Milo woke to a soft click. The last light had switched off. He'd dozed off in the beanbag, and his comic had slid to the floor. The library was closed, dark, and locked tight. It smelled of dust and old glue. Then he heard it: every shelf was breathing. Books slid their spines a half-inch out, then back, in and out. A voice whispered, "Stay quiet. Don't wake them all the way."

Milo grabbed his fallen comic and bolted for the front doors. His sneakers slapped the floor, way too loud. Behind him, the breathing stopped all at once. Every book on every shelf went still and silent, like the whole room was listening to him run.

Milo skidded to a stop and made himself go still. Slowly, the breathing started up again, soft and steady. The books hadn't seen his face, only heard the noise. He let out a shaky breath. Now he just had to move without making a single sound.

Milo crept toward the side door, slow as a snail, breathing through his mouth. One book leaned out to sniff at him as he passed. He stayed perfectly still until it settled back. At the door he turned the latch without a click, slipped out, and ran all the way home.