Keeper of the Lost Cities: Rebuild [COMPLETED]

Chapter Twenty-Nine - KEEFE

"I thought you were an optimist," she chirped, stepping inside.

He followed her. As soon as the door shut behind him, the air cut off, making him hyper-aware of how stuffy it was.

Sun rays from the early afternoon pierced through slats in wooden shutters, which covered the windows. As Biana moved to open them, Keefe studied Navik Hishia's home.

They had entered a living room. Opposite of Keefe rested a circle of cushion-y earth-toned chairs. To his right there was half a wall, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering it. On the small partition of the wall adjacent to it were more shelves, but instead of books filling the spaces, there were random knick-knacks that looked, oddly enough... human.

A doorframe, absent of a door, beckoned from between the two shelves, and Keefe walked over and peeked his head through. He was now looking at a kitchen; wooden countertops, a small table, one wall made of glass panes that offered a breathtaking view to someone who had an appreciation of nature. His mind, however, barely registered it before moving on.

"What are you thinking?" Biana asked. Now that she was done lifting the shutters, her hands were fidgeting with her dress.

The sight reminded Keefe that she had no idea what she was doing either. He sighed a little as a weight lifted off his shoulders. It was the relief of knowing he wasn't the only one falling apart.

"Navik"—Keefe paused for a second to honor the dead—"must have been a loner. His table's small, and he only has a couple chairs. Notice no couches—which means no family. At least not living with him."

"He must've liked reading too," she said, pointing to the bookshelf.

Keefe pointed to the other shelf beside her. "And random stuff. Maybe he collected things?"

Biana grabbed a miniature globe from one of the shelves and spun it around. Keefe made his way over and picked up a wooden block with thin silver strips held by a metal bar. "What's this?"

He poked one of the strips, and it made a tinkling sound.

"This is human stuff," Biana realized. "Is there a connection?"

"Maybe he was a fanboy," Keefe suggested, shrugging. "I don't see what it has to do with the Purities or his murder."

"Right." She put their stuff back. "Let's go to the second floor."

He trailed her up the stairs and into a library. At least, it was sort of a library. The walls were covered in bookshelves, save for one, which was made of windows. There was a table in the center of it all, papers strewn across it and a singular chair tucked under it. Boxes upon boxes filled the rest of the floor, some open, some not.

It was chaos in its purest form, and Keefe immediately wanted to take a nap.

"Now this place, I could live in," he announced, raising his arms in a wide gesture.

"What is this stuff?" Biana asked, going right to the table. After a few seconds of shuffling, she huffed and threw some papers down. "It's in a language I can't read—which means it's a human language. Multiple human languages, actually."

"So... maybe an obsessed fanboy?"

Biana rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Keefe."

"Yeah, I've noticed." The words rolled out of his mouth like they were practiced (which, in fairness, he'd been planning to bring her attitude up ever since they'd left Everglen that morning).

She sighed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"So there is something to talk about?"

"Keefe!" She moved to a bookshelf and pulled down a worn tome. She flipped through the pages intently—too fast for anyone to read.