## Mid Spring, Rain Against the Furnace Pipes

I spent most of today repairing heaters in the western halls. It was an unremarkable task, but a necessary one. The older furnace systems beneath the Archive always demand attention when the seasons begin to change. Pipes expand, pressure valves become stubborn, and steam develops an uncanny ability to gather precisely where one would rather it did not.

Ordinarily I enjoy this sort of work because it asks only for patience. Today, however, the western halls were unusually quiet, even by the Archive's standards. There were no settling pipes, no distant preservation lifts, and none of the familiar dripping of condensation somewhere behind the walls. Only the rain against the conservatory glass far overhead. I had not realised how accustomed I had become to hearing the Archive quietly answer itself until those sounds disappeared.

Clio accompanied me through the maintenance corridors for most of the morning carrying one of my leather gloves in her mouth for reasons known only to herself. Every time I retrieved it she vanished around the nearest corner before presenting it to me again a few minutes later with unmistakable satisfaction. Eventually I admitted defeat and allowed her to keep it. Some victories are simply not worth pursuing, and the Archive always feels a little kinder when Clio decides to make an ordinary day unnecessarily complicated.

Muninn remained absent for almost the whole day. I caught sight of him only once near sunset, circling beyond the conservatory ceiling where fog pressed against the outer glass. Whether he was watching the storm or something hidden within it, I could not tell.

While repairing a pressure valve near Furnace Hall C I uncovered several old markings carved into the stone beneath layers of rust and mineral deposits. They were clearly much older than the surrounding maintenance work. Most had weathered beyond recognition, but fragments of the familiar spirals still remained beside what may once have been writing. I am beginning to resent those spirals, not because of what they are, but because they feel increasingly familiar. It is as though I have walked past them for years without ever truly seeing them until now.

Without thinking very much about it, I fetched a wire brush and carefully scrubbed away what remained of the carvings. The decision felt instinctive, almost protective. Afterwards the western halls seemed quieter. I would not say they felt safer, but the strange sense of being watched had eased enough that I noticed its absence. I know how unreasonable that sounds, yet I recognised the change immediately.

By dusk I returned to the conservatory and found Clio asleep beside the central fountain with my missing glove tucked neatly beneath her head. I decided she had probably earned it. Rain drifted steadily across the glass ceiling, blurring the garden lanterns until the whole room looked almost submerged beneath moving water. It was one of those evenings when the conservatory seemed impossibly old and impossibly peaceful, and for a little while the Archive felt like itself again.

The bells interrupted that feeling.

They rang only three times, slow and distant, from somewhere beneath the foundations. There was no movement from the preservation lifts, no vibration through the stone, and when the final tone faded the silence returned almost immediately. Clio lifted her head at once, though she did not seem frightened. She simply turned towards the eastern halls and listened.

Less than a minute later Muninn descended from the rafters and landed beside the fountain. Neither of them looked towards the place where the bells had come from. They looked at me instead. It was such a small thing, but I had the unmistakable impression that they were waiting to see what I would decide.

I stayed in the conservatory until the rain finally passed. Tonight, for the first time since I began keeping these journals, I locked the study door before going to bed. I am still not entirely certain whether I did so for my own peace of mind or for the Archive's.

— M