'I can't do it,' I say dramatically, slouched over the countertop. I'm exhausted from overthinking. I feel a dull pain on my forearm and nearly jump out of my chair. My favourite red-head has just whacked me with my own whisk. I'm being abused by my friends.

'You always say that, Hawke. Stop sulking. You always sulk.' That's Aveline: my favourite red-head, and the big sister I never had.

'Yeah, then he goes on design the best cake yet, running on three hours of sleep and Netflix,' Varric comments with a sarcastic laugh and I can see him rolling his eyes at me from Town Hall.

We're on video-call—his new way to both get work done and torment me with clever insults. I see him doing that spinny thing with his pen and I know he's plotting something in the depths of his brilliant mind. Probably a murder. Man-slaughter? Poisoning? Oh, maybe a creepy blood ritual—you never know with Varric.

I should mention that he's a writer.

Aveline picks up two of the little squeeze bottles of food colouring from the counter. 'It's a children's birthday party. I'm sure the four-year-old won't care if the dragon's red, or blood orange!'

'Five,' I correct her.

'What?'

'The kid's five,' I correct her again and she's staring daggers at me. I raise my hands in sudden defeat, cursing my own stupidity. You'd think that after all the time I've known her, I'd know better than to correct Aveline Vallen.

'Look, I'm thankful for the vote of confidence and moral support but it's different for me, okay? One day there's going to be a cake that someone strongly dislikes and it'll eat at me for the rest of my life!' I toss the crunched-up design of the cake into the bin, watching it go in without even hitting the edge.

'Shit!' we hear Varric swear and he disappears out of screen for a bit.

'You do realise that this is a library, do you not?' an unfamiliar voice comes through the video-call and we can see Varric scrambling for his phone before the video gets cut. Great, now I've gotten him in trouble with the librarian.

Aveline sighs and fishes the design I just threw out from the bin. She opens it, then proceeds to smooth it out onto my counter. 'You're always so hard on yourself, Garrett. Whatever you pull out of that oven will always taste good. Do you want to know why?' She's using her big-sister-Aveline voice now—gentle and comforting for the soul.

I finally sit up. She doesn't normally call me by my name. No one does, really. Aveline plucks a little star out of my hair and smiles. 'Because you do it from where it matters most.'

She hugs me, and I return it. God, I wish I had her confidence in me. I scan the design again, but all I can see are imperfections throughout—the proportions, colour, flavour combination of the cake. What was I even thinking?!

I shut my eyes and groan, allowing all the annotations of the stupid cake to fade into oblivion. Maybe Aveline's right. Maybe I am too hard on myself.

She reaches for her phone that's been buzzing in her jacket and briefly scowls at the screen before turning back towards me. 'Maybe you need a fresh perspective, or flavours you haven't experimented on. Why don't you go to the library and flip through some recipe books?'

She does have a point. But there's just one problem.

'I don't have a library card. Haven't had one since... well, in years.' I suddenly remember my last visit to the library and I feel a weight in my heart but I focus on Aveline's voice.

'Just because you don't have a library card, doesn't mean you can't visit the library, Hawke,' she laughs and makes a grab at her bag. She does have a point, again.

She pats me on my flour-covered shoulder and waves me off as she leaves my studio. 'Remember, Hawke. Library!' she reminds me, then she's gone.

I'm glad she quit her job at the Kirkwall City Guard. I've seen her more times in the last six months than I did the whole of last year! But that's also partially my sister's doing. She makes sure that Aveline doesn't work overtime too often.

I spin myself on the high Thinking Stool, contemplating to call my voice of reason but I decide against it. She's probably busy training and my predicaments aren't important. It's actually pretty solvable. I just need to stop whining and get my ass to the library.

(⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙)

Kirkwall's library is... something. Well, as a library built in Hightown of all places, it has to look like it actually fits, right? Honestly though, it looks like it's made entirely out of technology. The windows are all tinted a dark blue which only allows you to get a glimpse of the interior if you stand at certain angles, and there're some workers who are hoisting what looks to be a large digital board to be mounted on the second floor, just above the entrance. It used to be a one-level building with heavy double-doors for the entrance.

'Varric, I know I sleep a lot after every major order,' I whisper casually while meandering through the shelves. I have him on call in an earpiece with my phone in my back pocket. Sneaky, I know.

'I believe the phrase you're looking for, Hawke, is pass out.'

I half-snort. He's right though. Every huge order takes a toll on me—emotionally, physically, you name it. 'Fine. But I didn't pass out for a whole decade, right?'

'So the library got revamped,' he says carefully. 'A few trendy computers, digital signages, a huge cardboard dragon to greet patrons when they come in—'

'An escalator!' I say too loudly, then cover my mouth like the overgrown man-child that I am. 'What library has an escalator?! And a lift!' I add.

'It has four levels, Hawke. Think of the elderly, the disabled, and the downright lazy—take Rivaini, for example. Why, you'd only get her to climb those stairs if there's a pot of gold dangling at the top!' I snort, loud. This was a very plausible scenario.

Of course I get lost on the first floor (there really was nothing but computers, a newspaper section, and a room full of students hard at work). I had no such luck on the second floor either, distracted by various book displays scattered about (I literally walk from end to end before realising that it's a whole level filled with nothing but fiction books). With a little more luck on the third, I finally reach the section I was looking for since I got so helplessly lost. They should have a big sign above the shelf that says BAKING in big bold letters instead of regular side-panels with all the numbers.

'Did you find the shelf?' Varric asks. He's been guiding me remotely because I was too afraid to ask the Librarian at the counter. He practically lives here when he isn't at the lab, working on the novels he's writing.

I tap the line that says 641.81 Decorating Techniques. 'Got it!' I say triumphantly and dive into the shelves.

Dad used to bring me to the library when Marian and I were little. We'd go every Saturday after he closed the shop, listen to the afternoon storytelling session, then get some desserts for after dinner from a nearby bakery. Then the twins came, and the visits with Dad got less frequent. It didn't stop my sister from going to the library weekend though. Marian loved books—she used her library card until the laminating film was worn out. Me? I spent time helping our parents with the twins whenever I could. Those were simpler times. Good times.

I pick a few books off the shelves (I say few but I'm practically balancing eight books in my hands) while listening to Varric chat about work stuff with his colleague. He's working a graveyard shift and I like listening to idle talk about his work. It's not every day you have a friend working with dead people—so essentially, anything they talk about is interesting.

' —do you, Hawke?'

'What?'

'I said my colleague's getting married on short notice— it's complicated—and there isn't a wedding planner that'll take them. D'you think your friend might be able to squeeze in a spot for November?'

I start to leave the section, then I see a book I recognise. 'Late autumn, huh? Anything fancy?'

'I think so. His parents are socialites, as is the future-Missus.'

That's six months away. 'Hmm, I'll need to ask Bull. No promises, though. November's a tricky month. Late-autumn-early-winter weddings are in trend now that the leaves have shifted seasons,' I say while contemplating to go back into the shelf to grab the familiar book. That's when I see the Librarian.

'Uh oh.' Varric's telling me that he owes me, but a kind of fear that I haven't felt since I was a toddler has me rooted to the ground. I remember being a three-year-old watching in sheer horror as a Librarian dragged a boy towards the entrance by his ear. He never turned up for storytelling sessions again.

'Varric, the Librarian. Would you describe her as witchy, dresses in dark colours, and has yellow eyes that can pierce through one's soul?'

'Oh boy, she's one of them. Did she see you?'

I nod and swallow hard, forgetting we're not on video-call.

'I take that silence as a yes. Don't run Hawke, you'll just piss her off even more.'

'Tell my siblings I love them.'

'It was a pleasure knowing you, Hawke,' he honours me with a laugh, and the line goes dead.

Then I'm left alone to face the wrath of the Librarian for talking on the phone in the library.

(⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙)

'It was your fault,' I tell her, pouting while mixing the bowl of white chocolate ganache. I think I need to blitz this in the microwave again. I can still see a few chunks of chocolate that hasn't melted.

I hear Aveline laughing from the speaker. She's on video-call as I usually am with my friends while I'm at the studio baking my day away. My brother—Carver—helped set it up for me a few years ago after an incident so that I can answer calls while I'm elbow deep in icing and chocolate. He works at a big tech company and pulled some strings for the favour, free of charge. It's not much—just a big-ish iPad that's mounted to the wall. The SIM card's connected to my work-number, so it's essentially a really big work-phone. The downside? People can usually see what a mess the studio is when I'm slaving away.

'You have ganache in your beard, Hawke.'

The second downside: my friends seeing the messy baker that I am, though, they really shouldn't be surprised anymore.

'And I didn't say that you needed to go to the library immediately, you daft man!' she's still laughing, and I can see her entering an elevator. The video pauses for a bit.

She's right though. The Head Librarian—Morrigan—was more miffed at me for coming in fifteen minutes before closing rather than me breaking library etiquette.

'Sweet Maker, is my brother still going on about his terrible first-new experience at the library? It's bad enough that we had to hear it over supper and breakfast this morning.' Marian cuts into view, stealing Aveline's phone. I set the bowl down on the counter, detach the iPad from its mount and take a seat on the Thinking Stool.

'Can you accompany me the next time I go?' I whine while trying to wipe out the chocolate from my beard with a clean cloth.

Marian starts cackling, and I hear a snort from Aveline. I have terrible family. I should consider disowning them.

'My fear of Librarians are extremely valid! If Dad were here he—' my voice cuts off, as does her laughter.

Sometimes this happens—one of the siblings would bicker and we'd throw in the parent-card without even realising. Whenever that happens, it feels like I can see them again. Mum coming out of her workroom in her yellow sunflower apron with paint splatters all over her from head to toe, and Dad in his pink apron from the kitchen with a whisk or a spatula on hand. They were a dynamic duo—looking cross at first, but in the end, they'd pacify everyone and we'd all be in giggles and laughter within the next ten minutes.

I miss them.

'I do too,' my sister responds to my thoughts as though she heard it loud and clear. I laugh at us twinning and she mimics my laughter. Marian sets the phone down on her desk and we talk a little (Aveline offers her opinion from time to time) before their shift starts. I miss my sister terribly, too. We see each other every day, but we hardly have any time to sit down and get all emotional like we used to.

Their office phone rings and Marian's attention snaps to the side where Aveline's attending to the client.

'Well, work calls Brother dear. See you at home?' she smiles and gives me a wave.

'I'll make pancakes tonight,' I coo. Her eyes light up at the sound of her favourite comfort food.

'Ohhh breakfast for dinner, Dad would be proud.'

'Have fun harassing people for a living. Love you, Mare.'

She rolls her eyes at me. 'Love you back, you big sap.'

(⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙)

It's Ganache Tuesday—which means that I don't have to stay in the studio late. Which also means I can probably swing by the library before eight to get the books I was trying to check-out a few days back. The morning consists of me retrieving unholy amounts of ganache that's been sitting in one of my massive fridges overnight, breaking them into pieces according to trays, then shoving bowl after bowl into the microwave before mixing them. After that, they go on the naked tiers of lightly crumb-coated cakes that I have in the coolers. This goes on for about five hours—exciting, I know.

I catch about half a season of Orphan Black before I hear the bell ring at the entrance. I give the man a wave—forgetting that I have a wooden spoon on hand and I send a blob of strawberry ganache flying to the ground. He completely ignores it. My clumsiness is a normal sight, really.

'Hey, Krem. Bull out of town?' I ask, wiping the mess off the floor while he takes a seat on the lone red couch I have in the studio. It's the only thing I have here that isn't black or white.

'Yup. Chief's overseeing a photoshoot in the Storm Coast. He'll be back in a few days, provided the bride doesn't drive him off the cliffs if you know what I mean,' he chuckles as he hands me a file with some of their new clients. Thankfully, there're only three wedding orders.

Cremisius Aclassi is Bull's right-hand of The Bull's Chargers—the finest Wedding Planner company across Thedas. A few years back, I got under their radar at a local charity drive and I've been their freelance artisan baker ever since. They're good people—they usually look at the shared calendar (again, Carver helped me with that. I literally just click a button every month) and let me choose which orders I think I can fit into my schedule.

I take a sip at my cold tea and offer a doughnut to him. 'I should be able to take all three. There's a two-month gap between the first two, and I only take smaller orders in the summer and during Christmas,' I inform him and he types my confirmation into the iPad that's attached to his folio. He's dressed quite smartly today—crisp forest-green shirt, simple sandstone-cream pants, and dark brown shoes to match.

It's true, I don't take cake orders during those seasons for two reasons: 1) icing and ganache don't go well with Kirkwall's summer heat, 2) I make it a point to spend more time with my family during the holiday season. But since I do still need to make a living, I stick to cupcakes, doughnuts, and the occasional cookie orders.

He takes another bite out of the doughnut. 'You're a lifesaver, Hawke. We're lucky to have you. Client details are in the file, you can meet them at your own leisure to discuss commission details as usual,' the corner of his lip pulls into a grin as he stands to take his leave.

Since he's here, I should probably ask him about Varric's request. 'Hey, are you guys packed for November?'

He takes a quick look at the iPad again while the doughnut sits between his teeth. He shakes his head. 'Nothing really jumps out at me at the moment, why?'

'I might need to call in a favour for a friend of a friend. I don't know the details but it's a last-minute wedding and it might need to be fancy,' I stand and get the door for him, catching the scent of his cologne as he passes me. Ah, I see, he must have a date.

'Hmm, I'll run it by Chief when he gets back. Ask them to drop the details to our email and we'll take it from there.'

I nod, then hand him a paper towel for the sugar that's stuck to his mouth from the doughnut. 'So, who's the lucky lady?'

He grins at the question, and I think I see him blush a little. 'Her name's Maryden—lounge singer from the jazz bar up the end of Hightown.'

'Herald's Rest?'

'The one and only. Blew a whole paycheque just visiting every night and sittin' in a corner watching her sing. Chief told me to grow a pair and, well, I did,' he informs proudly, and I give him a pat on the back for good luck.

(⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙)

Three whole ganache-covered cakes later (each cakes were at least two tiers), a lot of cleaning up, a video-call from Bethany, and three phone-calls to my new clients, I'm finally done for the day before my second attempt of my library adventure. That's when my own phone blares the morbidly old ringtone of a Spider-Man theme song, and I see her name pop up on the screen along with a picture of a Celtic Crann Bethadh tree.

'Hawke!' she nearly takes my eardrums off with her enthusiasm.

'Lavellan!' I mirror her. She's my voice of reason, and Maker I do miss her. 'How's the training in Antiva? Have you gained the gift of shooting pheasants blindfolded yet?' I joke, and she sing-songs at my mockery.

'Antiva's lovely this time of year, but the trainers here are harsh. Been keeping to a strict regime since I came.' She sounds as lively as ever.

'Nothing the Inquisitor can't handle, right?' It's true. Lavellan's the strongest woman I know. A few years ago, Lavellan was in a freak accident and lost part of her left arm. She was in Seheron when the accident happened where she stayed in recovery for four months before being transferred to Nevarra by the Inquisition to undergo even more procedures and rehab. There was a twelve-hour time difference, and most of the times I called, she was either in rehab, or too exhausted to speak for long. Her sessions were brutal, and I wished I could've done more for her.

She laughs—light-hearted and delightful and it makes me miss her even more. 'I should bring you here one day. The open sea's beautiful, and I can see all kinds of birds against the blue sky.'

'Sounds like someone snuck off,' I tease her, but deep down Iím touched that she risked getting yelled at just to talk to me, even if it's just for a few minutes. 'How's Cullen? Has he asked you yet?'

Lavellan sighs, and I can practically hear her pouting. 'You know, I think I stand a better chance at hitting pheasants blindfolded with my bow.'

I paw at my back pocket for my wallet and keys. Nothing. I keep losing them when I'm in the studio. 'He'll propose, eventually. We're talking about the guy who took six months to ask you out. How much longer are you in Antiva?'

'About a week. Then I get the following week off—we're going to Orlais and Ferelden for a short getaway.' I can hear the wind blowing from her end. There's a light splash too and I can imagine her throwing stones into the water. I'm jealous that she gets to hang by the sea.

'Orlais I get, but Ferelden?' I know that country well enough to know that nothing interesting ever happens. Except that year when we had a plague. I should know, the four of us lived there for a time before the twins were born.

'Cullen said that he rented a small cottage in Crestwood. I guess some quiet time overlooking Lake Calenhad while we watch druffalo and fennec roam about would do us some good. Work's been piling up on him.' Her voice lightens a little, and I'm glad that they've given her time off from her training.

'That's Kirkwall for you—Gotham City of Thedas.' I find my keys inside the fridge. Typical me. Now for my wallet...

'What about you, Hawke? What've you been up to since I left for training?'

'Other than my beard getting beardier, everything's pretty much the same around here.'

Lavellan was from one of the independent cities of the Free Marches—the port city of Wycombe, I believe. She practically grew up on the streets as an orphan after her mother was mauled by wolves when they were out bow-hunting. The sister—Deshanna—had a hard time keeping her indoors and behaving. The girl's free spirit could never be contained or sated—she constantly snuck out of the orphanage for days at a time, doing Maker knows what. But she never got in trouble herself. In fact, she sought trouble to rectify it (petty thieves, men harassing women in dark alleys, you name it). Then one day, a scout from the Inquisition—the pioneer and most respected sports organisation of Thedas—saw her shoot apples off a thief's shoulder and recruited her for the Thedosian Olympics in archery. Lavellan was fifteen then, and after three years of rigorous training, she ended up in Kirkwall when it was our turn to host the event.

I'll never forget that day—it was late in the afternoon and I was carrying a box of newly frosted cupcakes for delivery when three bullies tripped me and called me names for wearing a pink shirt that had the words Hawke's Home Bakes printed across my back. With a strength I never knew existed in a girl, she wrung two of the boys by the fronts of their shirts and had the other pinned under her foot in seconds. She was eighteen, and I was ten. We've been friends ever since. What an age-gap, right?

'No boys I should know about?' she teases, knowing full well that I've never dated anyone in my twenty-five years of being in this world. I never had the time to, despite knowing at a young age that I was attracted to the same sex. 'And don't give me that 'family first' bullshit, Hawke! The twins are grown up now. It's time you do something for yourself, Garrett Hawke.' I imagine her sitting up and waving a hand in the air as she tells me this.

I open my mouth to give her the same answer she's heard at least a hundred times over, but decide not to. Maybe she's right (who am I kidding, Lavellan's always right). When Mum and Dad were... taken from us, Marian and I were nine and the twins were four. We had no other family but thankfully, our parents left us the estate to be inherited with immediate effect should anything were to happen to them. Long story short, I've been the sole breadwinner for the family. I dropped out of school (insisting that my sister continue her studies) to work various odd jobs and keep food on the table. Now, Marian has a PHD in Criminology, Carver has an IT diploma in Network & Security, and Bethany is working towards her Bachelor's in Social Work.

As I fish my wallet out from the front pocket of one of my aprons, I hear her phone fumble and she curses. 'Shit. I think my coach sent for someone to look for me. This isn't over, Hawke! I expect you to meet someone the next time I call!' I can hear her running now, and can't help but laugh.

'See you soon, Lavellan,' I tell her. I always say that, even though it's been two years since we saw each other. Long distance friendships are hard.

'Soon can't come any faster, Hawke,' she replies with a huff and I think she just leapt off something before ending the call.

(⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙) (⊙﹏⊙)

I find myself thinking about Dad as I flip through the book that I have in front of me. My love of cooking and baking came from him and thankfully, I was a natural at it too. Not one of my siblings was passed down with that privilege. When the twins were born, Dad planned out all of Mum's meals even though he was busy enough with the shop (he was a florist) just to make sure that she had proper confinement food and recovered well. Then as babies became toddlers, Sundays became sweets-for-all day and Dad basically baked whatever anyone wanted much to Mum's dismay. I'll never forget the day I saw my own cupcake rise in the oven while Marian was screaming at the twins to stop fighting in the living room. Honestly, I thought it was like magic.

Taking a glance at the wall clock, I decide to get a few more books before leaving and leave my stuff on the shared reading table. I'd only be gone for five-minute, though, I risk getting my books taken away in one of those mess-up trolleys. In any case, I walk briskly (I take Varric's warnings very seriously) to the shelves where the recipe books are and emerge with two more hardcover books in toll, but not before passing the shelf that had the book which caught my eye. Quickly running my fingers across the spine labels with their call numbers, I find a gap between two newer hardcover books. It's a small gap—about half the size of my nail, really—and I can't help but wonder if the book's been checked out. So I head over to the nearest computer—the catalogue station?—where I can do a quick search on the books available and just... stare at it.

'Do you require any assistance?' a voice asks from behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. Though I don't necessarily recognise the voice, I already know that he's a librarian.

'I—I yeah, I guess,' I respond intelligently and point to the shelf where I just emerged from. 'I saw a book there a couple of days ago but I guess someone already borrowed it out.'

The Librarian steps beside me and readies himself at the keyboard. He brings down his glasses that was resting on his head and brushes his silver hair hindering his view to get a better look of the screen.

'I may be able to help with that. Do you happen to know the title?' The Librarian's voice is deep and oddly sincere.

Ah, the title. I'm going to sound extremely stupid in about three seconds. 'I... don't actually know it. I do know that it had a red spine, though.' Yup. Way to make an impression.

He raises an eyebrow and I can feel the judgement exuding from him.

'Sorry, I know how that must sound. But I saw my dad reading that book when I was a kid. I didn't know he borrowed it from the library. The bottom part of the spine's a few shades lighter than the rest of it, mended with red painters tape.'

'Believe me, if I had a dollar for every patron who told me that, I'd be living in luxury,' he responds to my stupidity so nonchalantly, then turns to me. 'Is there anything else that I can assist you with, perhaps?'

Ah, yes. There was one other problem I had.

The Librarian takes down my identification number, and full name before retreating to his counter on the first level. He said to come by when I was done browsing and ready to borrow, and he'll have my new library card ready for collection. Maker, I hope I don't have any outstanding overdue fines to pay...

I check my phone for messages and see one from Bethany telling me that Carver has bought groceries on the way home (bless that child. Only she can boss him into that). Apparently, we're having an attempted seafood stew tonight—not that I mind, though I question my younger sister's culinary skills. Upon my approach to the librarian's counter, I see four people in queue and decide to pop by when he's less busy. The kiosks nearby intrigue me and it comes to life when I lightly tap the screen. I select the tab [check account status] and I'm prompted to scan my library card (which I'm still lacking, of course). Unsure of what do to next, I hover over to a huge digital screen on one of the walls. Every few seconds, it flashes a new promotional poster—be it programmes, double-loan promotions, and upcoming charity events. I'm in awe, really. Have the libraries truly changed so much in just a decade?!

'Hawke,' the now-familiar voice breaks me from my trance and when I turn around, the Librarian's holding out my new card. It has my name and membership number printed in black uppercase letters. I try to rearrange the books I have on hand to take the card from him.

Realisation dawns upon him. 'Ah, my apologies. I should have realised that you have your hands full. Please, allow me.'

We head over to one of the borrowing stations and he glides the plastic card into the little slot with the neon green light. It beeps, and the screen quickly flicks to a borrowing page with my full name and membership type on the right-hand corner.

'Whoa,' I remark like a kid in a candy store while I set the books down beside what seems like the borrowing pad. This amuses the Librarian and he asks if it's been awhile since I've been to the library. I nod, and he patiently refreshes my memory on how to borrow my books. He directs me patiently and I follow, placing the books onto the blue borrowing pad (I don't have to borrow them one by one anymore!) and selecting the number of items I've placed. He advises me to remove my items and repeat the process to renew them for another three weeks (so, six weeks in total) and I do just that. After everything, I click [end transaction] and a receipt prints out from a slot below the card scanner.

'The last time Dad and I were here, books were checked out at the counter using one of those date-due stamps with an ink pad!' I say a bit too loudly as I glance at the receipt. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind.

'That was a long time ago, Hawke.' He's already remembered my name. Did Librarians used to be this observant? Shit, I should take note of his, too. Maybe leave him a nice comment on a feedback form for his service. They still have feedback forms, right?!

The Librarian hands me a nice little tote bag for me to bring my books home easily (I borrowed six and it is physically impossible for me to lug the three enormous hardcover ones without me possibly injuring myself as I walk three blocks down back home), then he escorts me to the entrance where the giant cardboard dragon is.

'Thank you for visiting us today, and I wish you a pleasant evening. I trust that you will be a regular face here, surely?' he asks with a slight bow. Maker, he's so polite! Not many people in Kirkwall are this polite! It's like politeness has ceased to exist in this city—even in Hightown.

He has a hand casually in the pocket of his neatly pressed grey pants, and the other adjusting his glasses that sit nicely on the bridge of his nose. I squint to get a look at his white name tag that's pinned on the left side of his burgundy cardigan. He has this veneer of calm that I can't quite explain, and my fear of librarians has completely dissipated into thin air, thanks to him.

'Definitely. I suppose it is time to come back here,' I think of Dad again, then realise quickly that I'm spacing out. 'Anyway, thanks, Fenris. You've been very kind for someone who's a lost cause at technology.'

He holds up a hand. 'It was no trouble. It was nice to meet you, Hawke.'

When I get home—ecstatic with the pile of books I have—dinner is already in the pot. It's just past eight and Marian's home early too. She asks to see my new library card and when I take my wallet out I see the receipt, but not the card. I fish out all my books and literally shove them at Carver after flipping through each and every one of them.

Bethany cackles with laughter (it's a sight to behold, really), Carver rolls his eyes at me, and Marian all but sighs.

I've left my brand new, shiny library card, in the machine.