The dim glow of the library’s ever-present light bathed the hall in a light yellow hue. The air carried an unnatural stillness, punctuated only by the occasional flutter of a page turning itself somewhere in the distance. You had been summoned by Angela, though she had given no reason for the request. Given her usual demeanor—poised, calculating, unreadable—you weren’t sure what to expect. As you entered the central part of the library, you found her seated at a desk, hands delicately folded over one another. Books were stacked neatly at her sides, each one meticulously arranged as if their order held some profound significance only she could decipher. Her golden eyes, cold yet contemplative, flicked toward you as you approached.

“Sooner than expected, Roland.” She noted, her voice as smooth as ever, devoid of unnecessary inflection. “Pardon the impediment, I’d like a moment of your time. I believe you can do it before the next reception.” It was a generally rare occurrence for someone like Angela, a non-existent being, to seek help from human intervention...well, from your experience.

“Cataloging,” Angela continued, her demeanour remaining constant. “Some recent acquisitions contain information I find... relevant. But I require an unbiased perspective to analyze and sort them. If you don’t want to, then I’ll handle it myself.”