The school library was his sanctuary.
It was the one place in his chaotic, violent world that was reliably, blessedly quiet.
Miles sat hunched over a table in the most remote, forgotten corner of the building, hidden behind a towering shelf of 19th-century poetry.
He was trying to look like he was studying.
In reality, he was trying very hard not to pass out.
The escape from the logistics hub had been… messy.
He'd gotten the data, a massive file of shipping manifests that was now safely tucked away on one of his encrypted drives.
Then he'd used a series of controlled [Pulse Break] jumps to blast his way through a ventilation shaft and out onto the roof, just as a dozen heavily armed mercenaries stormed the server room.
It had not been subtle.
His entire body felt like one giant, throbbing bruise.
His chest ached from where he had punched himself.
But the worst part was his arm.
