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“Are you insane?” he replied, his eyes wide. “My job is keeping you alive.”

“You have to,” I said forcefully. “If they wipe out everyone, you won’t be able to keep me alive anyway.”

His mouth opened to argue, right as another hail of bullets sailed over our heads. A split-second of indecision lingered in his brown eyes before he shook his head and stood.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “Wait for me.”

I nodded, and he dashed out from our hiding spot. I waited for a moment, listening to the firefight, before I peered out. I had no intention of staying hidden, but I also didn’t want to get hit. I had to plan my escape.

Tucked away in the opposite corner of the auditorium was a spiral staircase that led upstairs to the stacks. I’d never been up there, but if it was anything like the stacks at the Cave’s library, it would rarely be visited. If I made it up there, I could try to find an emergency exit that wasn’t guarded by the White Rose Militia or the Delta military.

It was almost a straight shot from where I was to the staircase, but there were people and debris in the way. I’d have to run in a wide arc around them. I couldn’t overthink it, or the moment would be gone. I stumbled a bit as I stood; my equilibrium was off, thanks to my injured ear. With one last check to see that the two militant parties were busy shooting at each other, I bolted.

I ran as fast as I could, ignoring the pain as more glass sliced open my poor feet. Slipping and sliding in the slick trail of blood I was leaving behind me, I dodged bullets, bodies, and hunks of steel. It would’ve probably looked comical if it wasn’t so horrific. Despite nearly falling several times, however, I made it. My hand closed around the railing, and I put my foot down on the first step—

Arms closed around my middle and pulled me off the stairs, and a scream caught in my throat. I panicked, flailing, and managed to elbow my attacker in the face. He wore a gas mask, so it likely didn’t do much damage, but it startled him enough to make him drop me. I raced up the stairs, only looking over my shoulder once. The White Rose soldier who’d grabbed me was at the bottom of the stairs, accompanied by another man, and they immediately gave chase. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted another White Rose soldier approaching at a run.

I made it into the stacks and ran between the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The floor was divided into numbered aisles along the bookshelves. I left bloody footprints on the thinly carpeted floor, and in a split-second decision, I ran between the aisles, leaving false trails of blood before taking cover in Aisle 14, panting hard and hoping that my pursuers would give up.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Sole Survivor,” a singsong male voice called. “I wonder if you can survive a bullet in your brain, huh? What would they say about you then?”

“Probably that she’s a useless whore for the regime,” another male voice answered. “Because, y’know, she is.”

Their voices had that same muffled quality as Hamilton’s because of my injured ear, so I had trouble determining where they were. My breath was coming out in short little pants, and I was cold with terror. Unarmed, alone, and injured. I didn’t stand a chance in a fight with them in this state.

“Ah, look, she was nice enough to leave us a little trail,” the first man remarked.

I took a deep breath and held it. I did my best to determine their position by listening, even though my hearing was horribly impaired. They weren’t quiet as they moved, however, so I heard it when one of them entered the aisle before mine. Without thinking too deeply about it, I did the only thing I could think of: I threw my entire weight against the bookcase, and when it wobbled, I did it again.

With an almighty crash, the shelf toppled onto the militia soldier, and his shout of surprise was my cue to run again.

“You fucking bitch!” the other man hollered after me. “I’ll kill you!”

I fled, but he was in hot pursuit. Panic rose inside me as I reached the end of the stacks, and all that was left was a bunch of doors. My attacker was hot on my heels when a gunshot rang out. Instinctively, I winced and looked down at my body, but then the man following me crumpled to the floor. He’d been shot.

At the opposite end of the stacks, another White Rose militia man stood, rifle raised. Shock made me freeze again, but then he started sprinting toward me. If I’d been thinking rationally, I would’ve wondered why he shot one of his own, but I was in survival mode. I yanked open one of the heavy doors ahead of me.

Too late, I realized it led into one of the small, private study rooms that contained only a table and no exit, but I had no choice. I hurried inside and moved to shut the door, but then the soldier was there, jamming his boot in the gap. I tried to slam the door again, but he forced his way in. I backed away, prepared to fight as my last resort.

When he came toward me, I shoved him, trying to put distance between us, but he grabbed me. I struggled furiously against him, but his hold only tightened.

“Let me go,” I growled through gritted teeth.

I lashed out, landing a blow against his ribs. I felt the air leave his chest as he grunted, slightly doubling over. He said something, but the gas mask swallowed the words.

I moved for the door, but he caught my wrist at the last moment, twisting me back toward him. In one smooth, lightning-quick movement, he reeled me into him, tore off his mask, and then his lips were on mine—desperate, yearning, hungry.

My kneejerk reaction was a brief sputter of disgust. That gave way almost immediately to shock and disbelief. Because those lips knew mine. Because I’d kissed them a thousand times before. Because I thought I might never feel them again.

All the fight went out of me at once, and my knees went weak. I sagged against him, my heart pounding wildly in my ears, and he grabbed me to stop me from falling.

One moment I was kissing him, the next I was sobbing, hard and desperate—part grief, part sheer relief. In an instant, I found myself crushed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me as I wept my heart out into his shirt. He kicked the study room door shut before he cradled my head against his chest and buried his face in my hair.

“Christ,” John muttered, low and broken, and I realized he was crying too, albeit not hysterically like I was. “My love, my wife, my Claire.”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” I blubbered against him. “I’ve…I…”

I couldn’t even get the words out. His hold on me tightened, and he pressed a hard kiss against my hair.