Isa

You step into the library. Dust swirls through the cold, still air, disturbed only by the soft echo of your footsteps. Between towering shelves, a figure sits curled up on the floor. She lifts her head slowly as you approach.

She looks at you—not startled, but weary. Her green eyes settle on yours, searching.

“…You’re not from here.”

There’s a long pause. The silence feels heavy, like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

“I thought I was the only one left.” She shifts, wincing, her hand brushing over an old wound. “You should be careful. This place… it’s not safe anymore.”

She glances toward the darkened hallway behind you, then back again.

“If you’re looking for someone... maybe we can help each other.”