The library had always been her refuge.
Nyx settled into her favorite corner—the one half-hidden behind tall shelves where the light dimmed just enough to feel invisible. Books lay open across the table in quiet disorder: university records, archived journals, yellowed reports, handwritten notes copied from restricted files.
History wasn't just history here.
It was a trail.
Her eyes moved fast, absorbing names, dates, donations, land transfers. The university's origins. Its benefactors. The chairman's rise—clean on paper, too clean. Nyx traced connections, circling familiar surnames, pausing when something almost fit.
Almost.
Her jaw tightened.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
By the time she leaned back, exhaustion settled into her bones. Evening light faded into darkness beyond the tall windows. Still—nothing concrete. No direct link. No proof tying the chairman to her family.
Dead ends. Carefully buried.
Nyx stood, rubbing her temples.
That's when the silence struck her.
Too complete.
She turned slowly.
The library was empty.
No footsteps. No whispers. No turning pages. Just rows of shelves and the hum of distant lights. She checked the time, exhaled once, then walked to the desk to inform the staff before leaving.
Outside, the city swallowed her again.
She took the bus back to her apartment, head resting lightly against the window, thoughts circling the same unanswered question.
Who erased them so cleanly?
The phone rang the moment she stepped inside.
Not her regular phone.
The smaller one.
She answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
A pause.
"When?"
Another pause.
"Soon," she replied.
The call ended.
Nyx changed nothing about her routine. She showered, lay down, and slept as if nothing had shifted—because for her, this was normal.
2:30 a.m.
She woke instantly.
No alarm.
No hesitation.
Nyx dressed in silence—dark clothes, minimal movement. When she stepped outside, a black, expensive car waited, engine already running.
She got in.
No words were exchanged.
The city blurred past until they reached a building that gleamed unnaturally against the night—polished, guarded, impenetrable. Inside, a security officer escorted her through corridors and down into the basement.
"Follow me," he said.
She did.
The door opened.
Nyx stepped in.
"Hello there," she said calmly.
The chair at the center of the room rotated.
A woman faced her, expression unreadable, eyes sharp. "It's been a long time," she said. "How's the mission going, Nyx?"
"Smooth," Nyx replied without blinking.
The woman smiled faintly. "I knew you'd need help eventually. So I've arranged a partner for you."
Nyx didn't react.
"I want to introduce you to this gentleman," the woman continued.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Nyx turned.
Lucien.
She wasn't surprised.
If anything, she'd expected it.
The woman—Liza—spoke again. "He's skilled. Capable. Effective. From now on, he's your partner. In everything."
Nyx studied him briefly before speaking. "You're rich," she said flatly. "Why get involved in this?"
Lucien met her gaze. "Because you need me," he replied evenly. "And my connections are everywhere. That makes things easier."
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her. "I know who you are."
Liza cut in. "You can talk later. Everything is finalized."
She gestured to another man standing near the desk. "Nyx, meet your manager. James."
Nyx's eyes shifted. "Does he know what's really going on?"
"That's why I hired him," Liza answered. "From now on, he'll be with you. In your office. To make things easier."
Nyx crossed her arms slightly. "Who's paying him?"
"Our department."
Silence settled.
Nyx stepped back, voice low, precise. "Let me make one thing clear. If anyone gets in my way—anyone—I'll pluck them out like a thorn. Understood?"
No one challenged her.
She turned and walked out without waiting for a response.
Behind her, the game had officially begun.