“It’s after nine o’clock,” he said. “The library’s closed.” He scanned the room as if to make sure, then added, “Everyone else is gone.”

Then it struck her. Nine o’clock! She was supposed to meet Han at eight. On Bridge Street. Madly, she scraped her papers and books together, stuffing them into her carry bag. Would he have waited? Would he have come at all?

The click of the door latch made her look up. The cadet had stepped inside and shut and locked the door.

On second glance, he didn’t look so cadetlike. Maybe it was his ill-fitting uniform and the fact that he was older than most of Raisa’s classmates. Perhaps it was his flat black eyes and the way his nervousness dropped away like a cloak he wore against the weather.

Maybe it was the way he moved toward her, like a predator.

“Thank you for waking me, Corporal,” Raisa said, her heart thudding under her jacket. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s Rivers,” he said. “Corporal Rivers.” He circled around the table toward her, seeming unaware of the fact that he was wearing a cadet scarf. Not a corporal’s.

Wolves slunk along the walls, whining uneasily.

When Rivers got within range, Raisa snatched up her jar of blotting sand and flung it into his face.

He was quick. He nearly managed to dodge out of the way, but some of it went into his eyes. He scrubbed at them with the heels of his hands, and that’s when she saw the garrotte dangling from one fist. Grabbing up the study lamp from the desk, Raisa smashed it into the side of his head and ran for the door.

Somehow, he was on top of her before she could get it open. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he yanked her head back, looping the strangle cord around her neck. As he pulled back to tighten it, Raisa slid her hand between the garrotte and her windpipe—another trick from Amon Byrne—braced her feet against the door, and launched herself backward, smashing her head into the assassin’s chin with an audible crack.

The assassin’s head struck the edge of the table, and they both went down on their backs, Raisa on top. Raisa ripped away the strangle cord, rolling to her feet and groping for her dagger.

But Rivers lay still, his head at an impossible angle.

Raisa turned and fumbled at the latch, her hands shaking so hard she could scarcely manage it. Finally, she yanked the door open and ran straight into Micah Bayar.

He closed his arms tight around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Lifting her, he carried her back into the room, turning her so she was pressed up against him, her back to his front.