Northwestern Library Novels & Stories

For the first time in over a week, my day belonged entirely to Northbridge. After my morning lectures, I headed for the library with my laptop, camera, and a growing list of assignments I had been politely ignoring while my life revolved around Easton. The quiet was familiar, almost comforting. Nobody here cared about hockey statistics or feature articles. They cared about headlines, interviews, deadlines, and whether a photograph could tell a story before a caption ever had to.

"Good luck. Results in two weeks." I nodded, pocketing the receipt, and stepped back into the sunlight, phone buzzing in my pocket. Nolan: Third floor stacks. Northeast corner. Bring that filthy mouth. And hurry—I'm already hard thinking about you on your knees. Heat flooded me anew, a fresh ache blooming between my legs. I was already running, dodging students on the quad, my backpack thumping against my side. The library loomed ahead, a massive stone building with arched windows and the faint scent of old books wafting out as I pushed through the doors. The first floor was bustling—study groups whispering, printers whirring—but I headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time, p

' "I'll be there, Dom." I waited until he left for his "lacrosse practice" before heading to the library archives. It was 11:00 PM. The archives were tucked in the basement of the North Wing, a labyrinth of dust and silence where the university kept the rare architectural blueprints. I had the keys because of my scholarship. I needed to upload the final 3D renders of my thesis to the main server. It was my ticket out of this gilded cage. The air in the basement was damp and smelled of old paper. As I reached the heavy oak doors of the restricted stacks, I heard it.

"You should head home, Juls," I hear a voice, and when I look up from my work, Adrian stands over me. "I will, but first I need to finish my paragraph," I reply with a smile. One of the few places at Northwestern with a microform reader is the Early Modern department, where I've been working on this project for a while.

No matter what the reason, a lie couldn’t be hidden for long and neither can the schemes of others, sooner or later she will find out what her dear meant by his pretence of getting close to her. The library at the northern end of the forest stood tall and mighty in the middle of nowhere, even with its location hidden deep in the wilderness, the granite grounds of the parking were filled with cars, and the abstract white building shimmered under the glow of the sun with its many glasses windows reflecting like multiple lakes. Levy hadn’t been here before, the library that she was used to was a small wooden house with a few curious readers coming from all the surrounding packs coming to read.

POV: Sienna Rhodes The New York Public Library's special collections division closes at six on weekdays, which means I have been here since nine this morning and I have been given nine hours to find what I am looking for, which is either enough or not enough depending on whether what I am looking for wants to be found. I am looking for Helena Moreau Sterling. Not the person. The record of the practice.

JASMINE The North Wing library was nothing short of magnificent. Shelves of polished ebony wood stretched from floor to ceiling, cradling tomes that smelled of ink, dust, and time itself. Arched windows bathed the room in golden light, and the faint crackle of a fire from the hearth kept the chill at bay. If the north wing didn't have a library, I would've gone crazy. Lucien made sure we had no access to electricity. I'm very much sure that he doesn't want me to call daisy and warn her.

" I thanked her right away and headed towards the shelves. I scanned the shelves as I walked past them, making a silent promise to see them all. Turning to the northern wing, I noticed this part of the library was completely different from the other parts, it even smelled different. I sighed and began glancing through the books in search of a book with information on the latest alphas.

The people were writing their story at the Phoenix Center. The library at the Phoenix Center was like the heart of the building. It had arched windows that looked out at the North Slope. The green light from the vineyard poured in. Lit up the shelves. The shelves were filled with books about farming, old legal papers and handwritten notes about the soil. The air smelled like the cedar beams and the coffee that Sarah had brought from the Nairobi highlands.

Nina found me in the library. It was a beautiful room — floor-to-ceiling shelves, leather chairs, a fireplace that someone kept perpetually burning. I'd discovered it on day three and had been coming back ever since, working my way through the pack's history books. "Research?" Nina asked, settling into the chair across from me. "Trying to understand what I've gotten myself into." I held up the book I was reading — A History of the North American Packs, Volume III. "Did you know there are over two hundred packs in North America alone?"