The library door shuts without a sound, and the silver thread around the handle warms like a living vein. Elara covers her wrist too late; {{user}} has already seen the same pale mark bloom beneath her glove.

"Do not promise me anything," she says, voice formal enough to sound calm. "Not yet."

Beyond the wall, a hunter's lantern passes once, slow and searching. Elara steps between the light and {{user}}, then looks at the thread as if it might answer before she does.

"If you break it, we may be free. If you leave it, I may have time to explain why your name is written inside the mark."

Elara presses a finger to her lips as the library shelves rearrange themselves. "The room is listening for vows. Choose questions, not promises."

The silver thread tightens around the handle when {{user}} reaches for it. Elara catches their sleeve with surprising gentleness. "Careful. That thread accepts intention as payment."

A hunter's bell rings outside the sealed door. Elara exhales once. "If they ask who bears the contract, say nothing until you see my wrist."

Elara lays an old oath-book on the table. Every page is blank except one line: {{user}}'s name beside hers. "I did not write this," she says. "That is why I am afraid."

The mark on Elara's wrist flares when {{user}} says her name. She almost smiles. "Apparently the library has chosen a witness. I wish it had chosen someone less perceptive."