Chapter 17
At first, I thought it was just a dream.
But something felt wrong.
Dreams usually feel distant, hazy at the edges. This was sharp—too sharp. The air was cold against my skin, the sounds too clear, the emotions hitting me like they belonged to someone standing right behind my ribs.
And the worst part?
None of it felt like it came from me….
"I need you to inspect a book," Arthur said.
I looked up from the stack of index cards I was aggressively alphabetizing. "Which book?"
"It's... highly sensitive," Arthur said, adjusting his glasses. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "It requires a specialized environment. Outdoor lighting."
I raised an eyebrow. "Outdoor lighting? For a book? Arthur, UV rays are the natural enemy of parchment. You taught me that on day one."
He winced. "It's a... sun-resistant binding. Very rare. Very experimental."
I sighed, dropping the cards. "You're a terrible liar, Penhaligon. What is it? A trap? Is Marrow plotting to publicly execute me over a late fee?"
"No," he said softly. "It's lunch."
I froze. Lunch.
"I eat lunch in the breakroom," I said stiffly. "Protein bar. Water. 15 minutes."
"Not today," he said, producing a wicker basket from behind his desk like a magician producing a rabbit. "Today, we are inspecting the rare flora of the Botanical Gardens. Which just so happens to be next to a very nice bench."
"The Botanical Gardens are closed," I pointed out. "Marrow put a 'Hazardous Spores' sign on the gate."
"I have a key," Arthur grinned, dangling a brass skeleton key. "Perks of being the Archivist. I know which signs are real and which ones are just to keep students from making out in the hydrangeas."
I stared at the key. Then at the basket. Then at Arthur.
He was wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He looked ridiculous. He looked wonderful.
"Fine," I said, standing up and smoothing my jumpsuit. "But if I get eaten by a carnivorous plant, I'm haunting you."
"Deal," he beamd.
The Gardens were overgrown, wild, and breathtaking. Without the groundskeepers (Marrow had fired them all for 'inefficiency'), nature had reclaimed the space. Ivy climbed the statues. Roses spilled over the pathways. It felt secret. Untouched.
We sat on a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. Arthur unpacked the basket with the seriousness of a bomb disposal expert.
"Sandwiches," he announced. "Cucumber and cream cheese. Crusts cut off."
"Stereotypical," I noted, taking one.
"Lemonade," he continued, pouring from a thermos. "Homemade."
"Ambitious."
"And for dessert," he revealed a small box. "Macarons. From the bakery in town. I had to bribe a delivery driver to smuggle them past the barrier."
I stared at the colorful cookies. They were my favorite. specifically, the rose-petal ones.
"You remembered," I whispered.
"I remember everything you tell me, Amelia," he said simply.
We ate in silence for a while, the only sound the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the campus wards. It was peaceful.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked suddenly, putting down my lemonade.
Arthur looked at me. " doing what? Eating lunch?"
"Being nice to me," I snapped. "Arthur, look at me. I'm a Vance. My parents are in federal custody for treason. I'm wearing a janitor's jumpsuit. I have no money, no status, and half the campus wants me dead."
"So?" he asked, biting into a cookie.
"So, you're... you."
"Me?"
"You're good," I said, the word tasting strange on my tongue. "You're pure. You help people. You save books. You're the human equivalent of a golden retriever."
He laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It's a warning!" I leaned forward. "I'm toxic, Arthur. Everyone who gets close to me gets burned. My friends? Gone. My parents? Locked up. My reputation? Ashes."
I took a breath, my voice shaking. "If Marrow sees you with me... really with me... he'll target you. He'll take your job. He'll ruin you just to spite me."
Arthur set his food down. He turned on the bench, facing me fully. He took off his glasses, cleaning them on his vest. Without them, his eyes were sharper. Older.
"Do you think I'm stupid, Amelia?"
"No," I argued. "I think you're naive."
"I've worked in these Archives for ten years," he said quietly. "I've seen Deans come and go. I've seen 'chosen ones' burn out and 'villains' save the day. I know the history of this school better than anyone."
He put his glasses back on.
"I know who you were," he said. "The Ice Queen. The Bully. I saw you. I saw how you terrified the freshmen. I saw how you sneered at the scholarship kids."
I flinched. "Exactly. So why—"
"Because I also saw why," he interrupted. "I saw your mother gripping your arm so hard she left bruises at the gala. I saw you crying in the stacks when you got an A-minus instead of an A. I saw a girl who was drowning in expectations."
He reached out, his hand hovering over mine. He didn't touch me. He waited.
"You're not toxic, Amelia," he whispered. "You were just poisoned. And now? Now you're sweating it out."
I looked at his hand. It was steady.
"I'm scared," I admitted. The truth slipped out before I could stop it.
"Good," Arthur said. "Fear means you're paying attention. But you don't have to be scared alone."
He waited.
Slowly, terrifyingly, I moved my hand. I placed it in his.
His fingers closed around mine. Warm. Solid. Real.
"I'm still not kissing you," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Arthur smiled—that crooked, imperfect smile that made my stomach flip. "I didn't ask you to. I just asked you to inspect a book."
"There is no book," I accused.
"There might be," he teased, leaning back against the tree. "Are you going to report me for deception?"
I looked at our joined hands. I looked at the overgrown garden. I looked at the man who saw the wreckage of my life and decided to build a picnic in the middle of it.
"No," I said softly, squeezing his hand. "I think I'll let it slide. Just this once."
Arthur squeezed back.
And for the first time in forever, the silence wasn't lonely. It was just... quiet.