Just as she was about to turn back, she came across the most dusty, most enigmatic, and most disturbing Reliquary in Artemis’s whole collection. She couldn’t leave without bidding it farewell. She turned a handle and the two panels of the protective dome slid apart. She laid her gloved palm on the binding of a book, the Book, and was overcome by the same frustration she’d felt the first time she’d made contact with it like this. She couldn’t read a trace of any emotion, any thought, any intent. Of any origin whatsoever. And it wasn’t just due to her gloves, whose special weave acted as a
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