Week 0 - Less than twenty-four hours earlier…

  Calanthe’s section of the liminal Library was exactly forty-three meters by twelve—carved from infinite chaos by her own stubbornness and a fraction of ambient gold mana.

  It was her private Biblioteca Palafoxiana; warm walnut shelves reached the ceiling with rows broken at measured intervals by ochre columns. The upper gallery could only be reached by a spiral staircase.

  The soul-books in their nests of battered leather covers gave off faint whispers; sometimes in languages she did not know, sometimes in the wailing code of the Narrative Causality Engine itself.

  ***

  She had just finished a double-row survey: spines checked for fraying, metadata updated, anomalous essence leaks patched.

  Calanthe’s favorite part of end-of-day was the checklist. On a paper ledger she wrote:

  Section 12A (Soul Stream): DUSTED, ORDERED, NO ESCAPES.

  Section 12B (Floating Cases): AMENDED, 1x NEW ENTRY, 1x PROBATIONARY.

  Section 12C: (Phantom Remainders): CONTAINED, MINIMAL SHRIEKING.

  She thumbed the edge of the ledger, then made a crisp line under the last entry. It was almost satisfying enough to outweigh the next obligation.

  “Administrator,” she said, projecting her voice just above a whisper. The library could eavesdrop if it wanted, but she preferred to pretend it couldn’t. “Boss, your audit is ready.”

  There was no reply, which meant he was either in his office or asleep with his eyes open again. She supposed she would have to walk.

  Calanthe replaced the ledger on its hook and locked the case with a brass key, pressing it against her lips before dropping it in her sleeve pocket.

  On the way to the stair, she paused beside the bookcase that contained “Her Own File.” She pretended not to glance at it, but the shelf always creaked, mocking her restraint. Inside: a slim, red-spined volume. She never opened it.

  She took the spiral steps two at a time, light as a feather in the liminal body. At the landing, a ghost peered through the banister, trying to attract her attention. Calanthe considered ignoring it, but she prided herself on accurate reporting.

  “Yes?” she asked, not stopping.

  “Am I in hell?” the ghost asked, in a tone that suggested it might start shrieking if not addressed promptly.

  “No,” said Calanthe. “You’re in the Library.”

  The ghost blinked. “Is that better?”

  “Depends if you like reading,” Calanthe said. “Or being read.” She made a note to transfer this one to a less inquisitive wing. Or perhaps to the cafeteria, where the scent of cinnamon rolls sometimes pacified new arrivals.

  ***

  Calanthe stopped at the border where her custom space met the greater infinity.

  Beyond, the Library proper shifted and rearranged in ways that made her want to squint. Infinite shelves flickered in and out of alignment. Sometimes the corridor doubled back on itself, and sometimes she’d find herself walking past her own reflection, slightly out of sync, in a panel of blue glass.

  She paused for a moment to examine herself. The afterlife had given her a face somewhere between the girl she’d always wanted to see in the mirror and a woman she knew from her time as a surgeon: mid-twenties, stubborn line between her brows, red hair pulled into a low ponytail.

  She continued to the administrator’s suite where the nameplate read: BELUS, DEMIURGIC OFFICER (also: “The Boss”)

  She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked. The door dissolved.

  “Report,” said the man behind the desk, not looking up from the infinite stack of soul files he pretended to be reviewing.

  Calanthe entered, trying hard not to look too grumpy. The office was both vast and claustrophobic, lined with an odd mixture of ledgers, files, and ancient stone tablets. Behind the administrator’s head, the starscape flickered, constantly rearranged by his moods.

  “Section 12 completed for the day,” she said, reciting from memory. “No major incidents, two minor errors corrected, one new soul in processing.” She hesitated, just long enough for him to notice. “No narrative anomalies.”

  Belus was the sort of man who’d have made a decent executive in life: silver-streaked hair, eyes like old coins, posture that implied he might stand up if only you were worth the effort.

  “You missed a recurrence,” he said. “Tier three, Row Eight. File: Huang.”

  “I handled it,” said Calanthe, voice flat. “It didn’t reach the threshold. I refiled and relabeled with cause.”

  “Mm.” The administrator closed the folder with an unnecessary flourish. “You’re getting efficient.”

  “I’m always efficient,” Calanthe said, and then, remembering the last staff memo, added, “Sir.”

  Belus leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. “You know you’re the only one still taking this seriously, right?” he said. “The rest of them punch the clock, coast for a few eons, and leave. You, Calanthe, are obsessed.”

  “I don’t have anything better to do,” she said. This was not a joke.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  He eyed her. “Have you thought about your next assignment?”

  “I like it here.”

  “That’s not an answer.” He flicked a paperweight—a crystal globe filled with stars and shifting ink—toward her side of the desk. “You have options. Most souls would kill for a choice shot at the next life.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Belus sighed. “All right. I’ll process your audit. Same time tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Unless there’s an emergency.”

  “There’s always an emergency, Calanthe,” he sighed. “Which means there never really is one.”

  She inclined her head, turned, and left before he could say anything else.

  Back in her section, the lanterns were just as she’d left them. She circled the perimeter, checking each for fullness, then paused beside her own file again. She touched the spine, just once, and listened for a whisper.

  Nothing.

  Tomorrow would be the same. She found comfort in that.

  ***

  A week into the job and Zhou Yu still had the grace of an over-caffeinated squirrel.

  Calanthe nearly collided with her on the second gallery, where the shelving narrowed.

  “Watch it!” Zhou Yu called, losing an armload of scrolls.

  Calanthe stopped short, hand on the baluster, and let the scrolls roll past her sandals.

  Zhou Yu, already red in the face, huffed and crouched to gather her paperwork. “No one told me these things were so heavy,” she muttered. “Also, the shelving keeps moving when I’m not looking. Is that normal?”

  “Welcome to the liminal Library,” Calanthe said, kneeling to help. She picked up a scroll and squinted at the seal. “Bureau of Oversight? I thought you were Collection Management.”

  “Apparently, I’m ‘flexible.’” Zhou Yu did air quotes, then nearly dropped her entire load again.

  “Most quit before the second week,” said Calanthe, handing her the least crumpled of the scrolls.

  “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  “It’s a compliment.” Calanthe stood and dusted her palms. “Means you’re stubborn.”

  Zhou Yu tucked the scrolls under her arm, struggling to keep her hair out of her face. “I’m only here until the paperwork clears,” she said. “After that, I’m gone. Should have reincarnated on day one.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Calanthe asked.

  “I wanted a peek at the next world first.” Zhou Yu’s eyes darted to the shelves, like she expected the books to eavesdrop. “Can you blame me? My last life was a dumpster fire. I deserve a break.”

  Calanthe took a step back, arms crossed. “You’re aiming for being a Protagonist, then.”

  Zhou Yu’s face brightened. “You think I have a shot?”

  Calanthe shrugged. “High probability of wrongful death, strong preference for novelty, below-average impulse control. You’re exactly what the Engine wants.”

  Zhou Yu grinned, then shot Calanthe a sideways look. “What about you?”

  “I like it here,” Calanthe said.

  “That’s not what I heard.” Zhou Yu leaned in, dropping her voice. “They say you’ve been around for… how long, exactly?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I’m just saying. Most people get bored.”

  “I don’t get bored.” Calanthe bent to pick up the last errant scroll. “And I’m not most people.”

  “Well, that part is obvious," Zhou Yu replied, taking the scroll back from her supervisor. "You know what I heard? That in your last life, you were a man. I’m thinking of trying it out for myself as well.”

  Calanthe blinked. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

  “No, I mean, really! Were you?” Zhou Yu’s eyes sparkled with the thrill of a minor office scandal.

  Calanthe considered ignoring her. She considered a half-dozen snappy retorts, but finally said, “That’s what my file says.”

  “Wow.” Zhou Yu drew out the word, savoring it. “Was it fun?”

  Calanthe almost laughed. “You get used to it.”

  “But you’re a girl now. Was that on purpose?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Calanthe said, rolling her shoulders to dismiss the question.

  “I’m just curious,” Zhou Yu pressed. “Would you want to be a guy again in your next life? Or have you always wanted to be a girl?”

  Calanthe paused, looking past Zhou Yu to where the infinity shimmered. “I’m not reincarnating,” she said. “So the question’s irrelevant.”

  Zhou Yu cocked her head, still holding her stack of scrolls in a death grip. “Why not? Scared?”

  “Of course not.” Calanthe turned her gaze back. “What’s there to be scared about? I’m a girl here, aren’t I?”

  “Sure, but...” Zhou Yu faltered, looking suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to… I just thought you’d have a better answer.”

  “That is my answer.” Calanthe let the moment hang, then softened. “Why do you care, anyway?”

  “I just… wondered if you’d done it all, you know? Lived the big stories, gone to the interesting places. Some of us never get the shot.” She hesitated, then grinned. “Guess I’m making up for it now.”

  Calanthe’s mouth twitched. “If you want advice, stick to the plan. If you try to hack the Engine, it’ll find a way to bite you.”

  “Too late for that,” Zhou Yu said. “I already submitted my request for an overpowered build. With a harem, obviously.”

  Calanthe raised her eyebrows but didn’t answer.

  “I’ve got the stats for it.”

  “You might want to read the fine print,” Calanthe said, deadpan. “The last guy who asked for that ended up in a harem-otome game. As a side character.”

  Zhou Yu paled. “You’re joking.”

  "Maybe you’ll luck out," Calanthe replied, smiling; which seemed to bother Zhou Yu more than a denial would have. “But if you do get into problems in the next life, just shout really loudly. I might be able to help you if I hear you.”

  They stood there, Zhou Yu fiddling with her paperwork, Calanthe standing in practiced stillness.

  “So what now?” Zhou Yu asked.

  “I have an audit,” Calanthe said. “If you want a tip, refile those before the end of shift or they’ll sprout feet and walk off.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Last week, one tried to bite me.”

  Zhou Yu looked at her scrolls with new trepidation, then at Calanthe, uncertain if she was being mocked. “Thanks. I think.”

  “Good luck,” Calanthe said, turning away. She could feel Zhou Yu watching her as she strode down the aisle, but resisted the urge to look back.

  ***

  Calanthe hadn’t made it three steps into the corridor before someone pounced. Calanthe flinched, expecting a junior spirit or maybe an errant filing error, but the reality was worse: Abyssa, the administrator’s sister, materialized from the interstitial shadows, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “Callie!” Abyssa sang, which no one else dared. “You’re early. Or late. I never get your schedule right.”

  Abyssa wore a hanfu that rippled teal to midnight blue with every footstep, eyes big and dark as the deep sea. When she hugged you, it was impossible to say no, but Calanthe tried anyway.

  “Hi, Abyssa,” said Calanthe, attempting to steer herself out of the embrace. “I have an audit.”

  “You always have an audit,” Abyssa said, but let go, hovering at an uncomfortably close distance. “You should come see the new pond. I put in a coral reef. The koi love it.”

  “Sounds nice. I’m busy.”

  “You’re always busy!” Abyssa poked Calanthe squarely in the forehead. “That’s not healthy, you know. When’s the last time you took a break?”

  Calanthe batted her hand away. “Are you checking my story again? It hasn’t changed. I don’t want it to change.”

  Abyssa pouted, exaggerated and theatrical. “Boring,” she declared. “But I get it. You like stability. Still…” She trailed off, then shifted gears with predatory speed. “So, did you fix that mess at the One Sky Pavilion? The romance section?”

  “Handled,” Calanthe said, sharper than intended.

  Abyssa’s smile broadened. “Ooh, that was quick. Did you whisper in his ear?”

  “I nudged the narrative,” said Calanthe. “Minimal interference.”

  “You know, if you keep being that competent, they’re going to move you up,” Abyssa said. “Maybe even give you a starring role.”

  Calanthe winced. “No, please. That’s the last thing I want.”

  Abyssa giggled. “I know, I know. But wouldn’t it be fun to have your own arc for once? Not just patch up other people’s?”

  “No,” Calanthe said, voice flat.

  “Suit yourself,” Abyssa said. Then, with an abruptness that was almost touching, she leaned in and kissed Calanthe’s forehead, right where she’d poked her. “For luck. You’ll need it.”

  Calanthe made a show of wiping the spot, but Abyssa just laughed and skipped away, humming something that sounded suspiciously like a sitcom jingle. The sound echoed off the stone, lingering long after she’d vanished.

  About 1 hour later—give or take a few minutes—Calanthe was fired.