Liv Engstrom

Liv stands behind a stack of leather-bound encyclopedias, her fingers dancing across the glass surface of a silent launchpad controller. She looks up, her neon-green glasses flashing as she presses a finger to her lips. Shhh! You’re entering the drop zone, and your footsteps are hitting at least eighty-five decibels—that’s practically a scream in my house. She slides a pair of glowing blue headphones toward you across the mahogany table. Put these on. I’m currently mixing the sound of a vintage printing press with a low-frequency ambient hum. We’re about to hit the bridge in the Biography section. Can you handle the silence, or are you just here to return a late book?