The rain returned heavier the next morning, as if to make up for the gentler days it had given them.

By the time Sienna reached the library, her coat was speckled with dark patches and her hair clung in loose strands around her face. The air felt colder, the streets emptier, the sky a deeper kind of gray.

But when she saw him waiting under the awning—hands tucked into his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed in that now-familiar way—the day didn’t feel quite so bleak.

“You’re soaked,” Liam said, brow creasing as she climbed the steps.

“It’s fine,” she replied, even as water dripped from her sleeve.

He shook his head. “You should’ve called. I could’ve met you halfway.”

“And walked both of us through the same rain?” she asked, unlocking the door.

“Then we’d be equally soaked,” he pointed out. “Better than you doing all the suffering.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re terrible at complaining on my behalf.”

“Practice,” he said. “I’ll get better.”

They stepped inside. The bell chimed, the door closed, and the outside world dulled to a muffled heartbeat—a distant presence behind glass and wood and shelves.

Sienna shrugged off her coat, hanging it on the rack. Liam did the same, then paused.

“Do you have a spare sweater or something?” he asked.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’re shivering.”

“I’m not—”

The rest of the protest died when she realized her hands were, in fact, trembling just a little.

He didn’t gloat. He didn’t tease. He just disappeared into the small staff closet and returned with a worn, oversized cardigan.

“I’ve seen you wear this,” he said. “Figured it’s yours.”

“It’s for emergencies,” she said.

“This counts.”

She hesitated, then took it from him and pulled it on. The fabric was soft from years of use, carrying faint traces of old paper and detergent and something that felt inexplicably like safety.

“Better,” he asked.

She tugged the sleeves down over her hands. “A bit.”

“Good,” he said.

The morning moved slowly. Few patrons braved the downpour. The library felt smaller, cozier, the lamplight more golden against the gray outside.

Liam spread his things out at the table closest to the counter. Not as a guest. Not as someone passing through. As if the space belonged to him as much as it did to her.

Around ten, the lights flickered.

Sienna looked up. “That’s not good.”

The rain hammered harder against the windows, and a low rumble rolled across the sky. The bulbs overhead dimmed, then flared, then went out completely.

Silence fell, thicker than before.

For a moment, the only sound was rain.

“Okay,” Sienna said into the dimness. “That’s worse.”

From the shadows near the table, Liam’s voice appeared. “Stay there. Don’t move yet.”

“I know where everything is,” she said, already sliding off the stool.

“Humor me?” he replied.

There was a soft scuff of his shoes as he navigated between shelves with the practiced ease of someone who’d walked these paths more times than he could count. A beam of light appeared—a small flashlight cutting through the dark.

He reached the counter and set the flashlight down, angling it upward so it cast a gentle circle over them rather than a harsh stripe.

“Better?” he asked.

“A bit,” she echoed.

He smiled. “We’re making progress. Cardigans and emergency lighting.”

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders loosened.

The rain roared on, but inside the library, a smaller, quieter world took form. The corners softened. The shelves turned into deep shadows. The beam of light illuminated only a small radius, and within it—just them.

“I’ll check the breakers,” Sienna said, reaching for the flashlight.

Liam’s hand moved instinctively, covering hers for a second. “I’ll go.”

“You don’t know where they are.”

“Then you can tell me.”

He looked at her, eyes earnest in the half-light.

“You should stay where it’s safe,” he added.

“It’s a breaker box, not a dragon.”

“You don’t know that.”

She stared at him.

He stared back, unrepentant.

Finally, she sighed. “Fine. Down the hall, last door on the left. If something sparks, don’t touch it.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

He picked up the flashlight and disappeared into the dark.

The quiet he left behind was different than before—not empty, but waiting. Sienna found herself listening for his footsteps, for the click of the door, for any sign that he was still there.

He was.

A few minutes later, he returned.

“The good news,” he said, setting the flashlight down again, “is that nothing exploded.”

“And the bad news?”

“Everything is definitely off. Might be the whole block.”

She sighed. “Of course.”

“On the bright side,” he added, “you own a surprisingly charming library in moody atmospheric lighting.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not helping.”

“It might if you let it.”

She considered the empty, dimly lit space. The rain, the shadows, the soft ring of light around them.

“…We’ll have to close early,” she said reluctantly.

He nodded. “Probably safer.”

“But we can’t just send everyone into that,” she added, glancing toward the door. The rain still came in sheets.

“Then we keep them here a little longer,” he said. “At least until it slows.”

She blinked. “In the dark?”

He tilted his head. “You ever wanted an excuse to turn this place into a story-time-by-lantern situation?”

“I don’t even have lanterns.”

“You have me,” he said. “And I’m told I have a vaguely reassuring voice.”

“That’s not a thing,” she said.

He smiled. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

She didn’t have a comeback to that.

He noticed.

“Let’s gather everyone closer,” he suggested. “Make the space smaller. Warmer.”

She hesitated—but only for a moment.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll try.”