The air was growing heavier inside that cramped room, and for a moment, Marty just stared at the book like he’d forgotten I even existed.

“You okay?”

“You…”

“What?”

Marty suddenly shoved me aside, one hand gripping the book like it was sacred. I stumbled back, completely caught off guard.

“Don’t put your filthy hands on Master Smuhr’s work!” he said, his voice loud, reverent — almost theatrical.

Alright. That... was unexpected.

I didn’t even think he’d react. But this?

This was real emotion.

“Where did you find this?”

He asked it like my answer could determine the fate of the world.

“I…”

I thought about lying. Saying I found it in the trash. That it fell from the sky.

But the way he was looking at me made any excuse feel pointless.

“…borrowed it. From a girl.”

“A girl?” he repeated, as if the word itself were part of some ancient riddle. “That girl?”

“…Yeah. She had it with her. Said nobody cared about it.”

Marty fell quiet — not the angry kind of quiet. The kind that digs through memory like it’s trying to unearth a ghost.

“Do you know what this book is, Hat?”

“No. I mean… I figured it wasn’t just a dumb story. But until a few hours ago, it looked like one. With a really stupid title.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, the book resting on his knees, his fingers tracing the worn edges like greeting an old friend.

“It’s not just a story. It’s a memory. A code. A goodbye.”

“That’s… vague.”

“She always wrote like that. Wrapped in riddles, full of things she’d never say out loud. Smuhr was… different. The kind of person who knew too much but never told you everything.”

“You knew her?”

“I wish I had. Master Smuhr vanished three hundred years ago.”

Three hundred years.

That hit harder than I expected.

How long have I been dead?

“Vanished? So… what, she ran? She died?”

“Maybe both,” Marty said, like there couldn’t possibly be another answer.

He started flipping through the pages, his movements soft, almost reverent. The way someone might touch a piece of the past they thought had been lost forever.

“You still don’t know what this book really is, do you?”

I hesitated. There were a dozen things I could’ve said. I could’ve guessed. Made something up.

But honestly?

“No,” I said.

No sarcasm. No cleverness. Just… truth.

Marty nodded, like he already knew. Like he needed me to say it anyway. His eyes followed the lines of the text, but it felt like he wasn’t reading the pages — he was remembering them.

“This book was confiscated by the Four. It’s a one-of-a-kind relic. It was supposed to be sealed away inside Livina’s Grand Magical Archive.”

The Four?

Why did Jonka have it?

“But Smuhr passed her knowledge on… to people she trusted.”

“Like… you?”

“Like my father,” he said, flatly.

Something about that word seemed to sour him instantly.

I blinked. “Your father was involved with all of this? With Smuhr? With the Archive?”

Marty closed the book gently — as if sealing more than just the pages. As if closing a piece of himself.

“In some way…”

If his father knew Lye… that man must’ve lived a long time.

“What happened to him?”

“Enough about that,” Marty cut in, too fast. Too eager to bury it again.

Then he stood up, set the book down on the table, and stepped closer to me.

“Now,” he said, his voice lower, “where did you really find this?”

“I told you. I took it from a girl.”

Even though it was the truth, it sounded like an excuse.

“And who is this girl?”

“She…”

I didn’t know.

How was I supposed to explain that I thought she was just playing pretend? That now she felt like part of something way bigger than either of us?

“I don’t know.”

Marty looked at me strangely. Not angry. Not suspicious. Just… pity.

Like he saw something I didn’t.

“You need to be careful who you meet out there, Hat.”

“You say that like she’s dangerous.”

“Maybe she is.”

“She’s just a girl.”

“Girls carry stories. And some stories have claws.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. But something in my chest twisted. Like I’d been pulled into a story someone else started writing long ago — and no one bothered to ask if I wanted to be part of it.

Marty exhaled, brushing his hair back like he was trying to push the thought away. Then he knelt in front of me.

“Listen,” he said, gentler this time. “If she gave you this… and if she didn’t know what it was, then maybe she’s in danger. But if she did know…”

He paused.

“Then maybe you’re in danger.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

I already knew.

He stood, took the book, and locked it away inside a plain metal chest, sealed with light magic. Nothing flashy — just enough to keep my hands off it.

“Go to bed,” he said. “Tomorrow… the world keeps turning.”

I tried. But I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to remember her face. The way she handed me that book like it meant nothing. Like it was just another story from a daydreaming mind.

But now?

It felt like something else. Another layer. Another life.

Smuhr.

Lye.

The mage who vanished three centuries ago — and somehow, still isn’t gone.

I kept telling myself it had to be a coincidence. That “Smuhr” was just a common name.

But I knew better.

Some memories — even when burned — keep burning anyway.