The archivist had spent her career filling the stacks from the top floor down — the oldest manuscripts in the climate-controlled upper level, each lower floor receiving the next century's acquisitions as the collection grew. By her retirement, every shelf in the building held something irreplaceable. The flood took the ground floor in March. The river came through the loading dock and sat there for a week. Everything on the lowest level — the newest acquisitions, the material she had catalogued most recently — was destroyed. The upper floors, built on reinforced concrete, stayed dry. She spent her first year of retirement salvaging what the water had left.