32. Chapter Thirty-Two
The archives wrap around me the moment I push open the heavy wooden door.
Late afternoon light filters through the narrow high windows, turning the dust motes into fluttering golden sparks.
The familiar scent of old cedar and paper and faint ethanol from the specimen jars folds over me like a hug.
I breathe it in and feel my shoulders drop for the first time all day.
I walk to my station in the corner, everything is exactly as I left it, neat rows of pinning boards and empty labels waiting like old friends. I set my bag down and begin the ritual that always centers me.
First the notebook, opened to a fresh page.
Then the small tray of pins sorted by size.
The fine-tipped labels. And last, the new luna moth pendant from Adrian.
I place it carefully beside the lamp so the pale green glass catches the light and glows, a tiny reminder of our date that makes my chest flutter.
I choose a fresh specimen from the tray, a delicate moth with wings the color of moonlight. My fingers move with practiced care, sliding the pin through the thorax, spreading the wings flat against the board. The work is delicate and precise, the kind that lets my mind wander without losing focus.
And wander it does.
I am back in the quiet museum gallery with Adrian. The dim lighting. The way he went very still while I talked about luna moth pheromones.
The moment his hands lifted to cup my face, sure but trembling just slightly against my jaw. The slow, deep kiss that felt like it held every unsaid thing between us. The way he whispered against my forehead that I was beautiful in my element. Safe. Seen. Wanted exactly as I am.
My cheeks heat even now, days later, at the memory. The kiss didn’t rush or demand. It simply existed, exactly what we needed after our initial heated meeting in the library.
I can still feel the faint tremor in his fingers and the erratic beat of his heart when I pressed my palm to his chest. His scent lingers in my memory too, crisp and clean and so perfectly him that I find myself breathing deeper just thinking about it.
I finish pinning the specimen and slide the board into its drawer with a click. The archives feel even quieter around me, the golden light shifting across the wooden cabinets.
Part of me wonders if this is what balance could look like, my passion for these small specimens sitting comfortably beside the growing warmth I feel for Adrian. For all of them.
The thought doesn’t frighten me the way it once would have. It feels possible, maybe even right.
I reach for the next specimen and let myself smile while the cedar and dust scent of the archives holds me close. My date with Adrian didn’t pull me away from this world. It simply made the colors brighter.
I think about what Adrian told me in the car.
How he grew up as the quiet, bookish one in a pack full of louder, more athletic alphas.
How he never quite fit the mold everyone expected until he found science.
The way he said it with such vulnerability made something in my chest ache with recognition.
I understand that feeling so well. The sense of being different in a world that seems to reward everything you’re not.
I set down my pin and open my notebook to a fresh margin. The satisfying scratch of my gorgeous pearl fountain pen joins the symphony of the archives as I begin to write.
Across the dark miles a single scent thread pulls
feathered antennae tremble toward a call they were born to answer
Your hands on my face beneath the museum glow
rain on stone and bergamot answered by strawberry and peach
We are two species writing the same ancient language
one molecule, one breath, one perfect match in the quiet dark
Luna green and cedar smoke
I open my wings without knowing the distance
and still I fly straight toward you
I stare at the words for a long moment after I finish.
The poem feels a little more raw than usual, hinting at the kiss we shared among the luna moths, the way our scents called to each other the same way pheromones travel through miles of night.
It’s both terrifying and beautiful to see the parallel written out so clearly. My body recognized him long before my mind caught up. I think that was what Alex and the pack were trying to explain to me about it all. I am still myself and have my own choices.
The archives feel even cozier around me now. The scratch of the pen has stopped, but the click of drawers and the golden light on the pinned specimens remain. I run my fingertip lightly over the charm and let the memory of the date settle deeper into my chest.
The idea of letting someone into my world doesn’t feel like it will take anything away from this.
A familiar voice breaks the peace of the archives, bright and full of its usual dramatic flair.
“Miss Maddison! There you are, buried among the miracles as always.”
I look up from my notebook to see Professor Jules approaching my station with his usual energetic stride.
His silver hair is slightly wild today, as if he’s run his hands through it multiple times while lecturing.
He smells faintly of cedar and old books, the same comforting scent that always seems to follow him through these halls.
“Professor Montague,” I say, happily closing my notebook. “Or should I say Jules?”
He beams at me, eyes twinkling behind his round glasses. “Jules is always preferred among friends and serious entomologists. And you, my dear, are both.”
He leans over my desk to inspect the latest specimens I’ve pinned, nodding with genuine enthusiasm. “Excellent work. The wing alignment on this one is impeccable. You have a very steady hand. How is the project coming along? Are you still alright with taking on those extra drawers?”
I sit up a little straighter, pleased by his praise. “I am. I finished the second drawer this morning and started on the third. The labeling is taking longer than I expected, but I’m enjoying it.”
“Marvelous,” he says, clapping his hands together once. “Marvelous indeed.”
He’s about to move on when he pauses, a mischievous little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, and I heard a very interesting rumor in the faculty lounge the other day. Something about you applying for Dr. Okonkwo’s rainforest field expedition...”
My heart jumps. I light up instantly, surprise and excitement flooding through me all at once. “You heard about that?”
Jules nods, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Indeed I did. Dr. Okonkwo mentioned you by name. She called you ‘the promising young entomologist with the exceptional eye for detail.’ High praise coming from her.”
I feel my cheeks flush. “I can’t believe she talked about me. I thought maybe my application would just disappear into a pile.”
He smiles mysteriously and taps the side of his nose. “Faculty gossip travels faster than pheromones on a breeze, my dear. Especially when it involves one of our most dedicated freshmen.”
I lean forward, unable to hide how thrilled I am.
“Do you think I actually have a chance? It’s usually for sophomores and up.
So I know I’m early, but I really want this.
The idea of doing real field work in the rainforest…
cataloging new species, studying live pheromone signaling in the wild…
it feels like everything I’ve been working toward. ”
Jules rests one hand on the edge of my desk, his expression turning more serious but still kind.
“Between you and me, Miss Maddison, you have a very strong chance. Dr. Okonkwo does not throw compliments around lightly. She was quite impressed with the paper you submitted and with what she has heard from both me and Dr. Halvorsen about your work ethic. Keep doing exactly what you are doing. Precision. Passion. Attention to detail. Those are the things that stand out.”
He straightens up and gives me an encouraging wink. “Now, back to work. Those beautiful little miracles are not going to pin themselves.”
As he walks away with a cheerful wave, I sit back in my chair, heart racing with new hope. The possibility of the field trip suddenly feels much more real than it did this morning.
Maybe everything is starting to fall into place.
Jules does not wander far. Only a few minutes after our conversation about the field trip, he circles back to my station, rubbing his hands together with clear delight.
“So,” he says, eyes sparkling behind his glasses, “tell me everything about your visit to the museum. Did you make it to the stag beetle collection like I suggested?”
He nods towards the charm on my desk, clearly recognizing where it came from. “I have the same one myself.” He confirms.
I sit up straighter, unable to hide my enthusiasm. “I did. They were even more impressive than I imagined. The Lucanus cervus specimens were massive. Some of the mandibles looked powerful enough to snap small branches.”
Jules’s face lights up with pure joy. “Ah! Stunning creatures, aren’t they?
Those mandibles are not merely for show.
The males use them in ritual combat during mating season.
They lock together and push like ancient warriors in a tournament.
It’s one of nature’s most dramatic displays of competition and strength. ”
We fall easily into that lovely rhythm of pure academic passion. I describe the way the cases were lit and how the metallic sheen on some of the beetles looked almost alive under the lights.
Jules launches into colorful stories from his own days working at the museum, including one about a particularly stubborn stag beetle specimen that kept falling off its pin during an exhibition setup.
He spent three hours trying to get the angle perfect while the curator grew increasingly impatient.
From there we move naturally to luna moths. I tell him how mesmerized I was by the display and how far the females can send their pheromone signals.
“Kilometers!” Jules exclaims, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Can you imagine? These delicate creatures releasing a chemical message that travels for miles through the night air. And only the right male can detect it.”
We spend a long time talking about firefly signaling next.
Jules gets particularly animated when I bring up the chemistry behind the bioluminescence.
He tells me stories about field trips he took decades ago where students set up light traps and watched entire meadows light up like living constellations.
The conversation flows so easily that time slips away from us. My cheeks feel warm with excitement as we bounce ideas back and forth. Jules listens to me with real respect, treating my observations like they carry genuine weight.
Before he leaves, he rests one hand on the edge of my desk.
“For your current assignment, I think you should add a comparative analysis section on sexual dimorphism in the specimens you are cataloging, by the way. It would strengthen your submission significantly. And if you would like, I can lend you a very rare reference book from my personal collection. It has the most exquisite hand drawn plates of tropical beetles. Come by my office tomorrow afternoon and I will set it aside for you.”
A rush of gratitude washes over me. “Thank you, Jules. Really. That means more than I can say.”
He gives me a slightly eccentric smile and a little bow. “Keep making miracles, Miss Maddison. The world needs more scientists who look at beetles and see poetry.”
He walks away humming to himself.
The archives fall quiet again once his footsteps fade down the corridor. For a long moment I simply breathe in the familiar scents that always feel like home.
I open my notebook and reread the poem I wrote earlier. The words feel even truer now.
My phone lights up on the corner of the desk with a new text. I pick it up and grin when I see Jamie’s name.
Ready for the most epic surprise date of your life yet? I may have already bought tickets… and possibly a helmet. No spoilers. Just say yes.
I laugh softly under my breath and start packing up my things, already looking forward to whatever chaotic joy Jamie has planned next.