John had just settled into the rhythm of Shen's gentle storytelling when the front door of the library creaked again. He looked up instinctively.
Four or five college-aged students walked in, speaking quietly among themselves, their cameras hanging from their necks and notebooks tucked under their arms. They were out of place here, in this quiet rural town where visitors were rare and usually familiar.
Field trip, John thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. They must be on a university tour—maybe something about rural education or cultural preservation.
Still, something about their timing felt… off.
Before he could dwell on it, the distant hum of an engine grew louder, then stopped abruptly outside. A sleek black car—not the kind you saw often in the countryside—had pulled up just beyond the front steps of the library.
John's body tensed ever so slightly.
The door opened again, this time with quiet certainty. A man stepped inside. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that clung to his well-built frame like it was sewn onto him. His shoes barely made a sound as he crossed the wooden floor, but every step carried weight, like a shadow falling with each footfall.
He didn't look at the books. He didn't glance at the students. His eyes locked on John and Shen at the back of the room and walked straight toward them.
John stood slowly, placing a hand on Shen's shoulder as she turned her head toward the approaching presence. The old man's eyes, once warm with story and memory, had sharpened like blades beneath the surface.
"Yes, sir?" John asked calmly, a faint, polite smile curling his lips. "How can I help you?"
The man paused. His expression unreadable. After a moment, he spoke, his voice smooth and low.
"I'm looking for someone," he said. "A man who's been missing for ten years."
John didn't blink. "This is a town library, not a police office," he replied. "And in the world I know, sir, I don't think such a person exists."
The man smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes.
"He's not just any man," he said quietly, but with unmistakable pride. "He's the best assassin the world has ever known. Over a hundred confirmed kills. Every mission completed—flawless. Zero casualties aside from the target. Master of every martial art on the planet. Fluent in all major languages. A perfect spy, and a ghost. He retired at fifty… and vanished. I'm here today only to greet that legend."
John's smile faded. Slowly, he turned his eyes toward the dog curled near Shen's feet and gave a subtle signal. The dog immediately stood, hackles raised, and moved in front of the girl, guarding her with instinctive loyalty.
Then John met the man's gaze again—this time, with the calm sharpness of a man who'd once lived in the dark.
His voice turned cold. "What do you want?"
"You know what I want," the man replied. "You can't run from this forever."
"I already did the work," John said, his tone steely. "I did everything your people asked—then some. I buried my past. I bought peace with blood, and I earned my silence. This,"—he gestured to the shelves, the girl, the tree outside—"this is my life now."
The man's smile vanished. His voice hardened. "You see, John… after you left, everything collapsed. The government discovered our secrets. Our top agents started dying in… 'accidents.' All of them precise, surgical, too clean. Like someone who knew us was tying up loose ends."
John's fingers tightened around the back of his chair.
"My father," the man continued, voice cracking with emotion, "the leader of the organization, died in one of those accidents. Do you know what they found at the scene?" He leaned closer. "Nothing. No evidence. No witness. Just silence. The kind of silence you taught us to leave behind."
"I didn't do it," John said evenly, but there was weight in his denial. "I walked away."
The man shook his head slowly. "We gave you shelter. Fed you when you were a ghost on the street. Gave you the training, the tools, the identity you used to become a legend. We made you who you are."
"And I repaid you with a thousand missions," John snapped, his voice low and fierce. "I bled for your cause. I disappeared so you could survive. But it wasn't enough, was it?"
The man's jaw tightened.
John took a step forward, shielding Shen more fully. "I'm not coming back. Not for vengeance. Not for justice. Not for war."
The man's eyes shifted to the girl behind him, just for a second.
And that was enough.
John's posture changed in an instant. His eyes turned cold and dangerous, like a knife pulled from silk.
"If you threaten her," he said softly, "you won't walk out of here."
The man raised his hands slowly, as if to show peace. "I'm not here to threaten the girl. I'm here for answers."
"Then ask your questions," John said. "And leave."