June 20th, 1983
Wren ran through the library in a near panic, her footsteps sharp against the floor despite every instinct telling her to stay quiet.
Her mind was fixed on only two people.
Dorothea.
Jasper.
Every second that passed made the knot in her chest tighten further. She could only pray the Librarian hadn't found them first.
In one hand, she gripped the pistol Nicholas had given her.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Then she stopped.
Her pace slowed on its own as something ahead came into view.
A large red door stood at the end of the hall.
But that was not the most horrifying thing there.
A man was sitting on the floor just outside it, quietly crying to himself.
Wren recognized him almost immediately.
Messy brown hair hung over his face. Deep shadows sagged beneath his eyes, the kind that only came from sleepless nights stacked one on top of another. One visible eye—green—stared blankly at the floor, while the other was hidden behind a medical eyepatch. Dry blood still clung to the left side of his face in dark, flaking streaks.
His white button-up shirt was partly undone at the collar, and his black tie hung loose and crooked, as if he had long since stopped caring how he looked.
In his hands, he cradled a severed head.
A woman.
She had long black hair, purple eyes, and broken glasses still clinging crookedly to her face.
At his side rested two record books.
Joseph Starling — Personal Files
Jolyne Starling — Personal Files
Wren knew those names.
The Starling siblings.
Researchers.
Joseph was mute and communicated only through sign language, with Jolyne—his older sister—usually speaking on his behalf. Most people quietly assumed the only reason they had ever been hired was because their father had been close to Alexander Jones, a man celebrated within A.E.G.I.S. after allegedly slaying a great vampire the year before.
Now one of them sat weeping before a forbidden door.
And the other—
rested in his lap.
Wren slowly knelt in front of him until they were at eye level.
"Joseph," she said softly. "Look at me."
She knew she should have been moving.
Dorothea and Jasper were still somewhere in the library, and every second mattered.
But she couldn't just leave him here.
Not like this.
Joseph slowly raised his head.
Tears poured from his one good eye, spilling silently down his face. He looked barely present, like his mind was still trapped somewhere inside that room.
Wren swallowed hard.
Then, carefully, she switched to sign language.
She wasn't perfect.
Not even close.
But she knew enough, and right now that had to be enough.
She had learned with Arlo and Dorothea a few months ago, the three of them practicing together so they could better communicate with Joseph. Arlo had always been especially patient with him—gentle in a way few people ever got to see. He had treated Joseph like a younger brother.
The memory hit Wren hard enough to sting behind her eyes.
She signed anyway.
"Did you enter the red room?"
Joseph stared at her hands for a moment, then gave a weak nod.
His own trembling fingers moved in reply.
"Unspeakable horror."
"The librarian did not kill her."
"The room did."
Wren felt cold all over.
Her gaze flicked for only a second toward Jolyne's severed head in his hands, then back to him.
She forced herself to keep signing.
"Can you come with me? Please."
"Your sister would want you to live."
Joseph's hands shook so badly he nearly failed the first sign.
But then he answered.
Because he knew she was right.
Because Jolyne's last words—before whatever lived inside that room had taken her—had been for him to survive.
Slowly, Joseph pushed himself to his feet.
He still clutched his sister's head.
He still carried both record books.
And with small, unsteady steps, he moved to follow Wren.
Wren let out a quiet breath and signed one more thing to him.
"We'll give her a proper funeral."
They moved slowly through the library, Wren guiding Joseph with careful steps as they made their way toward Dorothea and Jasper.
Elsewhere, between the shelves, Dorothea and Jasper stood frozen before the horror in front of them.
"Let us out," Jasper snapped, clutching his file tight. "We already have our books, you monster."
Silvia's stretched smile widened.
"Not yet," she said sweetly. "All seven guests currently alive in the library must first obtain their records." She lifted a book in one of her upper hands and gave it a playful little shake. "And Miss Eliza still hasn't found hers."
Her many pupils shifted with delight.
"Not that she ever will."
The spine was clearly visible.
Eliza Miller — Personal Files
Dorothea's eyes widened.
"We need to get that book to Eliza."
The moment the words left Jasper's mouth, Silvia moved.
One of her claws cracked through the air like a whip, lunging straight for Dorothea's throat.
Jasper reacted on instinct.
He shoved Dorothea aside and threw himself into the path of the strike.
The claw raked across his arm instead, slicing through fabric and flesh in a hot, brutal line.
Jasper hissed through his teeth.
Silvia tilted her head, almost amused.
"Do not worry, Jasper," she said with that awful smile. "You are not my target."
One of her lower, bloodied hands pointed delicately toward Dorothea.
"Only this rule breaker."
Jasper glanced at the wound on his arm, then at Silvia, then at the book in her hand.
He let out a long, miserable sigh.
"I'm really going to regret this."
Before Dorothea could ask what he meant, Jasper filled his lungs and shouted at the top of his voice.
"HEY! ELIZA!"
The words tore through the library.
"If you can hear me, the stupid bitch librarian is over here and she's got your book!" He jabbed a finger at Silvia. "So come get your crazy ex and shoot her to death already!"
The echo rolled through the shelves.
For the first time, Silvia looked genuinely stunned.
Her smile faltered.
"Did you just—"
"Run!" Jasper shouted.
He grabbed Dorothea and bolted.
Dorothea ran with him—but not before darting low for one brief second to snatch the orange marigold from beside Elijah's fallen body. The flower was soaked in blood now, its petals dark and ruined, but she clutched it anyway.
As they sprinted past, she caught one final glimpse from the corner of her eye.
The Curator's monstrous form was steaming.
Collapsing inward.
The corruption peeling away as his body returned to something human.
Final proof that he was dead.
A tear slipped down Dorothea's face as she ran.
But she did not slow down.
They ran without looking back.
Bookshelves crashed behind them one after another as Jasper and Dorothea shoved them over in desperation, sending whole rows of records and rotting pages spilling across the floor to choke the paths behind them. Books were hurled blindly over their shoulders, anything to slow her down.
It barely helped.
The Librarian moved with terrifying agility, climbing over fallen shelves, leaping across broken wood and scattered books with inhuman grace. Every obstacle they threw in her way only seemed to sharpen her fury.
Every ruined shelf.
Every torn book.
Every violation of her precious rules.
But neither of them cared anymore.
Not about the rules.
Not about punishment.
Only about surviving.
They turned another corner at full speed and nearly crashed into someone.
Dorothea's heart lurched—
then steadied.
It wasn't Nicholas or Eliza.
But it was still enough.
Wren stood there, Joseph just behind her, both of them clearly startled by the sight of the two charging toward them.
For one brief second, relief flashed across Wren's face.
Then she saw what was chasing them.
"Oh, good," Wren said, tightening her grip on the gun in her hand. "You two are still alive."
Her voice hardened instantly.
"All three of you, run."
She raised the pistol and aimed past them, straight down the ruined aisle.
"I'll hold her off."
June 20th, 1983
At this moment, direct confrontation between the surviving members of Erebus and the organism designated The Librarian formally began.
Of all contaminated organisms encountered and terminated thus far, The Librarian had demonstrated the greatest physical strength.
Furthermore, while her morality had been thoroughly warped and her speech patterns remained visibly influenced by Azathoth, the entity continued to display clear intelligence, strategic judgment, and independent thought.