Cassie pulled on the white gloves kept for the consultation of precious document and gently got out the little batch holding the number « 74.3 ».

« They are pictures of the city ! » marveled Cassie looking at the keys.

I observed it as well. I knew these places. I went everywhere, looking for my friend. Of course, they had changed a lot. Roads replaced tramways and denims ousted women from this epoch pretty dresses.

However I didn’t have any doubt.

Every picture depicted an older version of the places where I had already been in my search for Hannah.

I had been in this café to ask the barman whether he knew a young woman named Hannah Reeves.

To children on this place I had described her clearly recognizable obsidian hair.

I had been in this theater with the hope to see her coming up on the stage.

I had looked for her among the statues of this museum.

Inside the box, well wrapped in tissue paper, were one hundred ancient photographs.

Photographs taken in the 1990's.

The second basement was fresh but better maintained than stock of friable books sheltered by the university. Maybe because there were no books.

In fact in this small room there were only boxes made of old and used cardboard.

The mention « 130.73.8 - 130.75.5 » had been inscribed with a quill on a large tag circled of metal.

Cassie carefully lifted up the cardboard box and I helped her to maintain it . Finally it was not so heavy.

At the reading desk we held our breath.

In the public library hall, Cassie approached the reception desk and exchanged a few words with the employee. She presented her student card and a document testifying her permission to access the archives. As the librarian picked up her phone I crossed my fingers hoping that the access wouldn’t be denied.

Finally the secretary gave a magnetic card to my team-mate and showed us how to find our document.

The building was a real maze. There were no kind sign to show us the way because the library was allegedly not accessible to the public. After some useless detours we passed a door covered by brown leather.

This time I dared to formulate a comment.

« I think we are a bit too lucky. Or at least that you are a bit too lucky.

- What are you suggesting ? I could turn the question around and ask you why decoding Hannah’s messages seems that easy for you.

- This was nothing, I said humbly and unconvinced.

- Moreover what is happening is not due to chance. Hannah wants us to find her. She knew that we were able to collect the signs, that I have access to these archives. She trusts me to find her. And she trusts you as well. Do not disappoint her. »

For a second I thought about what I was still hiding in my bag. And I decided to believe her.