East Side Freedom Library Novels & Stories

"Clause Twenty-Seven: Care is carried in habit." --- 11:47 AM – North Road Market Strip, Renovation Site Scaffolding clung to what was left of the old public library. Vendors were back on the roadside, repurposed tarps flapping above. Reconstruction was patchy—restored by memory and need alike. Caelan snapped a photo of a hand-scrawled sign tied to a beam: This place remembers kids reading here. Elira took it down. A construction worker glanced over. "You taking a list of what the buildings say?"

I clearly heard the instructions Sain gave them and that is not something that needs to be delayed especially now that they already figured out the Mafia Romano. I took a deep breath. "Does the library located in the west wing?" I inquire. "No, it's in the north east at the end of the hallway near the-" "Got it," I cut him off. "I'll go get him" I smile and turn around. I already where is that library he is talking about. That's the place where I heard Nicolai and Sain talk about Laurent Alcatraz.

I drive pass a barbershop with a spinning red-and-white pole, and a thrift store with mannequins posed and draped in vintage fashion. Then I see it—a stone building with ivy curling up its sides. The sign out front reads: Hadley Township Public Library. The windows are dark, but the sign on the door is flipped to OPEN. I park half a block away and lock the car out of habit. Rex sits in the passenger seat, wilted but defiant.

Just some fairytale about a troll and a lamb? Trinity let go of the wheelchair handles and drifted off toward one of the shelves. “Ignore me while I go take a look at those rectangular books of yours,” she hummed under her breath. “Sure,” Kayden said, pretending not to care, though I could tell he was watching her very closely. “Is this the library of the ‘East Wing,’ or are others also allowed here?” Trinity interrogated, peeking through one of the shelves. Kayden clicked his tongue. “East Wing.”

Alice replied. "Do you mean in that plaza?" I pointed an index finger to the plaza where there are some boys playing basketball. "Yeah, is there any other plaza here?" Alice replied. "I don't know, you can now go to where you want to go, just don't forget to go back here at the right time," I reminded. "Don't worry Kaila, we are partners in crime, so don't doubt that I will not go back here because my freedom also lies to the people you had killed. Let me just asked you if why you seemed to miss me quickly if I will go somewhere?"

“You absolutely cannot go there.” She nearly looked ready to faint as she followed me through the hallway. “Alpha will be furious, Luna.” Ignoring her fear, I kept walking calmly. “It’s just a library, Lauren.” “It is not just a library,” she hissed. “Everyone avoids that place for a reason.” I raised my brow. “What reason?” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “They say the east wing is haunted.” I snorted. “Haunted?” Lauren nodded seriously. “Servants hear strange noises there at night. Some say old spirits wander those halls.”

I wasn't much of a reader, plus too many books kinda freaked me out a bit. The library sat in the east of the yard. I hurried over to the east building, my heart pounding in my chest. Since Daisy left, Dexter started to spend the majority of his free time in the library, so if she returned, he would surely find a way to keep her there. Thinking about having to search each room for her made my head ache though. The library was huge. It felt like the universe had my back when I realized I didn't have to do any of that since the basement door was a bit open.

CHERRY’S POV The library in the East Wing was a tomb of expensive leather and silent secrets. I was curled in an oversized velvet armchair, the kind that made me feel small and insignificant, trying to focus on a book about estate law. Jasmine had jokingly called it my "New Bible," but the words were just black ants crawling across the page. My mind was elsewhere stuck on the heavy, possessive way Adrian had looked at me this morning, and the cold, miles-long distance he had put between us since.

“Back window is free.” Freeda climbed the narrow, creaking stairs, her footsteps careful but confident. Upstairs, the small room spread before her: six uneven tables, floorboards that complained under her weight, a shelf of secondhand books whose pages smelled like time, and the subtle hum of quiet purpose. Two women bent over a stack of papers near the wall. A student with headphones by the front window scribbled in a notebook. No one turned her into a headline. No one leaned in to ask if she was okay. The space existed without waiting for her permission. She took the back table, placing her notebook, the James Fund folder, and a pen in a deliberate line. Through the window, she could see l