Claire Porter volunteered at the library every Thursday because comfort and familiarity were the only currencies that held their value for her these days.

After sorting returns, she pushed her library cart past New Fiction, shelving Biographies P–S, then dropped a bookmark in the drawer of lost things she kept like a museum: reading glasses, a bus pass, a single glove that refused to be claimed.

“Want me to start with Large Print or DVDs?” Eli asked, hovering. Seventeen going on shrug. Eli was a high-school volunteer stacking hours for college applications. He’d already asked Claire if she would write a reference when his hours were done.

“Large Print,” she said. “They riot when you hide their favorites.”

He smirked and headed for Large Print. Claire eased her cart along Periodicals. The printer coughed the way it always did when someone chose stapled when they meant collated. She reached for the magazine binder, stepped into the narrow aisle, and stopped.

A doorknob where a wall should have been. The door was nondescript, unmarked, set into what had been solid wall. The knob looked wrong for a public building: unused, lacquer unbroken, as if no one had ever tried it.

She frowned, replaying the map of this corner in her head. Fire extinguisher, bulletin board that always asked for volunteers, comfy reading chairs. Never a door.

“New storage?” she called toward the desk. The librarian was mid checkout. No one answered.

Claire touched the knob. Warm.

The room behind it was small and careful, evenly lit. A desk. A ledger. A man with gray hair looked up as if she were right on time.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Porter,” he said. She wasn’t wearing a badge.

She stayed at the threshold. “Have we met?”

 “I’m Mr. Keene,” he said. “This is the Annex. We lend days.”