you know the first rule of combat?

If there was one thing which was good about the bookshelf, it was that it made it possible to learn about just about anything, provided one was lucky enough. Faye had entered the rec room in a fit of curiosity that morning, gradually making her way around to all of the magic items on the island. The jukebox had taken up a slow, quiet jazz number in the background, one that reminded her of a certain saxophone player from a lifetime ago as she walked over to the shelf, running her hand along the smooth wooden panel, and staring at what it had to offer. Books about space. Books about Mars, about expeditions that even she could remember now, from before time had decided to leave her behind for half a century. Books about Welsh Corgis. Even a book that looked more like a set of records, one that flashed to her from the end, a familiar seal on its spine that she refused to look at any more closely (and fortunately for it, it disappeared by the time she looked at it next). But the collection that caught her eye the most, a series of photobooks with wide, glossy covers, was a set of books on Singapore.

She'd hesitated for about five minutes, a couple of others coming and going, before she pulled them out and settled on the couch, trembling fingers brushing over the surface of each.

Which was when the jukebox decided to change its tune, something orchestral, which practically vibrated the room around her as a man walked inside. With her brows furrowed, she stared at the direction of the box, then at the familiar face. "Does it always do that when you arrive?" she asked, eyebrow arched.