The library greeted April with silence. It wasn't empty. It was gentle. The smell of parchment and ancient wood filled the air. Here, magic didn't force anything. It listened.

"Late, April," said a voice.

Terson didn't even turn around as he placed a huge volume on the top shelf.

"Sorry," she replied.

"Tough night?"

"More or less."

April moved between the shelves. It was different here. The books didn't resist. They didn't slip away. A tilted volume slowly returned to its place as she passed. Another opened slightly, then closed again. As if they recognized her. Her hands moved confidently. Here, she didn't have to force anything. Just being there was enough.

"Someone has to keep the history books from falling and killing an innocent patron."

Terson snorted.

"Only two this week. A record."

April smiled faintly. The door opened. A man entered with tense steps. April felt it immediately. Not with her eyes. With something deeper. Frustration. Exhaustion. Anger. Like an open wound.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a book... or something that explains how to fix mistakes," the man said.

April nodded. She let those emotions wash over her. They weren't hers. He returned with a volume with a worn cover.

"It's not about solutions," he said softly.

"It's about someone who made a mistake... and learned not to do it again."

The man stared at her. Then he nodded. And left. The library seemed to breathe.

"Sometimes I forget you don't just work with books," Terson said.

April didn't answer. In the afternoon, when everything was quiet, she tried again. A candle. A small gesture. The flame lit. April smiled. For a moment, it worked. She was aligned. Then the flame flickered. And went out. April clenched her fists.

"Great..."

"April?"

Terson watched her.

"It's late."

Outside, the sky was already dark. She walked slowly. But the thought was clear.

"I have to go to the woods."

At home, she tried to ignore it. She chopped the vegetables too neatly. She rearranged the table twice. She didn't drink. The thought returned. Always. Something was waiting in the woods. The knife slipped from her fingers. It fell to the ground. A sharp click. April stopped. She picked it up slowly. And she understood. It wasn't a thought. It was a call. And this time it didn't seem like something she could ignore.