Children of Gambit

Klein and I walked through the silent halls of the library, but if I'm being honest— I had no idea where we were actually going. He, on the other hand, seemed entirely sure of himself, his posture relaxed, hands in his pockets, as if he were taking a casual evening stroll rather than investigating a mystery.

I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. "So, uhh—where exactly are we heading?" I asked, finally voicing the question that had been nagging me for the past five minutes.

"The west side of the building," Klein replied flatly, his voice just as indifferent as always. It almost blended with the heavy silence of the library's gothic interior—high, shadowed ceilings, dust-heavy air, and towering shelves that loomed over us like silent watchers.

His answer made me pause. "Wait, didn't the librarian say that the west side was off-limits?"

"She said it had inconsistent cataloguing and advised students not to waste their time there," he corrected, still not looking at me. "But we're not here for books, are we?"

Fair point. But that didn't answer my next concern.

"So why do you think there's a lead in that section?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. Klein never did anything without a reason—he never acted on impulse or for fun. If he chose to investigate the west side, there had to be something there.

He sighed slightly, his gaze scanning the endless rows of shelves ahead. "I'm not completely sure," he admitted, "but I have a hunch based on something the librarian said."

I raised a brow. "And that is…?"

Klein stopped walking and turned to face me. That's when I noticed—he wasn't even wearing his school blazer. Just a plain ash-colored button-up, sleeves rolled slightly, his usual disheveled appearance making him stand out in a place like this.

"The librarian always makes a point to mention the west side when I check out or return a book," he said, tilting his head slightly. "It's not just a passing comment—she says it like a reminder… every single time."

That was strange.

"If she repeats it like a warning, then maybe she doesn't just want students avoiding that section because it's inconvenient," I mused. "Maybe she's actively trying to keep people away… without making it obvious."

"Exactly."

Klein turned away and stepped further into the rows of shelves. The deeper we went, the more dust filled the air, the bookshelves appearing increasingly neglected. Unlike the rest of the library, where everything was in pristine order, this side was… abandoned.

I trailed behind him, glancing at the books lining the shelves. I pulled one out absentmindedly and squinted at the cover.

"Phenelope and the Casgardian Prince."

I frowned. "Isn't this supposed to be in the fantasy section? What's it doing here in realism?"

Klein scoffed as he pulled out another book and inspected it. He blew on it, sending a cloud of dust into my face.

"Hey! What the hell, man?!" I waved the dust away, glaring at him.

"Relax," he said, completely unfazed. "Didn't see you standing there."

I squinted at him suspiciously, but he ignored me, flipping through the book.

"Look closely," he said, showing me the inside of the cover. "The ownership stamp on these books is different from the one on the books in my bag."

I quickly unzipped Klein's bag, pulled out one of the books we borrowed earlier, and flipped to the front page. Sure enough, the stamp was completely different.

"That means the library never updated this section," I muttered.

Klein nodded. "The dust, the outdated stamps, the chaotic cataloguing… All of it suggests that this section hasn't been maintained in years." His tone was relaxed, but I could tell he was piecing things together.

But something still didn't click. "Okay, so the west side is abandoned… but what does that have to do with the hidden passage?"

Klein glanced at me, then at the rows of bookshelves ahead. "If she had to keep students away from here, wouldn't you think that could also mean she's hiding something?"

That did make sense.

"And since she's a staff member, she'd have orders from higher-ups to make sure no one gets too curious," he added.

A realization settled in my mind. "…Then that means the passage is somewhere around here."

"Assuming the architectural structure and the rumors you told me are correct, then yes," Klein confirmed, his voice calm but slightly skeptical.

Wait—architecture?

I tilted my head. "What do you mean by the structure?"

Klein gave me a look. "It's architecture. Not a big word for you, right?"

I sighed. "Of course I know what it means."

But I had a feeling Klein was seeing something I wasn't.

Klein stopped in front of the bookshelf he had been eyeing moments ago, his gaze lingering as if confirming something.

"Hey, Keith, come look at this," he called, his voice calm but firm.

I quickened my pace, stepping beside him. "What is it?"

"These books," Klein pointed at the shelf. "They're the only ones here arranged properly—categorized by genre, neatly aligned, unlike the rest of this section."

Now that he mentioned it, the difference was obvious. The other shelves were chaotic, books shoved into random spots, some even stacked sideways. But this particular shelf? Pristine. Intentional.

Klein pulled three books from the row, handing one to me while he examined the other two. His fingers traced the titles as he read aloud.

"Illusions of Space."

"Reflections on the Other Side."

I glanced down at mine. The cover was old, the title barely visible beneath the dust. I wiped it off and read, "Don't Point the Light at Me."

A strange chill ran down my spine. I looked up to find Klein already staring at me, the corners of his mouth twitching in thought.

"This is weird," I muttered. "It's almost like they're—"

"Pointing toward something," Klein finished, his eyes flickering with the spark of realization. He turned abruptly, scanning the rows of bookshelves before making his way further down the aisle.

I followed, watching as he pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Klein didn't answer, his attention locked onto the spaces between the bookshelves. He moved quickly, sweeping the light across the gaps, his usually half-lidded eyes now sharp with focus.

His movements were frantic but calculated, like he was piecing together a puzzle no one else could see.

Then, suddenly—

"Keith, over here."

I rushed to his side. Klein was crouching, his flashlight aimed at a narrow gap between two shelves. The light hit something—something that reflected it back at us.

I squinted. "What the hell?"

"It's metal," Klein murmured. He ran a finger along the edge, then rubbed his thumb against it. "And it's not just any metal—this one reflects more than the others."

I hesitated. "So?"

Klein handed me his phone. "Check the other spaces."

I did as he said, shining the light through different gaps. The reflection was there, but weaker. The further I moved, the dimmer it got. I returned to the first spot and—

Yeah, this one was different. The reflection was sharper, almost blinding.

"This one stands out," I admitted, turning back to Klein. "But that still doesn't mean—"

"Silver." Klein cut me off, his voice certain. "It's silver."

I frowned. "And that matters because...?"

"Silver reflects 94% of light—way more than aluminum or steel. If they needed something to hide an entrance, silver would be the perfect material. It blends in, but under the right light, it stands out just enough."

I blinked. "You're telling me there's a hidden passage behind the bookshelf?"

"Think about it," Klein continued. "Those books—'Illusions of Space,' 'Reflections on the Other Side,' 'Don't Point the Light at Me'—they all hint at something hidden, something you can only see under the right conditions."

My stomach twisted. "And what about the librarian? You think she's in on this?"

Klein leaned back on his heels, tilting his head slightly. "If there wasn't something here, why would she go out of her way to warn students not to come to this side of the library? She could've just let the messy cataloging do its job."

Damn. He was right.

Then I noticed something else—something Klein had been absentmindedly rolling between his fingers.

"Wait. Is that... oil?"

Klein nodded. "Lubricant. And guess where I found it?"

My eyes widened. "On the bookshelf?"

"This one is an inch taller than the others. Barely noticeable, but just enough to indicate it moves. A hidden door disguised as an ordinary shelf."

For a second, we just stood there, the realization settling between us. The stillness of the library pressed down like a heavy weight, the distant ticking of a clock the only sound breaking the silence.

Then Klein turned to me, a rare flicker of excitement in his usually indifferent expression.

"You ready to move this thing?"

I exhaled, shaking off the eerie feeling creeping up my spine.

"Let's do it."