POV: Clara

Silence has weight.

I’d always thought of the library’s silence as a gift. Quiet, tender, clean, the kind of hush that made me feel like I could breathe when the world was breathing down my neck. This wasn’t that kind of silence. This was the weight of a boulder. This smelled like blood and sweat and fists and broken promises.

The children’s wing was a war zone. Books were strewn on the floor, pages crumpled, covers shredded. The puppet stage was on its ...