Genevieve Cogman

“Maybe it’s like being a parent,” she said, bringing up a Library map. “You never really see your children as adults.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Kai said, with the easy confidence of someone who hadn’t tested the issue yet.

The atmosphere of the place soothed her automatically; the rich lantern-lights, the sheer scent of paper and leather, and the fact that everywhere she looked, there were books, books, beautiful books.

There were so many possible logical holes in that statement that Irene could have used it as a tea-strainer.

She was a Librarian, and the deepest, most fundamental part of her life involved a love of books. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to shut the rest of the world out and have nothing to worry about except the next page of whatever she was reading.