The La Paz County Library wasn’t much to look at from the outside, an unassuming square building that seemed more at home in a dusty, forgotten corner of the world than in a place that actually had books. Still, there was a kind of charm to it, a small town library, the kind where you could lose yourself in rows of forgotten knowledge, tucked away in corners where time slowed down. It was a place where you could find something useful if you were determined enough, and in my line of work, that was often a necessity.
Rachelle, Spitfire, and Pastor Brooks were with me today, as the rest of the team had either been busy with other tasks or, in the case of X and J, enjoying some much-needed father-son time away from the chaos. Rachelle was already halfway through the front door, her phone in hand as she pulled up the library’s hours on a digital map. She moved with that purposeful efficiency she was known for, determined to get us the answers we needed without wasting time.
Spitfire, as al
