The man’s polite mask vanished, replaced by a cold sneer. "Clever," he hissed, "but not clever enough." In one swift motion, he locked the door behind him. The blade of his dagger caught the fluorescent light, throwing a glint of steel across the walls. Sloane fought the wave of dizziness threatening to drag her under and grabbed the nearest object—her microscope. She hurled it straight at him. The assassin dodged easily, glass shattering across the floor in a burst of glittering shards. She bolted for the door but felt her hair yanked back violently, the next instant crashing hard to the ground. "Running won’t save you." His boot pinned her wrist to the floor. "Be still, and it’ll hurt less." Pain shot through her arm, white-hot and blinding. Her body—still weakened from the lingering poison—refused to respond with its usual strength. Gritting her teeth, she snatched a jagged piece of glass from the floor and slashed at his ankle. "Ah!" He stumbled back, blood streaking down his boot. Sloane rolled beneath the lab table, gasping for air. "Help! There’s a killer!" she shouted, voice hoarse, before seizing a bottle of ethanol and hurling it toward the electrical panel. Sparks erupted; the room went black. Only the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign remained, casting long shadows across the wreckage. The man cursed under his breath, lunging toward where she’d last been. Sloane pressed herself against the wall, moving silently along its edge. But a sudden wave of vertigo made her stumble, knocking over a rack of test tubes with a sharp clatter. "Got you." His voice came from the dark, close—too close. The dagger arced through the dimness. Sloane twisted aside just in time; the blade grazed her neck, leaving a thin line of blood. She backed into the corner—cold concrete at her spine, death before her eyes. "Who sent you?" she demanded, stalling for precious seconds while her hand searched behind her for the countertop. The man grinned, teeth flashing in the dim light. "Ask Hades when you see him." He raised the knife. The door burst open with a thunderous crash. A blinding beam of light slashed across the dark room, catching the assassin’s startled face. "Sloane!" Lucas’s voice cut through the chaos. The man spun around and lunged, aiming straight for her heart. Sloane snatched the nearest flask and flung its contents at his face. The strong smell hit instantly—concentrated nitric acid. "Ahhh!" The assassin screamed, clutching his burning eyes as the dagger plunged harmlessly into the wall. Lucas charged forward, delivering a precise blow to the base of the man’s neck. The assassin collapsed, but even as his body hit the floor, a strange, twisted smile spread across his face. "His mouth—!" Sloane started, but it was too late. He bit down hard. A faint crack sounded, followed by a gush of black fluid. His body convulsed once, twice—and went still. Lucas ignored the corpse, catching Sloane just as her knees buckled. "Where are you hurt?" She shook her head weakly and pointed toward the body. "His wrist… check the inside." Lucas pulled back the man’s sleeve. There, on the inner wrist, was a small tattoo of a spider, its legs inked in eerie blue phosphorescence. "Spyder…" he muttered, his expression hardening. "An international assassination network." Footsteps thundered down the hallway as the deputy ambassador and security officers stormed in. One look at the carnage inside was enough to drain the color from every face. "Lock down the embassy!" the deputy barked. "Every staff member—verify their identity now!" Sloane, pale but conscious, knelt beside the dead man and searched his pockets. From the blood-soaked jacket, she pulled out an ID card—official, authentic, and belonging to the embassy’s internal staff. "He’s been inside for weeks," she whispered, voice fading. "Sloane!" Lucas caught her as she slumped forward, his heart pounding. That was when he saw the spreading crimson across her back—shards of glass from earlier embedded deep beneath her shoulder blade. Her eyelids fluttered once. Then everything went black.