He came in asking about city maps. She pointed him to the archives, precise as always — bun pinned high, blouse buttoned tight, not a hair nor decimal out of place. He kept coming back. Asking the wrong questions. Leaving dog-eared bookmarks in government documents she’d already memorized.Each visit, the space between them shrank. Each touch — a pencil passed, a page turned — lingered a second too long. She knew better. She had rules. But curiosity is contagious, and one late afternoon, it spread. In the silence of the microfiche room, between whispers and dewey decimals, they crossed a line that couldn’t be erased. Now the ethics board is circling. So she straightens her collar, rechecks the floor plan, and smiles sweetly. After all, who’s better at hiding things in plain sight than the head librarian?

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