Smoke drifted in shafts of golden light. Blood slicked the floor. John's breath came in ragged pulls as the last of the five assassins collapsed at his feet. His side bled from a knife wound—deep and slow.
Shen was curled behind a fallen bookshelf, arms around her knees, trembling.
"Shen!" John stumbled toward her. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, but her eyes were wide with fear, her body frozen. "John," she whispered, "I—I was scared."
"I know, little one," he said, dropping to his knees beside her. "It's over now. I promise."
But it wasn't.
The door opened one last time. The tall man in the black suit stepped through the smoke.
He clapped slowly. "Bravo. I thought the five best assassins in the world might be enough. But of course... I underestimated you."
He pointed a sleek pistol at Shen.
John's heart clenched. He raised his arms, letting the revolver fall to the ground with a thud.
"Let her go," he said, voice cold and calm.
The man smiled. "Throw your other weapon. The one in your boot."
John did.
"Good." The man released Shen. "Run along, little blind girl."
She ran to John, tears streaking her dust-covered face. "No—no, I won't leave you!"
John placed a shaking hand on her head, then kissed her forehead gently.
"It's okay, little one," he said, his voice soft as a lullaby. "Go to the village. I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Promise?"
He hesitated, then whispered, "I promise."
"Dong," he said, and the dog stood, alert.
"Take her home."
Dong nudged Shen, then guided her toward the exit. She paused at the door, looking back.
John smiled through bloodied lips. "Go."
They vanished down the dirt road just as the sun began to dip.
The man watched them disappear.
"What a scene," he said with a dry laugh. "You see her in that girl, don't you?"
John didn't answer, but his eyes flickered—just once.
The man stepped closer, voice low and mocking. "In one of your old case reports, I read about it. You fell for a blind girl. It was… what? A vacation in Australia? Enemy got to her first. What was her name… Sho… Sut…"
John stared at the ground. His voice was quiet.
"Sophia."
"Yes! Sophia. That's it. What a tragic little ending. Well," the man raised his gun, "time to send you to her."
He aimed.
But John stomped the floor—hard. A hidden spring beneath the wooden panel snapped open. A final gun launched upward from a secret cache. With the reflexes of a legend, John caught it mid-air.
BANG.
The bullet tore through the man's heart. He staggered, dropped his pistol, and collapsed backward into the bookshelves.
John limped toward him, breath shallow, blood dripping down his leg.
The man coughed violently, blood bubbling from his mouth. But then… he laughed.
"You've gone soft, John…" he rasped.
John raised an eyebrow. "Say hi to your dad for me—assuming Hell has a family reunion policy."
The man spat blood. "You think I came here to win with men? I spent every coin hiring those assassins—not to kill you, but to stall you."
John froze.
"I had five minutes to set it up. While you were busy. Think, John… think."
John turned. His eyes widened.
Tick... tick... tick…
Under the floorboards. Behind the old globe. Inside the antique card drawer. He heard it now—too late.
The bomb.
He moved to run—but his injured leg collapsed beneath him. The stab wound had severed muscle. He couldn't even crawl fast enough.
"You're insane," John breathed.
The dying man spat blood. "Fuck you, John."
Then the world exploded.
A blinding roar shattered the silence of the hills. The library—walls, books, roof, and memory—vanished in fire.
From the edge of the village, Shen turned as the shockwave reached her. She fell to her knees, screaming as the sound hit her ears.
"No—JOHN!!!"
Dong pressed his body against her, shielding her from the heat, whining mournfully.
Above them, the sky glowed orange as pages of stories turned to ash, rising like dying fireflies into the twilight.
The library was gone.
And with it, perhaps… John.