Clara Hayes had learned that poverty was mostly about choosing which disaster could wait.

The municipal university library downtown was a massive, gothic stone structure with towering arched windows and quiet, vaulted reading rooms filled with thousands of leather-bound volumes.

At 9:15 p.m., the main reading room was nearly empty save for a handful of graduate students huddled over laptops under the green glow of brass desk lamps.

Clara sat at a corner table near the tall stained-glass windows, her accounting textbooks spread out before her, scribbling notes into a legal pad. Her phone buzzed quietly beside her coffee cup.

She picked it up. A single text message from an unknown number:

Leave the building through the rear courtyard immediately. Do not ask questions.

Clara frowned, her fingers hovering over the screen. Before she could unlock it, the heavy oak doors at the far end of the reading room swung open with a loud, echoing crash.

Three men in dark tactical gear walked in, their faces half-hidden by black balaclavas, each carrying heavy submachine guns pointed toward the ceiling.

Panic erupted instantly among the remaining students. Shouts echoed through the vaulted hall as chairs overturned and students scrambled for the emergency exits.

Clara froze, her blood running cold. She didn't hesitate this time; she grabbed her backpack, shoved her laptop inside, and bolted toward the narrow spiral staircase leading down to the lower stacks.

“There! The girl in the denim jacket! Cut her off!”

Footsteps pounded against the marble floor behind her. Clara threw herself down the spiraling metal stairs, her sneakers clattering noisily against the rungs as she descended into the dim, labyrinthine aisles of the basement archives.

Rows upon rows of towering metal bookshelves stretched out into the shadows, smelling of old paper and dust.

Clara ducked into a narrow aisle, pressing her back hard against the metal spine of a bookshelf, trying to control the ragged, terrified gasps escaping her lungs.

Heavy boots approached down the main aisle, slowing to a deliberate, stalking pace.

“We know you’re down here, Ms. Hayes,” a harsh voice echoed through the stacks. “Don't make this messy. Mr. Vance just wants a brief conversation.”

Clara’s hand reached into her backpack, her fingers wrapping around a heavy steel water bottle. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was all she had.

A shadow fell across the aisle opening.

A masked man stepped around the corner, his weapon raised, scanning the dark rows.

Clara raised the water bottle, preparing to swing—

Bang.

A muffled, suppressed crack echoed through the basement.

The masked man’s eyes widened behind his balaclava. A clean, small hole materialized in the center of his forehead before his knees buckled and he dropped heavily onto the concrete floor without a sound.

Clara gasped, pressing her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream.

Stepping out from the shadows of the cross-aisle was Leo.

He moved like a phantom, dressed in black tactical gear, his dark eyes scanning the perimeter with cold, lethal precision. A wisp of thin smoke curled from the suppressor attached to his pistol.

“Clara,” he said, his voice dropping its usual calm authority, replaced by an urgent, raw desperation as he spotted her pressed against the shelves.

“Leo,” she breathed, her legs finally giving out as she slid down the metal shelving onto the floor.

Leo dropped to one knee beside her in an instant, holstering his weapon and pulling her into his arms, crushing her against his chest as if checking to ensure she was still whole and breathing.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands trembling slightly as he framed her face, checking every inch of her skin for injury.

“I’m fine,” Clara choked out, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she gripped the fabric of his jacket. “They… they found me.”

“They won't find anyone else,” Leo said, his voice hardening into absolute steel as he pulled her up against his side. “Marco has secured the perimeter above. Viktor Vance is finished tonight.”

Before Clara could answer, a sudden movement at the end of the aisle made Leo pivot instantly, his shield-like body wrapping entirely around hers as a volley of blind gunfire shredded the metal bookshelves behind them, sending a storm of flying paper and jagged iron shrapnel into the air.

Leo fired twice through the smoke, neutralizing the final threat with cold, unyielding finality.