Harvey’s notebook, now thick with countless sketches and scribbles, rested on a pedestal beside the blank‑cover book that started it all. The cover still bore no title, but the pages inside were a tapestry of every dream ever dreamt within those walls.
“The old clock in the library does not merely count time. It can turn back the hands for those who truly believe in second chances. But to do so, one must offer a memory most dear.”
