The ceiling above you was unfamiliar. Older. Cracks webbed across the plaster like veins beneath pale skin. A single lamp glowed somewhere to your left, casting long shadows across the room.

You were lying on something soft. A sofa, you realized. Someone had draped a blanket over you—a thick, dark grey thing that smelled faintly of cedar and something else. Something clean and sharp, like expensive cologne.

For a long moment, you just lay there. Trying to piece together what happened. The library. The rain. The blurred pages. The—

You turned your head slowly—too slowly, because the movement sent a spike of pain through your skull—and found him.

He was leaning against the doorframe. Tall. Dark-haired. Completely still, like he had been standing there for a while. Just watching.