Fenn had worked at the library for four years. Her job was to shelve returned books (people sometimes borrowed a version for a few days, which was allowed with a deposit), and to keep the reading rooms tidy and to note, on a form, any books that seemed damaged or annotated, which was not allowed.
She had not been to her own shelf. The library allowed employees a visit on their anniversary date. Fenn had passed three anniversary dates without going. She filled out the waiver form each time, which was a single page asking whether she wished to defer and whether she had any reason she wanted on record.
She never wrote a reason. The form just asked; it did not require one.
Today a patron left without their copy of the version they had come to read, left it on the table, face down, folded open at the page they'd stopped at. Fenn picked it up and started to return it to its shelf and read the first line before she meant to.
She closed it immediately. The protocol was to return it without reading. She knew this. She had always known this.
Her own shelf was in the east wing, second floor, near the windows. She knew this because she had shelved returns there twice. Her name was on each spine in the same print as everyone else's, plain, no ornamentation, just the name and the year.
She put the borrowed book back at the patron's table, in case they came back for it. She didn't know why she did this. Probably they were gone. She straightened it so the spine was parallel to the table edge, and then she went back to her cart and continued with the returns.
The east wing windows let in the morning light at this hour. She did not look up from her cart.