I didn't open the notebook right away.
Instead, I carried it to the reading table along with the book it had been hidden behind. The tea I'd brought earlier had cooled, but I poured a cup anyway, the herbal scent sharpening my focus as I took a deliberate sip.
Then, and only then, did I open the notebook.
"Clank."
The first page was empty.
"..."
So was the next.
"..."
And the next.
"Tsk."
I kept flipping, my fingers moving methodically through the pages, but nothing revealed itself - no hastily scribbled notes, no hidden sketches, no sudden rush of forgotten memories.
Just a parchment, untouched by ink.
My initial surge of anticipation began to wane with each empty sheet.
Was it truly empty? Or was this just another dead end?
However, I refused to give up, my gaze sharp, scanning every inch of every page as I reached the very end of the notebook.
And there, subtly written on the right side of the last page, was a single line:
"I will see with my own eyes."