The Archive was massive, moody, and packed with more dust than a neglected cupboard in a bachelor uncle's house. Rows and rows of towering bookshelves loomed over Leo and Vellum as they tiptoed between them like a couple of chaat thieves sneaking through a closed bazaar.
"Keep your voice down," Vellum whispered, dramatically glancing over his shoulder. "We're technically not supposed to be in this section."
Leo scoffed. "Says the guy who almost set off a singing alarm statue with a yo mama joke."
"That statue had it coming," Vellum muttered.
They stopped in front of a shelf that looked older than the concept of rent. Vellum ran a finger across the cracked spine of a faded leather-bound book. "Here. This might be it."
Leo pulled it down, blowing off a cloud of dust so dense it made him cough like an old scooter trying to start. The title read:
"The Fundamental Madness of the Forgotten Tongue: A Beginner's Curse."
"Well that's... comforting," Leo muttered.
He flipped it open and scanned the scribbles. Pages of strange, jagged symbols. Diagrams of mouths positioned like they were trying to whistle and sneeze at the same time. It looked like a how-to manual for accidentally summoning your ex.
"Looks like a 1+1 offer," Leo joked. "Learn a language and summon a demon—free of charge!"
Vellum snorted. "Only if you butcher the pronunciation like last time. Rest in peace, Tolla's eyebrows."
They read for a bit, sitting cross-legged in a nook surrounded by dim candlelight. The book hinted at ways ancient languages could control emotions, even alter the environment subtly. It made Leo remember the overwhelming whispers in the alleyway. This was bigger than he thought.
Then came the problem: footsteps.
"Someone's coming," Vellum hissed.
Leo's eyes darted around. "Back door?"
"Nope."
"Secret passage?"
"Do I look like a cartoon?"
Then both of them spotted it—an old arched window, half-open, letting in the faint evening breeze.
Without another word, they made a dash. Leo hoisted the book under his arm like a biryani parcel and climbed through with a graceful stumble. Vellum followed, nearly faceplanting on the way down.
As they dusted themselves off outside, Leo looked up at the window and blinked.
"Wait… could we have entered through this too?"
Vellum paused. Then turned to him. "We are not talking about it."
Leo patted the book. "Let's never tell Ari."
They slipped into the night, book in hand, and questions buzzing like autorickshaws in peak traffic.