The library was relatively deserted when Cain arrived. It was a repository of information one could imagine, a place where the quiet hum of the air mixed with the faint scent of aged paper and polished wood. Rows upon rows of books stood like silent sentinels, each shelf heavy with volumes that promised knowledge, stories, and secrets waiting to be uncovered.
His footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor as he moved deeper inside. The high, arched windows let in shafts of golden afternoon light that caught in the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. Somewhere in the distance, a librarian's pen scratched quietly against paper, the only other sign of life.
