Rising slowly, Rose handed her finished work to her employer. “Here’s the book you requested,” she said, extending it toward him.

Felix snatched it from her hands, his gaze narrowing. “Why are you running your mouth off to a noble?” he snapped.

The force of his tone made Rose instinctively take a step back, her shoulders tensing. “I—I just thought—”

“If anyone has questions or requests, you direct them to me!” he barked, his voice echoing in the near-empty room. His scowl deepened, frustration boiling over. “Do you even know what you just did?”

Rose faltered, her mind scrambling for an answer. She glanced around the dimly lit library as if the dusty shelves might offer some clue, but she could only blink. Her head was completely flooded with fog. “He doubled the payment?” She offered, uselessly.

Felix let out a sharp, exasperated laugh, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Double the payment?” he repeated, louder this time. “Do you have any idea who that was?” His fingers twitched as he gestured toward the door. “That man is a city count. Anywhere else, people might not know or care, but here? He’s a king in his own little kingdom! Do you understand the kind of revenue we could bring in if the city lord himself frequents our Archekaasè?”

Rose furrowed her brow, suppressing the urge to correct him. Archekaasè, a city library made from royal degree? she thought bitterly. We’re not a library. We’re a glorified bookstore with a manager suffering from delusions of grandeur. Still, she forced herself to nod, swallowing back her irritation. “I understand,” she said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

She was too tired for another argument, and her shift had ended hours ago. The sky outside had long since darkened, and while this district had streetlights, her’s did not. All she wanted now was to get home safely. To sleep, to dream. Maybe then she could be happy.

She bowed slightly and murmured, “I’m sorry, Lord Silvio.” She said, making sure to stroke his ego. “I shall do better next time.”

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Felix sighed deeply, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “Still,” he muttered, half to himself, “double is pretty good. Not as much as we would’ve gotten if we could drop the count’s name as a regular, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Rose nodded again, eager to leave. “Right. Well, then, I should get going,” she said, stepping toward the door.

But Felix’s voice cut through the air. “What happened to your hand?”

Rose glanced down at the crude bandages wrapped tightly around her fingers and wrist. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure if an explanation would even matter and a little afraid about why he suddenly asked.

“Never mind,” Felix said dismissively, waving her off before she could form a sentence. His eyes flicked to her hand again, his lips curling in a faint grin. “We can’t have you visiting the count’s man looking like that,” he muttered, his fingers drumming against his rounded belly. “I suppose that means I’ll have to complete the task myself,” he noted with a hint of smugness. “Can’t have you going there to mess it up. Don’t worry about it—I’ll handle the count. Go home. Clean up. You’re a mess.”

“Yes Lord Silvio.” Rose bowed again and turned, walking quickly to the back door. “Go home, clean up, you’re a mess,” she mocked under her breath, as she closed it behind her. Shaking her head, she raised her good hand and flipped him the finger as she turned on her heel and walked away.

At her locker, she kicked the metal door lightly, the hollow clang echoing down the empty hallway. The small action did nothing to ease her simmering temper. “Ungrateful bastard,” she muttered through clenched teeth. She leaned against the cold locker, her fingers rubbing at her temple as if to scratch away the persistent itch of frustration. “I swear, this miserable, goddamn world.”

Her voice trembled with anger as she slammed her fist against the locker. “Fuck!” she yelled, her voice ricocheting off the walls. The sharp echo stung her ears, but she didn’t care. She didn't feel a thing, her entire body was numb making the fit very unsatisfying. Still, she hit it a few more times before venting her frustration before resting her forehead against the cold metal.

“Fuck.” she repeated, softly this time. However at its release she was able to move again, focusing on changing out of her work clothes, and into her own dress so she could leave this miserable place.

That was another battle entirely. The dress was still damp and clung stubbornly to every little thing, the buttons refused to slide through their holes, and even the fabric seemed to conspire against her. She didn't know if she was laughing or crying but even her own voice was grating her last nerves.

She had to stop halfway, forcing herself to take several deep breaths to calm down. The cool air filled her lungs, steadying her hands just enough to finish. Still, she sat there long after, head in her hands as she cried.