Morgan's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Morgan left the courthouse behind, but the rows of filing cabinets stuck in their mind. Records existed somewhere—papers that listed names and dates and truths. The city had to hold more places like that. Places where information was kept and sorted. Places that remembered what people forgot. A library appeared three blocks down, its brick walls stained dark from rain. The front entrance gaped open. Inside, shelves stretched in long rows under a high ceiling. Books lay scattered across tables and floors. Morgan moved between the aisles, pulling volumes at random. Some pages showed photographs of faces. Others contained lists of names. Their fingers traced each line, searching for anything familiar. Nothing sparked. Nothing fit. But libraries were full of records, full of history. This world kept track of its people, wrote them down, stored them away. Morgan just had to keep looking. Ivy crept along the library's back wall, winding through cracks in the stone. Pieces of colored glass littered the floor beneath empty window frames. Morgan found a section near the damaged windows where thick books sat untouched by weather. These volumes were older, their covers worn smooth. Inside one, Morgan discovered lists organized by year—births, property transfers, school enrollments. Real lives documented in neat columns. Their hands moved faster now, flipping through decade after decade. The courthouse had marriage records. This library held birth records and census data. The city was speaking to them through paper and ink. Each location revealed another piece of the system that had once cataloged everyone who lived here. Someone had written Morgan's name down once. Someone had filed their information away. The proof existed. They understood that now. Finding it was just a matter of searching the right places, following the trail of records until one of those names looked back at them with recognition.