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Summary
He spends a lot of time in the Library these days, thinking, and keeping Alice company. None of those are pastimes he would have pegged for himself even 8 months ago, but on the low end, they’re not so bad, and on the high end, he’s existentially grateful for them. In other words, his life’s up to its usual fuckery.
Eliot’s slumped on the floor of her current aisle - the one that so happens to contain Their Books. “So, you’ve never looked at yours?” he muses, toeing at the lives of other people occupying the bottom shelf as he stares up at himself and his friends. Little soldiers in a row. He guesses that’s exactly what they’ve been since meeting, and he thinks the cost was too high.
"Not really,” she says, rearranging the stack he’s leaning against.
"But I have two."
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OR: Eliot figures out the reason for his two volumes, and some people are maybe saved in the process.