Brooke ‘Bookeeper’'s Arc

Chapter 16 of 32

By morning, the line started before Brooke unlocked the door. Word had spread fast. A lean-to of scrap and tarp had gone up across from the library overnight, a vendor booth selling water and roasted grain to the people waiting. The crowd was every kind of face — old, young, road-dusted, hopeful. Brooke propped the door open and started hauling stacks toward the shelves. She never made it to the shelves. Hands reached for books straight out of her arms. A woman took a cookbook off the top of her pile. A man grabbed two novels before she could mark them. The cart by the door emptied in minutes. Brooke set her jaw and kept moving, but the system was breaking in real time. Then she saw him. Same spot every visit now — the corner by the window, where someone had dragged in an old rusted bike and leaned it against the wall like a marker. A bearded man in a faded uniform shirt sat beside it, a worn red book held tight to his chest. He never turned a page. His eyes tracked the door. The crowd. Her. Brooke watched him between trips. He held the book like a prop. On the bench behind him, folded open but unread, lay a torn old newspaper — pages so faded no one could read them, kept there for show. She thought of the wanted face Webster had once shown her in the column margins. Lean. Hard eyes. Close enough. She crossed the room and sat down across from him. "You've been here three days," she said. "You haven't read a word." His jaw tightened. He set the book down slow. "I'm not here for trouble," he said. "I'm here because they sent me to see who comes through your door." Raven. He said it plain. Then he stood, left the book on the bench, and walked out past the vendor stall into the crowd. Brooke watched him disappear down the road. The library was loud behind her, hands still pulling books from piles. She had her answer, and it was worse than not knowing. They weren't coming for the cart anymore. They were counting her readers.