostly detached examination of their current situation without becoming too emotionally involved in the actions currently saving Nishpa’s life.

Despite the amount of mana and power Milaro poured into preserving her physical and, hopefully, mental form, it would be touch-and-go. Nishpa was not in a good place when she left.

Quinn didn’t understand the disintegration magic both Kajaro and Sarila possessed. In fact, she was confused by it. It was yet another thing she needed to research. She raised her eyes from where she stared at her desk to see Malakai sitting on the couch, appearing relaxed. At least, to most people’s eyes, he probably was, but she could tell he was hyper-aware of his surroundings and alert for anything he might need to do. Even without his magic, Malakai was formidable and stood by her side, no matter what. He’d become such an integral part of her Library life that she couldn’t even describe how she felt while he was sick. She didn’t want to face dangers without him. She hoped that once he regained his mana usage, he’d continue to accompany her. It always felt better when he was there.

Malakai moved over to her as he felt her gaze on him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked at him, scrunching her nose up in thought. She analyzed, probably more than she should. Maybe she was okay? The clinical, logical part of her brain was more than aware that Sarila aimed to kill Milaro and herself, and anyone else who belonged to the Library in the process. Sarila had very nearly killed Nishpa, who was still touch-and-go. Logically, Quinn was fully aware that she had done the right thing in turning Sarila to ash. But logic didn’t always help.

In terms of self-defense, she’d also done the right thing. She wasn’t only protecting herself and the others, even though they sort of had it under control, but she’d also protected Nishpa and Milaro. The thing was, that didn’t necessarily mean it was the right thing either.

So it had been morally grey.

Was she really a morally grey sort of person?

Not usually, but in this morally grey area, she’d decided that she would choose to do the exact same thing again, given the same circumstances. There was absolutely no question about it.

No matter what they did to bring Sarila in, there was always the chance that she would get free and inflict all of that pain and suffering on more people again. She’d wiped out thousands of Balisors with her deeds. Not that she was the only one responsible for them, but she had helped. It was a genocide. It was a massacre. Thousands and thousands of Balisors dead, and only a few hundred of them left. She’d introduced the rot to that part of the forest, and she’d been proud of it.

So no, Quinn would never choose to finish the fight differently, and she’d deal with any potential repercussions.

At that moment, Nordon walked into her office, clapping his hands. “Cousin,” he said, looking at Malakai, who was standing next to Quinn’s desk now. “Librarian,” he nodded, a smirky grin on his face. “Just so you know, I did take the death throe memories.”

“What?” Quinn said, a bit lost.

“Death throes, you know, the last memories of a body - from the last few hours of its life.”

“Seriously, you can do that?”

“Well yeah.” Nordon replied, as if it was common knowledge. “Have you not looked up any blood magic yet?”

“No, I can’t say as I have.” Quinn raised an eyebrow.

Malakai groaned.

Quinn ignored him. “Anyway, what did you do?”

“Oh well, I extracted the last memories from Sarila — which, is extremely difficult from a pile so... you’re welcome.” He winked at her and continued on. “If anyone questions what went down, we have a recording from the perpetrator herself. Did you not know that’s part of what I do? Find dead bodies, extract dead memories, that sort of thing.”

“Well I know now,” Quinn said.

“Excellent, excellent. Well, if anybody questions it, I have officially sealed the memories and anybody is free to look.” Nordon flashed her a grin.

Quinn frowned, not entirely sure how to take that.

“It basically means that you’re in the clear because it’s irrefutable.”

“Oh,” Quinn said, “so basically they’re telling on themselves.”

“If you’d just murdered them in cold blood, then it would tell on you. But as it is, Sarila tells on herself.”

Quinn nodded slowly, wondering how she could do that. It was obviously related to mind magic, being Milaro’s line and all. “That’s a pretty cool trick.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Nordon said with a hint of pride.

Malakai glared at his cousin. Nordon grinned back. Quinn wanted to know about that rivalry. But even as she was about to ask, the Library spoke up.

Get to the infirmary now, Quinn.

Quinn did. She stumbled to her feet, out the door, and was at the hospital wing sooner than she thought possible. She knew instinctively where to go and walked into Nishpa’s room. Milaro, Geneva, Nishpa, Vivit and Miles stood there too. Nordon and Malakai stumbled in after her. She approached the bed, noting idly that white sheets were apparently a universal thing and not just earth-based for hospitals, where Nishpa was nestled. She was so pale she almost looked like an esposian, almost blended in with the sheets. There were bandages and poultices all over her and she looked shorter, not quite as large as life. Tubes ran in and out of her too. What Quinn wasn’t sure why they needed tubes having magic and all, but she trusted her doctor golems.

“She’s doing better. She’s stable,” Milaro said and there was a hitch to his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Quinn said. “I’m so sorry we didn’t get there sooner.”

“You came as soon as you could,” Milaro said. “Not everything goes our way, not even with magic.”