When Loki closed the book, she looked thoughtful. She had no idea when Schiller had left behind such a line of writing—perhaps after Asgard's situation had stabilized, perhaps even earlier—but it perfectly matched the view Loki had held all along.
Doctor Schiller had an astonishing mind. Loki had known that for a long time. Unlike others, she understood more clearly that those insights that struck straight at the heart of matters did not come from some mind-reading superpower, but rather from precise analysis and judgment.
What, exactly, had shaped those views of his?
The three sentences in this book made Loki even more curious about it. A clever person ought to have a reason for being clever, and someone as clever as Schiller surely had some stories behind him. No one would believe otherwise.
Loki returned the book to its original place and carefully erased the traces left by moving it. Then she turned around and continued examining the room.
The clinic in Hell's Kitchen was not large to begin with, and three rooms had been crammed onto the second floor, making the bedroom rather cramped. Even so, it held two rows of wall-mounted bookshelves, a display shelf, and a desk by the window. The bed, instead, took up very little space.
The entire room was rendered in woody shades of brown, carrying a faint scent of wood and ink that probably came from the books displayed on the desk. Yet what left the deepest impression was that every table and shelf in the room was covered with strange and curious handicrafts.
To an Asgardian, the things in this room did not count as antiques. And by Loki's standards, many of them did not have much commercial value either. They resembled little trinkets or souvenirs, some even looking as though