Borrowed Faces

Ashley Price never thought she'd be running through the labyrinthine aisles of memory in her own library, clutching a stack of documents that could blow something wide open. The laminated floors squeaked beneath her sensible loafers as she skimmed through pages filled with codes and faces she swore she'd seen before. **"The room affirms; the room conceals,"** murmured an old saying her granny used to repeat when Ashley would visit her tiny attic room. But this room, the library's dusty 'Staff Only' attic nook, had confirmed nothing for months. It simply held secrets and, if anything, agitated her inner sleuth. For years, Ashley lived a quiet life as the head librarian of the Huntington Public Library in the heart of the city. A job perfect for her calm and inquisitive nature—a sponge seeking to soak up stories limited by covers. She enjoyed shaping little stories in her head, moments and lives created from the patrons borrowing romance novels and biographies—escapees from their own worlds. It began with an innocent request. Mrs. Clancy, sweet Mrs. Clancy, known for her raspberry cookies and hearty laughs, casually asked for a document titled "Borrowed Faces" amidst her knitting books. Odd, Ashley thought, placing an embargo on the account as protocol warranted. Days later, Ashley's curiosity got the best of her. She had lifted the embargo to find multiple copies, all lightly altered. One day's work led her into a web of missing people, odd coincidences, and a very peculiar name—an intricate puzzle nobody knew was ever being played. Mrs. Clancy wasn't exactly who she said she was. That was just the beginning. Digging deeper, Ashley discovered files linked to her own life. Her own untouched past, replete with shadows playing puppet master on the walls as if their hands were invisible strings controlling her moves. Just then, the lights flickered as if on cue. Her eyes darted up, the ceiling light hanging low like a pendulum. She saw movement—Carter, the tall, soft-spoken janitor mopping down near the entrance. He looked up and gave a silent nod, awareness flicking in his gaze. Carter had been with the library for as long as she could remember. But there was something different tonight. **"Hey, Carter, have you ever heard of..."** Before she could finish, Carter unexpectedly reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded page. He whispered, **"Only the face you choose."** **"What does that even mean?"** she blurted, grabbing the packet gingerly. It was another puzzle piece. It contained evidence of a network of individuals with hidden pasts, interlinked by a common operative goal. His expression, though shadowed, held warmth that only truth could fortify. Ashley thumbed through it, suddenly realizing she had become ensnared, becoming more than just an observer in others' stories. Her heart drummed a message of its own, thunderous yet thrilling, and dusk painted the library's outer glass with muted orange tones. **"Carter, does that mean..."** **"You decide who you are, every day, Ash,"** he replied, peeling off his janitor's name tag, revealing the name "Clancy." All the lives she dreamed had her amongst their pages. Figments of past identities, each stepped into her role as if telling a new verse in a poem of identities. And, clutching her resolve just as firmly as her newly acquired knowledge, Ashley Price accepted the truth of her world. Her decide-who-she'd-be tomorrow. Tonight, she embarked on rewriting her own story. It was the last night she saw the library the same way.