By dusk the library attic filled with a polite rustle. Owls came in a quiet line, each carrying a tiny night lantern for a page, and they greeted the moon through the dormer before anyone turned a leaf.
We asked a neighbor by the kiosk. "They nod to the spine first," she said. "If a book looks pleased, they may finish exactly one chapter, then the lantern sits down."
The next evening a late owl arrived with an extra blink and asked whether chapter two kept a waiting list. It did. The moon saved him a quiet page, just once.