She put the book back on the shelf. Cleaned the pen. Replaced the ink. Checked the room — every surface, every object, every microscopic disturbance that a vampire's senses might detect. She had learned, in Viregate, that vampires could smell the residue of human presence on objects for hours after the human had left. She had learned to minimize her trace — to touch as few surfaces as possible, to breathe shallowly, to move through spaces the way water moves through stone, leaving no mark except the gradual, imperceptible erosion that only becomes visible after centuries.
She left the library. Locked the door behind her. The Thornward mechanism re-engaged with the same soft click, and the corridor was dark and silent, and no one had seen, and no one would know, because Elenora Wren was the most invisible woman in Bellmere, and she had made invisibility into an art form.
