I sat uncomfortably in a cheap chair, uneasy with my back to the door. There was no mirror, no reflection to compensate for this disadvantage. I glanced around the office. The walls were lined with shelves packed with books and files. I spotted a thick Latin dictionary and tilted my head to read the spines of several titles—most of them obscure and incomprehensible. The professor cleared his throat, pulling my attention back to him.

"It looks like Latin, and yet..."

He wasn’t really talking to me. He handled the book I’d brought with meticulous care. He was a lecturer in Latin language and literature—or something equally prestigious, though I couldn’t recall his exact title. He was a small, wiry man of indeterminate age. An oversized diploma hung on the wall behind him, confirming his credentials as a certified expert.

I had managed to get a one-on-one appointment by pretending to be a student. My next request had left him puzzled—I’d told him I found a strange old book in the attic of a family home and was thinking of donating it to the national library.

Now, he was thoroughly examining the book I’d handed over. All I wanted was to know what it said, and whether a translation existed. Was this an important clue—or just a worthless relic from a forgotten library? And yet, every time I touched it, this book gave me a strange sensation. It felt important. Heavy. Like it mattered in ways I didn’t yet understand.

For now, the professor simply frowned, deep in thought. After a long silence, he looked up at me and asked:

"Where did you say you found this?"

I repeated the lie, word for word.

"In the attic of our family home."

He shook his head, visibly puzzled.

"It’s a mystery. It looks like a forgery—an incredibly well-crafted one—but a forgery nonetheless. That’s the most plausible explanation."

"I don’t understand."

Was it a fake? Did I break into a building for a counterfeit?

"This language resembles Latin, but it’s not. It’s... different. Almost like a derivative."

"I’m not sure I follow, professor."

It was Latin, but not really?

"Let me explain."

He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together, clearly thrilled at the chance to lecture.

"You see, all languages evolve over time. Take French, for instance. The version we speak today is vastly different from the one spoken in the Middle Ages. If someone from the 14th century spoke to you now, you wouldn’t understand a word—yet technically, it’s still French."

His eyes wandered off as he continued.

"Language is alive. It shifts and morphs with the times, with society, with the needs of its people. Over a single lifetime, the changes are subtle. But over centuries? They’re dramatic."

He paused. Silence settled between us. I thought he’d forgotten I was there—he was rubbing his chin now, lost in thought. I tried to nudge him along.

"What kind of changes?"

"Well, let’s see. First, you get lexical shifts—new words for new inventions: 'cinema,' 'electricity,' 'television.' Then there are phonetic changes, how things are pronounced, and grammar changes as well. Sometimes these are driven by formal reforms. France’s first language reforms date back to the 14th century. And don’t forget politics and culture—the French Revolution, for instance, wiped out a lot of monarchy-era vocabulary. And of course, there’s the influence of foreign languages. Words like 'weekend,' for example."

He smiled, clearly enjoying himself.

"It’s a fascinating process. In a few centuries, a language can evolve into something almost unrecognizable. It lives, just like we do."

I hadn’t come here for a linguistics seminar, but apparently, I was getting one. I tried to bring him back on track.

"And what does this have to do with the book?"

"Ah, yes. Getting there."

He adjusted his glasses, then gestured toward the book.

"If two groups of people who speak the same language become separated—geographically, socially, culturally—their language evolves in separate directions. Think French and Quebecers. Same root, very different outcomes."

I saw where he was going now: Latin, but not quite Latin.

"Reading this book feels like discovering what Latin might have become if it had continued to evolve—hidden away in some unknown civilization. As if a group of people kept speaking it fluently, and it slowly mutated into a new, undocumented language. Do you see? The evolution is so deep that I can’t read it without long-term study."

He cleared his throat.

"But all this, of course, assumes it isn’t a forgery—which still seems the most likely explanation."

He turned the book over again and again in his hands, visibly intrigued.

"But it’s exceptional. If you’d let me, I could dig deeper. Do some research."

I shook my head and reached for the book. If he talked too much about it, it might attract attention—attention I wasn’t ready for. After all, it had been stolen. And beyond that, something deeper, something I couldn’t quite explain, whispered that I shouldn’t let it out of my hands.

Reluctantly, he handed it back.

"Very well. It’s up to you," he said.