The old man in the library had no name, only a card with his initials and a date. He arrived every Tuesday at 3:15 p.m., carrying a black leather satchel that never opened. The librarians knew not to ask questions. They simply placed a cup of coffee on the desk beside his usual seat and watched him read for hours, his eyes scanning pages that seemed untouched by time. One day, a new librarian named Clara noticed something strange. The man’s card had a different date each week, but when she checked the records, there was no record of his visits. She followed him once, slipping behind a bookshelf as he moved through the library like a shadow. He stopped at a section labeled "Archives" and pulled out a single book—*The Forgotten Codex*. It wasn’t listed in any catalog. Curious, Clara returned the next week and found the same book on the shelf, though it hadn’t been there before. She picked it up, and the cover felt damp, as if it had just been submerged in water. Inside, the pages were filled with symbols that shifted under her gaze, forming words that dissolved before she could read them. She put it back, heart pounding. A few days later, the old man appeared again. This time, he looked at her directly. “You’ve seen it,” he said, voice like rusted metal. “You’re one of us now.” Clara froze. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer. He simply walked away, leaving behind a small, folded note on the desk. When she opened it, it contained only a single sentence: *“They are watching.”* That night, Clara couldn’t sleep. She searched online for *The Forgotten Codex*, but found nothing. She asked other librarians, but they denied ever hearing of it. Frustrated, she returned to the library the next evening, determined to find answers. She waited until the old man arrived. This time, he sat across from her. “You don’t belong here,” he said. “But you’re close enough.” “What is this place?” she asked. “It’s a threshold,” he replied. “Between what we know and what we don’t. The organization doesn’t exist, but it always has. We call ourselves The Keepers. We watch over things that should remain hidden.” Clara leaned forward. “What kind of things?” He hesitated, then reached into his satchel. From it, he pulled a small, silver key. “This opens a door in the basement. No one else knows it exists. But if you go there, you must understand: some doors shouldn’t be opened.” She wanted to ask more, but he stood and left, vanishing into the crowd of patrons. The key remained on the table, warm to the touch. The next morning, Clara went to the basement. The door was hidden behind a stack of old newspapers. With trembling hands, she inserted the key and turned. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow stairwell leading down into darkness. She descended slowly, her flashlight casting long shadows on the walls. At the bottom, she found a room lined with shelves, each filled with books and artifacts from forgotten eras. In the center stood a circular table, surrounded by chairs. On the wall was a symbol—similar to the one in *The Forgotten Codex*. Suddenly, the lights flickered. A voice echoed from the shadows. “You shouldn’t have come.” Clara spun around, but there was no one there. The air grew colder. She backed away, but the door had vanished. The walls began to shift, the books rearranging themselves. The symbol on the wall pulsed, and a low hum filled the room. Then, silence. When she finally regained her senses, she was back in the library, the key still in her hand. No one remembered seeing her leave. The old man was gone, and *The Forgotten Codex* had disappeared from the shelf. Clara never spoke of what she saw. But sometimes, late at night, she would hear whispers in the stacks. And she would wonder—was she truly alone, or had she simply stepped into another chapter of the story?