Jekyll thinks right. Nobody questions his poring over texts and figuratively burning the midnight oil when he's a notorious obsessive. They let the man study.

And they trickle out well before closing time actually passes, having what they need in armfuls of notes or a fresh book to read. Her desire to flutter over to where he's camped increases exponentially; it feels like every minute rolls by like molasses down a brick wall.

There! Two in the morning! She stretches to appear nonchalant, but the intensity of Paloma's eyes betray her. "Closing!" she calls, pretending not to know the library is vacant but for her and Jekyll. The light switches are next-- he'll be prepared. Won't he?