Days had passed since their last substantial meal. The library's occupants survived on microwave-boiled toilet water and growing despair. Hollow footsteps echoed on the marble floors as students moved between the stacks, their clothes becoming increasingly loose with each passing day. Tension thickened the air with the return of time travelers and their toddler, further straining their dwindling resources.

  Tommy's cries resonated through the stacks, bouncing off leather-bound volumes and weathered wooden shelves. His small voice amplified everyone's hunger, piercing the library's usual quiet and underscoring their desperate situation. Brittany, a senior, pulled a crushed granola bar from her bag—the last piece of real food anyone had seen for days—and offered it to the crying child. The simple act of kindness drew envious stares from others who hadn't seen food in days, their hollow eyes following the wrapper's crinkle.

  "He needs it more than we do," Brittany whispered softly, smoothing Tommy's dark curls as he clutched the snack with tiny fingers. Kara gave her a grateful look, pulling her son closer to her chest. The toddler's presence made their situation feel more dire—watching a child suffer was breaking something fundamental in their collective spirit.

  But the fragile thread holding them together was already fraying. Hunger gnawed at their patience, and every passing moment felt heavier, as if the air in the library itself had turned oppressive. It was against this backdrop of simmering despair that further tragedy struck.

  The first body was discovered near the reference section. Jessica found Marcus slumped between the shelves, a massive encyclopedia still open beside his lifeless form. No obvious wounds marked his body, and no signs of struggle disturbed the area—just the haunting stillness of death. News rippled through the group like poison, turning already tense relationships toxic with fear.

  "We need to find out what happened," Lance announced, taking charge despite his exhaustion. His voice carried across the main reading room where they'd gathered, echoing off the high ceilings.

  Lara stepped forward, her copper hair illuminated by the fluorescent light as she spoke. "We should examine the scene carefully. There might be clues about what occurred." Her steady presence helped calm rising panic, though anxiety charged the air like electricity.

  Maya joined them, her keen eyes scanning for details others might miss. Her oversized shirt, marked with paint stains, reminded her of normal life before their imprisonment. The three worked methodically, documenting everything about Marcus's final moments: the position of his body, the open book, the disturbed dust patterns on nearby shelves—all potentially significant.

  The second victim was discovered two days later. Emily's body lay in the periodicals section, positioned as if she'd simply fallen asleep while reading last month's fashion magazines. Again, no obvious cause of death presented itself. Rising casualties sent fresh waves of panic through the group, turning friends into suspects as accusations flew. Paranoia seeped in, whispers of betrayal shadowing every interaction.

  Dr. Charles, the engineering alumnus, reacted dramatically to the deaths. He barricaded himself in a storage room, using his technical expertise to create an elaborate fortress. The sound of his work—hammering, drilling, and occasional muttering—echoed through the building for hours before falling silent. Three more days passed without any sign of him emerging.

  "Should we check on him?" Maya asked, concern etched in her voice.

  Lance raked his fingers through his tousled hair and swayed in disbelief. "The door's sealed tight. We've shouted, but no response. We can't be sure he's still holding on in there." The thought hung heavy in the air, adding to their collective burden.

  The discovery of a third body—Kevin from the chemistry department—pushed the group to its breaking point. His body was found near the empty water cooler. Panic spread like wildfire as students began accusing each other, paranoia feeding their fears until the library buzzed with nervous energy. Lance and Maya stepped in repeatedly to calm rising tensions, their efforts highlighting the group's fragility.

  Lance gathered everyone in the main reading room, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. "Listen to me! We need to stay together. No one moves around alone—groups of four minimum for bathrooms, water runs, everything. We're much safer this way."

  As he conducted a headcount, his heart sank. Three people were missing beyond those already known. Were they hiding in the stacks? Already dead? Or something worse? The questions plagued him as he tried to maintain order.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Lance, Lara, and Maya worked to sustain order, but exhaustion and hunger made their task increasingly difficult. They took turns patrolling with other students, checking dark corners and forgotten study rooms where dust mingled with the scent of decay and fear.

  "I'm worried about you," Lara told Lance quietly during one patrol they took together, her hand brushing his arm. The touch sent electricity through his tired body, a reminder of their recent intimacy.

  He managed a weak smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Someone has to keep things together." Their relationship hung between them, complicated by the weight of their situation. The tension among them added another layer to their already complex dynamics.

  During a quiet moment, Lance slipped away to the break room. Among the abandoned coffee mugs and dried-out creamer packets, he found a cake cutter—a remnant of happier times when staff celebrated birthdays together. The metal gleamed dully in the fluorescent light as he tucked it into his belt. Just in case.

  When he returned to the group, another person had vanished. The remaining survivors huddled closer together, fear evident in their tight expressions and nervous movements. The library's vast spaces seemed to shrink around them, pressing in with claustrophobic intensity.

  Jessica approached him, her hands shaking as she held out her digital camera. "Lance, you need to see this." She showed him a photo she'd just taken of the group. The image showed only empty chairs and tables, the library appearing as abandoned as the rest of the campus—decayed, forgotten, lost to time.

  "Take another one," he urged. She did, with the same result. Every photo showed the library in its future state, revealing the truth of their temporal prison. The implications chilled him to his core, raising questions about their very existence in this moment.

  Fear erupted as news of the photos circulated. Students began arguing about what it meant, their voices rising in fear and confusion until the noise threatened to shatter their fragile sanctuary. In the chaos, Lance realized Lara was missing from the group.

  His heart pounding against his ribs, he ran through the library's winding paths, calling her name. The cake cutter pressed against his hip as he searched, its cold surface a constant reminder. He finally found her in the archives section, unconscious on the floor. Clutching a letter opener that caught the light, the librarian loomed above her, her hand quivering.

  "I'm keeping them safe," Ms. Grace whispered, her gaze feverish behind her delicate spectacles. Her meticulously arranged bun had unraveled, wisps of gray hair cascading around her features like a soft, disheveled curtain. "Can't you understand? We were never supposed to inhabit this place. We're violating the natural order. I'm helping them return to where they belong."

  Lance moved without thinking, placing himself between the librarian and Lara's prone form. "Put it down, Ms. Grace. This isn't the answer."

  She lunged forward with surprising speed for her age. Lance parried her attack with the cake cutter, sending her arm reeling and tumbling them both to the ground in a tangled sprawl. Volumes cascaded wildly as the librarian lurched upright, her fingers clenched around the letter opener with stark, trembling determination.

  "You don’t understand!" Ms. Grace shrieked, her voice breaking with desperation. "This must be done!"

  Lance forced himself upright, his ribs aching with every breath. He raised the cake cutter, his hands trembling from exhaustion. "You’re not saving anyone, Ms. Grace," he said, his voice ragged. "You’re only making this worse."

  She came at him again, slashing wildly. Lance sidestepped the initial thrust, then deflected the second, steel clashing against steel as the cake cutter met the letter opener. In a swift motion, he seized her arm and wrenched it, causing the letter opener to clang against the floor.

  But Ms. Grace fought back with feral determination. She clawed at him, her nails raking his face, and lunged for the letter opener. Lance moved to intercept her, driving forward with the cake cutter. The blade sank deep into her side, her eyes going wide with shock.

  For a moment, everything went still. Ms. Grace swayed, her breath coming in shallow gasps, then slumped to the floor, her grip on the letter opener slackening.

  Lance stumbled backward, the fight leaving him. His chest heaved as he turned to check on Lara, still unconscious and sprawled on the floor. Relief flooded through him—she was safe. But when he looked down, he saw the blood spreading across his shirt. In the chaos, Ms. Grace had struck him, too.

  He collapsed beside her, his strength ebbing away. The library seemed to darken around him, shadows pooling at the edges of his vision. As the world dimmed, he reached out toward Lara, her face blurry but peaceful.

  His last thought was of her safety, and for the first time in days, he felt a small measure of peace. Then, everything went black.

  When awareness returned, Lance found himself sitting in that typical armchair, sunlight streaming through the library's Gothic windows. In his lap lay an open copy of The Great Gatsby, its pages slightly yellowed with age. He was back at the beginning, reset to the start of the original loop.

  The familiar pressure built behind his eyes as he stared at the unchanging words before him. Was another cycle about to begin? He couldn’t even reconcile it. He carried the weight of what he'd witnessed—the deaths, the madness, the sacrifice. As reality prepared to shift around him once more, Lance felt a deep sense of loss and determination. Was this endless repetition his punishment, or his purpose?

  The sunbeam warming his shoulder felt like a mockery of normalcy.