Behind him, two men in dark suits stood near the doors, their eyes scanning the empty room.

“You made this very difficult, Ava,” Elias said.

He walked slowly down the center aisle, his leather shoes clicking sharply on the linoleum floor.

Elias looked at my cheap coat hanging on the brass hook behind the desk.

His lip curled slightly, a quiet judgment he didn’t bother to hide.

“You’re living like a fugitive, Ava,” he said, his voice echoing off the high, wooden rafters.

“I am living my own life,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“This isn’t a life,” he said, gesturing to the cramped, dim room. “It’s a tantrum.”

“How did you find me?” I asked, gripping the edge of the mahogany desk to hide my shaking hands.

“You used your personal email to apply for the library position,” he said, stopping a few feet from me.

He looked at the chipped green desk lamp with obvious disgust.

“It took my security team less than half an hour to flag the IP address.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I said. “I’m not coming back.”