The woman looked Abner over, seeming to catch on quickly that he wasn’t all there. Maybe it was the dead eyes that tipped her off, or the way Anderson talked about him, or maybe she just had a copy of his records. Whatever the reason, she took on a soft, gentle tone when she spoke to him. “Actually, you look really strong. Would you mind helping me move some of these boxes? I’m trying to rearrange, but I’m afraid my back isn’t what it used to be. I’ll get you a snack if you do, how about that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said mechanically. He would’ve done it either way, but the promise of food was a great motivator. The boxes weighed next to nothing, and it beat sitting there being useless. He was meant to do things. Well, usually more violent things, but hauling books for a middle-aged archivist was better than nothing.