The building sat tucked between a shuttered print shop and a florist who only opened on weekends. It had no sign, no plaque, nothing to suggest what lived inside. From the outside, it looked like time had forgotten it, like the city had folded around it so completely that it became part of the background. But when I pushed open the door that morning, light filtered in through tall windows with warped glass, and the scent of cotton and old paper rose to meet me.

This was the place.

We had ...