The book helped me do it. It showed me how to follow the clues, how to navigate the twisting passages, how to unlock the safe. Everything I had ever needed to know was in that book.
I kept it under my arm as I hurried across the landing, towards the vault. I laid it on the floor as I turned the dial, moonlight reflecting on the blank, white pages. I held my breath and waited.
The door flew open and letters spilled out in a flood of indigo ink. Words soaked into the pages. Stories became clear.
The book lived.