The early morning light filtered through the large windows of the university library, casting a soft glow over the rows of ancient texts. Selene was hunched over a large desk, surrounded by a fortress of books and scattered papers. She had been trying to focus on her doctoral thesis for days, but the quiet hum of the library was no longer a comfort. It was a cage for her racing thoughts.
Her research, once a source of passion, now felt flat and distant. Every ancient tool, every shard of pottery she analyzed, paled in comparison to the memory of the object on Lyra's nightstand. Its impossible shimmer, the unnatural warmth that had jolted through her arm, the dizzying flash of images it had provoked; it had hijacked her focus completely.
She was an archaeologist. She dealt in tangible history, in things that could be measured and dated. But this object defied categorization. It felt less like a relic and more like a key, one that had unlocked a door in her mind she did not know existed.
The lack of sleep was not helping. Since touching the artifact, her dreams had shifted from confusing fragments to intense, visceral experiences. They were no longer just glimpses of a Lyra who looked different; they were full sensory assaults. Last night, she had dreamed of standing on a windswept cliff under twin moons, the taste of salt and despair sharp on her tongue, screaming a name that was not her own into a violent gale. She had wrenched herself awake, her heart pounding, the echo of that foreign grief clinging to her like a shroud.
"Focus, Selene," she muttered to herself, pushing the haunting dream aside. She stared at her laptop screen, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. She had typed the same search terms a dozen times: "artifacts emitting energy," "objects with internal luminescence," "unidentified crystalline relics." The results were always the same; fringe science websites, debunked theories, nothing with academic rigor. Nothing that could explain what she had felt.
Frustrated, she slammed the laptop shut. The sound echoed in the quiet study alcove. The object was an itch in her brain she could not scratch, a puzzle with missing pieces she was not sure existed in this world.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. It was a text from Lyra.
Lyra: "Hey, I noticed you seemed distracted earlier. Everything okay?"
Selene stared at the message. It was an understatement. Distracted did not begin to cover the maelstrom of intense dreams and academic obsession she was battling. This was her chance. She had to know.
Selene: "Yeah, just thinking about a few things. I would love to meet up for coffee later. I have got some time around 3."
Lyra: "Sounds good. Let us meet at our usual spot."
A few hours later, Selene walked into the cozy café. Lyra was already there, seated at their usual corner table, two steaming mugs waiting. She looked up as Selene approached, and for a fleeting moment, Selene saw not the modern librarian, but the grief stricken woman from her dream, her eyes full of a storm under twin moons. She blinked, and the vision was gone.
"Hey," Selene greeted, her voice feeling raw.
"Hey," Lyra replied, her smile gentle but her eyes watchful. "You look tired."
Selene slid into the chair, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "I am. I have not been sleeping well." She took a steadying breath, deciding to plunge in. "Lyra, I need to ask you about something. That object in your room."
She saw it immediately; the subtle stiffening of Lyra's shoulders, the careful neutral mask that dropped over her features.
"I told you, it is just a personal heirloom," Lyra said, her tone even, a practiced deflection.
"It is not just personal," Selene insisted, her voice low but intense. She leaned forward. "I am an archaeologist, Lyra. I have handled artifacts from a dozen different cultures across five millennia. I have never seen or felt anything like that. When I touched it..." She hesitated, not wanting to sound insane. "It did something. I have been having dreams. Vivid, intense dreams that feel more like memories. But they are not mine."
Lyra's eyes widened a fraction, a crack in her composure. She looked genuinely startled, almost alarmed. That was all the confirmation Selene needed.
"Where did it come from?" Selene pressed, her heart hammering. "Please. You have to tell me. I feel like I am losing my mind."
Lyra stared into her coffee, her knuckles white where she gripped her mug. The café's cheerful noise seemed to fade into a distant hum around their tense little table. Finally, she looked up, her expression a turbulent mix of fear and resolve.
"I will tell you," she said, her voice so low Selene had to lean in to hear it. "But not here. Not like this."
She reached across the table, her fingers briefly brushing Selene's wrist. The contact was electric.
"Let us go somewhere private," Lyra whispered. "And I will explain everything."