Dahlia and Jericho finally reached the library after what felt like an endless trek through the school’s maze-like halls. The moment they stepped inside, the air shifted. The library was vast and cathedral-like, its towering shelves stretching up to the arched ceiling. A faint golden glow from old chandeliers illuminated rows of wooden tables and the soft rustle of turning pages filled the air.

Jericho paused near the entrance, his senses sharpening involuntarily. The smell of aged parchment mixed with the faint, crisp scent of new books filled his nose, but another fragrance stood out—a delicate rose perfume lingering faintly in the air. He inhaled deeper, focusing.

“I’ll text Airam and ask where she is,” Dahlia said, pulling out her phone. “She didn’t exactly tell us where to meet her.”

Jericho didn’t respond immediately. His heightened hearing picked up a faint murmur—Airam’s voice, distant but distinct. He closed his eyes for a moment, isolating the sound from the ambient noise of whispers and shuffling footsteps.

“What’s taking them so long?” Airam’s voice muttered, almost impatiently.

Jericho opened his eyes, his gaze lifting toward the second floor. “She’s up there,” he said, his voice calm but certain, pointing toward a dimly lit section in the far back.

Dahlia followed his gaze, frowning slightly. “How do you know?”

“I can hear her,” Jericho replied simply, his tone matter-of-fact.

Dahlia gave him a skeptical glance but didn’t question it further. As they ascended the spiral staircase to the second floor, Jericho’s senses remained on high alert. The faint scent of roses grew stronger with each step, leading him like a trail. His ears honed in on Airam’s voice again, this time muttering something under her breath too soft for Dahlia to catch.

When they reached the back corner of the second floor, the space seemed cozier, more secluded. Airam sat at a table surrounded by stacks of books, her fingers idly flipping through the pages of a thick tome. A hint of frustration was etched on her face, but she perked up when she noticed them approaching.

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“You guys finally made it,” Airam said, her tone betraying a mix of relief and mild impatience. She stood beside the table, her hand resting on a thick, weathered book.

“Well, it’s not like you gave us much to work with,” Dahlia replied, arching a brow as she glanced around. “You didn’t exactly mention where you were.”

Jericho smirked faintly, taking in the scene with his usual calm demeanor. “Next time, maybe a text with directions would help.” His tone was light, but his gaze lingered on Airam, sensing the tension in her posture.

As Dahlia scanned the library, her eyes landed on a figure near a shelf in the corner. Pandora was leaning casually against it, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books. Dahlia’s expression tightened slightly. “What’s she doing here?” she asked, her tone edged with suspicion.

Jericho’s head turned toward Pandora, his confusion evident as his brows furrowed. Pandora had always been an enigma—a girl who seemed to know more than she let on, and often more than anyone was comfortable with.

“Oh, she’s been helping me with… all of this,” Airam said, a nervous laugh escaping her as she gestured vaguely toward the table and the books. “Actually, she’s the one who got me into it.”

Dahlia’s lips pressed into a thin line, her skepticism clear, but she didn’t press further. Jericho, on the other hand, merely nodded and pulled out a chair. “Alright,” he said, his tone grounding the moment. “What did you want to show us?” He slid the chair next to Airam and sat, his presence steady and close, a subtle reassurance.

“Umm…” Airam hesitated, glancing at Pandora, who approached with an air of quiet confidence, holding a large book in her hands.

“Here,” Pandora said softly, placing the book in front of Airam with a faint smile.

“Thanks,” Airam said, her fingers brushing Pandora’s briefly as she took the book. She turned back to the table, her focus shifting to Jericho. “This might explain everything—or at least part of it.”

Pandora moved to sit beside Dahlia, who stiffened almost imperceptibly. Dahlia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she cast a sidelong glance at Pandora, her unease practically radiating off her. Pandora, seemingly oblivious—or perhaps not—settled into the chair with a small, knowing smile.

Airam began flipping through the book with careful hands, stopping on a specific page. Her breath hitched slightly as she pushed the book to the center of the table, angling it so Dahlia and Jericho could see.

On the page was a photograph from the 1920s: a group of young women posed in elegant dresses. In the center stood two figures strikingly familiar—one with Airam’s dark, haunting eyes and another with Dahlia’s graceful features.

Jericho leaned in, his elbow brushing Airam’s arm as he studied the photograph. “That’s…” he began, his voice trailing off as he pieced it together.

“It’s us,” Airam said quietly, her gaze flicking to Jericho, searching his face for some kind of understanding.