Speed of a thought

PROLOGUE

Aurora sat wearily on a bench at the police station, her body aching as if the memories weighed her down more than the pain. After years of calling the cops, hoping someone would listen, it had all blurred into a long stretch of waiting. Waiting to be believed. Waiting for someone to intervene before things went too far. But they never came in time—not before the bruises started to feel like a second skin, and not before that final night, when the blade cut through the silence of their home. The look in his eyes when it happened, the coldness in his voice, still haunted her. Now, the wound will soon be a scar on her side that serves as a constant reminder of how close she'd come to losing everything.

"Grayson!" Barry walked into the station, surprised to see his old school classmate.

"Allen." She tried to stand up from the bench, but the pain in her body was still there to remind her. Despite her efforts to look fine, Barry instantly realized she was hurt and came closer to help her stand. The kind of closeness and warm she hasn't felt in a while.

"Are you okay? You look hurt."

"Don't worry, Allen." She held onto his strong arm to stand properly. "Someone got into sports." From what Aurora remembered from school and university, Barry, hated sports. They were both scientists and readers. But Barry didn't acknowledge her joke, too worried about her.

"What are you doing here? Do you need help?" He made sure to hold eye contact with her.

"I had to fill some paperwork for the cops." Barry felt she was being vague on purpose, so he didn't press further. "And you, Allen, what are you doing here?"

"I work here." She looked surprised, so he explained more precisely as he walked her to the office where the police officers—his colleagues—were waiting for her.

Aurora had to return to work, though it had only been a week. But work was work, and now, more than ever, she needed the money. No family, no boyfriend, no close friends to help her. She was always the first to arrive at the National City Library. Today, the usual was scheduled: class visits. Once, they were Aurora's favorite part of the job, but since that night, she avoided crowds. She prepared the space for the kids, setting up pillows she had bought herself—flower, car-shaped, all kinds the children loved. With everything in place and a cup of coffee in hand, she mentally prepared herself to face the onslaught of little questions.

When the class arrived at the library, Aurora greeted them with her warm, soft voice, the kind that immediately made the children feel welcome. "Welcome to the National City Library," she said, her smile gentle yet bright. "You can hang your jackets here," she gestured to the coat rack with a graceful wave of her hand, "and place your shoes neatly by the door in a straight line." Her instructions were clear, but her tone was soothing, almost like a lullaby, instantly putting both the teacher and the children at ease. As the teacher began guiding the children to follow her directions, Aurora continued, speaking in a way that seemed to draw the children's curiosity closer. "Our dear library is one of the oldest buildings in Central City—over 150 years old," she said, pausing just long enough for their young eyes to widen with wonder. "Can you imagine? People once came here by horse-drawn carriages, reading books by candlelight!" Her gentle humor mixed with a little theatrical wonder made the children giggle, and she smiled as she saw the awe spark in their faces. Her voice, warm and inviting, made the old stories of the library's history feel alive to them. The children hung on her every word, enchanted by her warmth and the picture she painted of a long-gone world. She took them by the hand—figuratively and literally—guiding them into the magic of the library, where stories waited for them just like they had for those long-ago visitors. After the tour, Aurora decided to add a new twist to their visit with a fun activity. She introduced the game where they would pick out books for one another, smiling as she saw them eagerly pair up, mostly by friendship, chattering about their favorite stories. Aurora, noticing one child left without a partner, immediately took the little girl by the hand, her heart softening as she knelt down to meet her eye level.