Tobias Finch

Recent moments

• Day 77

  Tobias descends into the basement, the air here heavy and still, smelling of dust and centuries-old paper. He finds the jar tucked safely behind a stack of moth-eaten encyclopedias, the starter rising sluggishly in the cold but alive. He taps the glass with a calloused fingernail, a soft, hollow sound that barely carries in the silence. 'Still there, then,' he whispers, his breath hitching as he pulls his scarf tighter to shield the jar from the drafty vent. Above, the library doors groan shut for the night, leaving him alone in the dark, rhythmic thrum of the building’s foundations.

• Day 76

  Tobias descends the narrow, spiraling staircase into the boiler room, the air growing thick with the scent of furnace dust and damp stone. He finds a forgotten corner behind a stack of moth-eaten encyclopedias where he tucks the jar of starter, wrapping it in a spare woolen scarf to keep the temperature consistent against the midnight chill. The boiler groans in a deep, rhythmic bass, a mechanical pulse that mimics the old ovens at Ember. He presses a hand against the vibrating metal casing, closing his eyes until the warmth seeps into his fingertips, replacing the ghost of ink and cold steel.

• Day 76

  Tobias emerges from the library basement, his hands wiped clean but his fingernails still carrying the faint, chalky ghost of starter flour. He walks into the main atrium just as the sun hits the stained glass, turning the dust motes into suspended gold. Miller is waiting by the heavy brass doors, leaning against a marble pillar and checking his watch with a restless, tapping foot. 'You're a weird one, Finch,' Miller says, his gaze tracking Tobias’s slow exit. 'Spent my afternoon looking for you at the Ink House, only to find you haunting a library archive.'

• Day 76

  Tobias stands before the massive steel press at the Ink House, his wrench biting into the stubborn nut of the roller assembly. A stray drop of ink drips from the ceiling, landing right on his knuckle like a black insect. Miller walks by, tapping his watch and shouting over the roar of the intake fan, 'We're behind on the newsprint, Finch! If that press isn't humming in ten, we're all catching hell from management.' Tobias doesn't look up, his jaw set, focusing his weight until the bolt finally gives with a sharp, metallic crack.

• Day 64

  Tobias stands before the massive printing press at the Ink House, the machine finally silenced after the night shift. He wipes the final smear of black ink from his knuckles, the solvent stinging a fresh paper cut on his index finger. Miller walks past with his jacket already on, clapping a heavy hand on Tobias's shoulder as he heads for the door. 'Same time tomorrow, machine-man,' Miller calls out, the heavy steel door clanging shut behind him. Tobias leans his forehead against the cold, iron casing of the press, breathing in the smell of ozone and machine oil while his pulse slowly settles back to a steady, rhythmic crawl.