I left the underwear at home.

By 8:50 the main floor of the library had emptied. The last students trickled out. The overhead lights in the public stacks dimmed to night mode. I finished the final cart with hands that weren’t quite steady, then walked the staff corridor to the rare-book room without being told. The door was unlocked. The humidity log clipboard hung in its usual place. Harlan Voss stood near the reading table with his sleeves rolled up, waiting.

He looked at me once—slow, thorough—and nodded at the door.

“Lock it.”

I locked it. The soft click sounded final in the climate-controlled quiet. Harlan walked toward me, eyes...