The library's afternoon light filtered through tall windows as Cassius guided me through the intricacies of his correspondence. 

I sat rigidly beside him at the mahogany writing desk, acutely aware of every breath, every subtle shift of his form. 

Though I had taught myself letters and numbers through years of stolen moments with discarded books, the proximity made concentration nearly impossible.

The heavy doors opened without ceremony, admitting Evelyn in a rustle of taffeta skirts. 

She ...