Evelyn Holloway had survived six deaths, an international manhunt, several extremely unpleasant encounters with professional adventurers, and one particularly humiliating attempt at stealing apples.
She was currently losing a staring contest with a public toilet mirror.
"Oh, that's awful."
The woman staring back at her had hair that could generously be described as blonde.
Less generously, it looked as though someone had attempted to bleach a carrot.
There were patches of pale yellow near her temples, darker sections around the back, and a distinctly orange streak running down the left side of her head.
She turned slightly.
"Oh, brilliant. It's worse from this angle."
At least it wasn't dark brown anymore.
That had been the objective.
She supposed.
The grey hoodie she'd stolen from the supermarket had acquired several suspicious yellow stains during the process. She'd tried scrubbing them out with soap and cold water, which had mostly succeeded in making them larger.
Her face looked different, though.
Not dramatically different.
But different enough that someone glancing at her might not immediately recognize the dark-haired university student whose name was currently attached to the most lucrative murder quest in human history.
Hopefully.
Evelyn leaned closer to the mirror.
"Emma Collins," she whispered.
The name sounded ridiculous.
She'd come up with it while sitting on the closed toilet lid, trying to decide what she'd say if anyone asked who she was.
Emma was her mother's name.
Collins had simply been the first surname that came to mind.
She hadn't even been particularly creative about it.
Then again, she hadn't slept properly in days, had recently shot her childhood friend, and had stolen enough groceries to feed herself for a while.
Perhaps creativity could wait.
She stepped back.
Her backpack sat on the floor beside the sink.
Inside were clothes, food, two bottles of water—one already opened—some toiletries, and the remaining hair products she'd taken from the supermarket.
Bought.
Right.
Stolen.
She really needed to stop doing that.
Not the stealing, apparently. Just calling it buying.
She opened the backpack and checked its contents for the third time.
The sandwich was gone.
Two of the bread rolls were gone.
Half a chocolate bar was gone.
Everything else was still there.
Good.
She zipped the bag shut.
There was one more problem.
Actually, there were approximately seventeen thousand problems.
But one of them was particularly irritating.
She knew almost nothing about her own Skill.
Undying.
An ability that apparently allowed her to return from death, completely healed, with occasional improvements to her attributes and resistances.
It sounded impressive.
It was impressive.
It was also the reason she'd spent the last several days being stabbed, burned, poisoned, electrocuted, and shot.
And she still didn't understand how it worked.
Did it have limits?
Could someone eventually find a way to stop her coming back?
What happened if she died somewhere nobody could reach her?
What if she was trapped?
What if—
"No."
Evelyn shook her head.
Not now.
She'd spent enough time imagining horrifying possibilities.
She needed information.
Actual information.
Not speculation.
Not someone telling her she was special while preparing to murder her.
Books.
She needed books.
Which meant finding a library.
Which was easier said than done.
Public libraries weren't exactly common anymore.
Between the internet, digital archives, electronic textbooks, and the enormous databases maintained by universities and research institutions, most people had stopped seeing the point of keeping entire buildings filled with physical books.
The System hadn't helped.
Why spend hours searching through dusty shelves when a quick online query could provide everything from basic Skill descriptions to detailed guides on class progression?
Over the past two decades, countless smaller libraries had closed. Others had been converted into digital learning centres, offering little more than computer terminals and access to online databases.
Physical books still existed, of course.
Universities kept specialized collections. Collectors paid ridiculous amounts for rare editions. And a few stubborn towns continued maintaining traditional libraries, usually because enough residents insisted they were worth preserving.
Evelyn had always liked those places.
There was something comforting about actual books. About turning pages, finding handwritten notes in the margins, and occasionally discovering something interesting while looking for something completely different.
More importantly, books didn't require her to log into an account.
They didn't ask for passwords.
And they didn't automatically record every search she made.
Considering that her name was currently attached to a worldwide murder quest, that last point had become rather important.
Of course, she still needed to find a library that actually had books.
Preferably one that hadn't been converted into a room full of computers and a coffee machine.
"Please," she muttered. "Just one building full of dead trees. That's all I'm asking."
***
Briarford looked almost offensively normal.
People walked along the pavements carrying shopping bags. Cars moved through the narrow streets. A delivery driver argued with someone outside a café about where he was allowed to park.
An elderly woman stood beside a bus stop, complaining loudly about the weather.
Nobody appeared particularly concerned that the most wanted person on the planet was walking past them with a stolen backpack.
Evelyn kept her head down.
Not too far down.
That looked suspicious.
Probably.
She had no idea how ordinary people were supposed to behave anymore.
She'd spent so much time hiding that simply walking along a pavement felt like doing something illegal.
Technically, given the contents of her backpack, she was doing something illegal.
But that wasn't the point.
She passed a shop window displaying winter coats.
Her reflection moved across the glass.
Orange hair.
Grey hoodie.
Black leggings.
Trainers.
She looked like an exhausted student who'd made a regrettable decision involving hair dye.
Which, to be fair, was exactly what she was.
Apart from the murder quest.
And the resurrection.
And the stolen groceries.
She kept walking.
The library stood near a small public square, housed in a red-brick building with tall windows and a faded sign above the entrance.
BRIARFORD PUBLIC LIBRARY
Evelyn stopped outside.
For a moment, she simply stared.
She'd spent years visiting libraries.
University libraries. Public libraries. Little second-hand bookshops where the shelves were too close together and everything smelled faintly of dust.
They'd always felt safe.
Quiet.
Predictable.
Nobody tried to kill you in a library.
Usually.
She glanced at the people passing behind her.
Then pushed open the door.
Warm air washed over her.
The building smelled of paper, furniture polish, and something faintly floral.
There were shelves of books, a few tables, several computers along one wall, and a reception desk near the entrance.
An elderly man was reading a newspaper.
A teenager sat hunched over a textbook.
Somewhere deeper inside, a printer made an irritated mechanical noise.
Evelyn nearly cried.
It was so ordinary.
She hadn't realized how badly she'd missed ordinary.
"Hello, love."
Evelyn froze.
A woman behind the reception desk smiled at her.
"Can I help you?"
"No."
The answer came out too quickly.
The woman blinked.
Evelyn swallowed.
"I mean, yes. Sorry. Maybe."
"All right."
The woman waited patiently.
Evelyn glanced toward the shelves.
"I was wondering if you have books about the System."
The woman smiled.
"Of course. Anything specific?"
"Skills. Mostly."
"Learning them?"
"Yes."
"Right. We have quite a good selection in the reference section."
She pointed toward the back of the library.
"Second aisle on the left, then straight ahead. You'll see the signs."
"Thank you."
"Are you registered with us?"
Evelyn's stomach dropped.
Registered.
Name.
Address.
Identification.
Wonderful.
"Um."
The woman looked at her.
"Have you got a library card?"
"No."
"That's fine. We can get you registered if you'd like."
Evelyn felt her pulse quicken.
"Right."
"I'll just need a few details."
Of course she would.
"Your name?"
"Evelyn Hol—"
She stopped.
The woman looked up.
Evelyn's brain performed a desperate emergency manoeuvre.
"Emma."
"Sorry?"
"Emma Collins."
The woman smiled.
"Lovely. And your address?"
Evelyn stared.
Address.
She hadn't thought that far ahead.
She could hardly give her parents' address.
She didn't know any addresses in Briarford.
She briefly considered saying she lived in the woods.
Which was unfortunately not entirely inaccurate.
"Actually," she said, "I don't need to borrow anything."
"Oh?"
"I just wanted to read."
The woman paused.
Then laughed gently.
"Oh, you don't need a card for that, love."
Evelyn blinked.
"I don't?"
"No. Anyone can come in and read. You only need to register if you want to take books home."
"Oh."
"Would you like to register anyway?"
"No!"
The woman raised her eyebrows.
Evelyn winced.
"Sorry. No, thank you."
"All right, then."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Emma."
Evelyn nodded stiffly and walked away.
She made it approximately six steps before closing her eyes.
*Evelyn Hol—*
Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant.
She'd nearly announced her full name to a stranger.
A stranger sitting behind a desk with a computer.
Perhaps next time she could simply wear a sign.
*HELLO, I'M EVELYN HOLLOWAY. PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.*
She reached the reference section and ducked between two shelves.
Nobody followed her.
Nobody shouted.
Nobody drew a weapon.
She breathed out slowly.
Progress.
***
The System section occupied three tall bookcases.
Evelyn stopped in front of them.
There were books about classes, attributes, Dungeon mechanics, Skill development, professional specializations, and the history of the System's appearance twenty years earlier.
She scanned the titles.
*Understanding the System: Skills, Classes and Progression.*
Promising.
She pulled it from the shelf.
*Practical Applications of Mana Control.*
Maybe later.
*Restoration and Recovery: A Study of Healing Skills.*
Definitely.
She added it to the growing stack in her arms.
Then she spotted another title.
*Beyond Death: Documented Resurrection Phenomena.*
Evelyn stared at it.
Her fingers tightened around the other books.
Slowly, she pulled it from the shelf.
The cover showed a stylized human silhouette surrounded by overlapping circles of golden light.
She hated it immediately.
Not because it was ugly.
Because the title suggested someone might actually have answers.
And she was terrified of what those answers might be.
She carried the books to a table near the back of the library.
The area was quiet.
An older man sat several tables away, reading a newspaper. Nobody else was nearby.
Evelyn chose a chair with a clear view of the aisle.
She placed her backpack beside her feet, tucked one strap around her ankle, and arranged the books in front of her.
For the first time in days, she had something resembling a plan.
Read.
Learn.
Try not to die.
Simple.
She opened the first book.
***
*Understanding the System* began with several chapters explaining things Evelyn already knew.
The System had appeared twenty years ago.
Nobody understood its origin.
Classes developed according to a person's abilities and activities.
Attributes influenced physical and mental performance.
Skills could be acquired through training, experience, or certain quests.
Evelyn skimmed.
She'd learned most of this in school.
The interesting material began in Chapter Six.
**Skill Acquisition Through Nontraditional Methods.**
She leaned forward.
According to the book, direct practice wasn't the only way to acquire a Skill.
Some individuals developed abilities through observation.
Others through theoretical study.
A healer might begin by studying anatomy, magical energy flow, and the principles of biological restoration before ever attempting a healing spell.
A swordsman could improve their understanding of technique by watching an experienced fighter.
A craftsman might acquire a specialized Skill after studying a process in sufficient detail.
None of that was especially surprising.
But one paragraph caught her attention.
*In rare cases, the System may recognize sustained theoretical understanding as meaningful progression toward a Skill, even before the individual has successfully performed the associated action.*
Evelyn read it again.
Then a third time.
The System could recognize understanding.
Not just doing something.
Understanding it.
She thought about her Novice Scholar class.
She'd acquired it through studying.
Through reading, writing, and completing assignments.
She hadn't needed to fight anything.
She hadn't needed to nearly die.
She'd simply learned.
Perhaps that was still possible.
Perhaps she hadn't lost the ability to improve herself without someone attacking her.
She turned the page.
The next section discussed Skill compatibility.
Not every person could learn every Skill.
Some required particular classes.
Others demanded minimum attribute values, prior Skills, or specialized training.
Unique Skills were generally considered impossible to reproduce through conventional learning.
Evelyn glanced at her own status.
**Undying — Unique Skill**
Yes.
She'd gathered that part.
She continued reading.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
She found herself taking notes on a scrap of paper she'd discovered tucked inside the back of one of the books.
It was an old library notice.
She used the blank side.
Her handwriting was terrible.
But it felt good to write something that wasn't a desperate message to her family.
She copied down several terms.
*Theoretical acquisition.*
*Skill compatibility.*
*Class influence.*
*Practical reinforcement.*
Then she turned another page.
And a blue window appeared.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
**Skill Acquired: Skill Comprehension — Lv. 1**
Enables the gradual comprehension of compatible Skills through theoretical study, observation, and practical experience.
Progress depends on the complexity of the Skill and the method of learning.
Class and level restrictions may apply.
Evelyn stopped breathing.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Then she looked around.
Nobody else seemed to have noticed.
The older man was still reading his newspaper.
A librarian pushed a trolley past the end of the aisle.
The world continued as though nothing had happened.
Evelyn turned back to the notification.
"Wait," she whispered.
A Skill.
She'd just acquired a Skill.
By reading.
She hadn't been stabbed.
She hadn't been burned.
She hadn't even been mildly threatened.
She'd sat in a library and read a book.
And the System had rewarded her.
A laugh escaped her.
She clapped a hand over her mouth.
The older man glanced up.
Evelyn pretended to cough.
He returned to his newspaper.
She looked at the notification again.
*Skill Comprehension.*
It sounded almost disappointingly academic.
Which was perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
She'd never been so happy to acquire something that sounded like a university elective.
She opened her status window and checked the Skill description.
The information matched the notification.
Theoretical study.
Observation.
Practical experience.
Gradual comprehension.
Evelyn leaned back.
"Okay," she whispered.
This was something.
She didn't know how useful it would be.
She didn't know how quickly it worked.
But it was something she could actually control.
Nobody had forced her to acquire it.
Nobody had strapped her to a table.
Nobody had demanded she demonstrate Undying.
She'd done it herself.
She stared at the book.
Then smiled.
A small smile.
But a real one.
***
The next book was considerably more difficult.
*Restoration and Recovery: A Study of Healing Skills* had apparently been written by someone who considered ordinary language a personal insult.
Evelyn understood perhaps half of the terminology.
The other half seemed to involve mana pathways, biological templates, tissue reconstruction, and something called restorative resonance.
She read the same paragraph four times.
Then sighed.
"Could you possibly have made that more complicated?"
A woman at the next table glanced toward her.
Evelyn lowered her head.
"Sorry."
She turned the page.
The book explained that basic healing Skills didn't simply accelerate natural recovery.
They interacted with the body's existing structure, using magical energy to restore damaged tissue toward a viable state.
More advanced Skills could rebuild organs, reconnect nerves, and repair injuries that conventional medicine considered irreversible.
There were limits.
Energy requirements.
Skill compatibility.
The severity of the injury.
The condition of the patient.
And, in many cases, the experience of the healer.
Evelyn paused.
Her knee.
She looked down at her right leg.
The old ligament injury had bothered her for four years.
It had been the reason she'd struggled to run from the lecture hall on the day the World Quest appeared.
She remembered the pain.
The way she'd stumbled on the stairs.
How her knee had felt as though someone were driving a nail through it.
Then she remembered waking after her first death.
Her knee hadn't hurt.
Not even slightly.
She'd been too frightened to think about it at the time.
But the pain had never returned.
Undying hadn't merely repaired the stab wound.
It had restored her entire body.
Old injuries included.
She stared at the page.
That was extraordinary.
And deeply unsettling.
What exactly did the System consider her correct physical state?
How did it decide what to restore?
What happened if she changed something deliberately?
She touched a strand of her newly dyed hair.
Would it turn dark again if she died?
The thought made her stomach tighten.
She'd spent far too much time making herself look like a badly bleached carrot to have it undone by the next murderer.
She pushed the thought aside.
One problem at a time.
She returned to the book.
The chapter described the basic principles behind the Heal Skill.
Mana circulation.
Target identification.
Restorative intent.
Evelyn read slowly.
She tried to imagine the process.
Not simply memorizing the words, but understanding what they meant.
How magical energy might recognize damaged tissue.
How a Skill could determine what needed repairing.
How a healer directed that process.
She wasn't sure she understood much.
But she kept reading.
And then another notification appeared.
[SKILL COMPREHENSION]
**Heal — Comprehension: 2%**
Evelyn blinked.
"Two percent?"
She stared at the number.
Two.
After all that reading?
She'd expected something a little more impressive.
Perhaps ten.
Or twenty.
She'd even have accepted five.
But two?
"Generous," she muttered.
She checked her Skill list.
Heal wasn't there.
Of course it wasn't.
She'd only reached two percent.
Which presumably meant she'd need to reach one hundred before anything happened.
She looked at the book.
Then at the notification.
Then back at the book.
And slowly, the disappointment faded.
Two percent.
Not zero.
She'd made progress toward learning a healing Skill.
Without a teacher.
Without equipment.
Without ever having cast a spell.
She'd simply read about it.
Her heart began beating faster.
If she could learn Heal, what else could she learn?
Defensive Skills?
Movement abilities?
Something that could help her escape?
Perhaps even something that would let her fight back.
Not that she particularly wanted to fight anyone.
She'd seen enough violence to last several lifetimes.
Unfortunately, the rest of the world didn't seem interested in respecting that preference.
Evelyn leaned forward again.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Two percent it is."
She turned the page.
***
By early afternoon, Evelyn had developed a headache.
Not a particularly severe one.
Just the sort of dull ache that came from concentrating too hard while running on too little sleep.
She drank from her water bottle and ate another bread roll.
The older man had left.
A pair of students now occupied a table near the windows.
One was quietly complaining about an assignment.
The other appeared to be ignoring him.
Evelyn watched them for a moment.
She missed that.
Assignments.
Deadlines.
Being annoyed about things that didn't involve murder.
She wondered whether Hannah had gone back to lectures.
Whether Professor Whitmore had continued teaching after Evelyn fled.
Whether anyone had bothered to repair the crack in the ceiling.
Probably not.
Universities had priorities.
Ceiling maintenance rarely seemed to be one of them.
She looked down at her books.
There was still one she hadn't properly examined.
*Beyond Death: Documented Resurrection Phenomena.*
She pulled it closer.
She opened it anyway.
The introduction explained that resurrection remained one of the least understood aspects of the System.
True resurrection was exceptionally rare.
Most abilities described as resurrection were actually forms of emergency healing, temporary death prevention, or revival under highly specific conditions.
Some required another person to activate the Skill.
Others worked only within a short period after death.
A few depended on rare items or specialized rituals.
The book included several documented cases.
An adventurer revived by a healer after his heart had stopped.
A Dungeon party member restored through a single-use artifact.
A high-level fighter whose Skill prevented fatal damage once every thirty days.
Evelyn read carefully.
None of them sounded like Undying.
She turned to the next chapter.
Then the next.
There were accounts of individuals who'd returned from apparently fatal injuries, but most involved outside intervention.
A healer.
An artifact.
A special Dungeon effect.
Nobody simply died and came back repeatedly.
Not like her.
The author discussed the possibility of autonomous resurrection Skills.
Theoretical abilities that might activate without outside assistance.
But there were no confirmed examples matching Evelyn's experience.
She read that section twice.
Then closed the book.
"Wonderful."
She'd hoped for answers.
Instead, she'd discovered that she might be an entirely new category of problem.
She rubbed her eyes.
At least she knew what to look for now.
Anomalous Skills.
Unique abilities.
Unexplained System behaviour.
She reopened the book and checked the references.
There were dozens.
Research papers.
Historical studies.
Institute reports.
Then one name caught her attention.
**Dr. Miriam Solberg.**
Evelyn frowned.
She'd seen the name before.
Somewhere.
A news article, perhaps.
Or a university reading list.
She followed the citation to the bibliography.
*Solberg, M. — Anomalous Skill Manifestations and the Limits of Established System Classification.*
*Institute for System Research, London.*
Evelyn read the title again.
Anomalous Skill Manifestations.
That sounded promising.
She searched the index.
Several pages referenced Solberg's work.
The author described her as a researcher specializing in unusual Skill development, classification failures, and abilities that appeared to operate outside established System rules.
Evelyn sat very still.
Outside established rules.
Like a Skill that brought someone back from death.
Repeatedly.
She turned to one of the referenced sections.
Solberg's research suggested that the System's classifications might describe observed effects without fully explaining the underlying mechanisms.
A Skill's displayed name and description could be accurate while still leaving important aspects of its operation unknown.
Evelyn stared at that sentence.
That was exactly her problem.
Undying told her what happened.
Not why.
Not how.
Not whether it could fail.
And certainly not why the System had placed a World Quest on her head.
She checked the publication details.
The Institute for System Research.
London.
A real institution.
With actual researchers.
People whose jobs involved studying strange System behaviour.
She picked up her scrap of paper and wrote down the name.
**Dr. Miriam Solberg**
**Institute for System Research — London**
Then she underlined it.
Twice.
She didn't know whether Miriam Solberg could help her.
She didn't know whether the woman would even agree to speak with her.
For all Evelyn knew, the researcher might be just as interested in the World Quest reward as everyone else.
That thought made her stomach tighten.
She looked around the library.
Nobody was watching her.
The students were still arguing quietly.
A librarian was arranging books near the entrance.
Everything was normal.
For now.
She folded the paper and tucked it into her backpack.
London.
It was far away.
She had no money, no phone, no identification she could safely use, and no idea how to get there without being recognized.
Not exactly an ideal travel situation.
She could barely manage a trip to the supermarket without committing a crime.
Travelling across the country seemed ambitious.
But she didn't have to solve everything today.
She had a name.
A place.
A possible direction.
That was more than she'd had this morning.
***
Evelyn spent another hour reading.
She returned to the first book and looked for more information about Skill development.
Some Skills could be acquired through repeated observation.
Others required direct practice.
Theoretical study was usually the slowest approach, but it could establish the foundation needed for later training.
She wrote that down.
She also found a section discussing class restrictions.
Her Novice Scholar class was particularly suited to acquiring knowledge-based abilities.
That explained why Skill Comprehension had appeared while she was studying.
Perhaps she'd been close to acquiring it already.
Perhaps the System had finally recognized what she'd been doing.
She didn't know.
But she intended to take advantage of it.
She checked her status.
**Level 1 — Novice Scholar**
Her attributes were still modest.
Strength: 6.
Agility: 8.
Intelligence: 12.
Wisdom: 11.
Endurance: 9.
She had Undying.
Ember.
Several resistances.
And now Skill Comprehension.
It wasn't much compared with professional adventurers.
But it was more than she'd possessed when she'd walked into Professor Whitmore's lecture.
She remembered that morning.
The crack in the ceiling.
Hannah making fun of her.
Lucy's messages about milk.
She'd been annoyed about buying milk.
Milk.
She almost laughed.
She'd give anything to have that problem again.
Instead, she was sitting in a library under a false name, wearing stolen clothes, researching resurrection because the entire world wanted her dead.
Life had taken a rather aggressive turn.
She closed her status window.
Then opened the healing book again.
Two percent.
She could work with two percent.
It would take time. Probably a lot of time. And she had no guarantee that she would survive long enough to finish.
But she had something she'd been missing since the World Quest appeared.
A choice.
She could study. She could learn. She could decide what she wanted to become.
Not what the System wanted. Not what Daniel wanted. Not what Catherine Reed or the adventurers hunting her wanted.
Her.
Evelyn Holloway.
Level One Novice Scholar.
Possibly the worst fugitive in the history of fugitives.
She smiled faintly.
Then she glanced at the clock.
She'd been here for hours.
Long enough that someone might remember her face.
And she still had no idea where she was going to sleep tonight.
She looked down at *Restoration and Recovery: A Study of Healing Skills*.
It was a thick book.
A useful book.
A book that had already helped her make progress toward learning Heal.
A book she would very much like to keep.
Evelyn glanced toward the reception desk.
Then at her backpack.
"Oh, don't even think about it," she whispered.
She thought about it.
Quite extensively, actually.
The book belonged to a public library. One of the few remaining places where people could still borrow physical books without paying ridiculous amounts of money.
Stealing from it was objectively awful.
She knew that.
She also knew she couldn't register for a library card without providing details she didn't want anyone checking.
And she couldn't afford to spend every day sitting here, waiting for someone to recognize her.
She looked at the book again.
Two percent.
There were ninety-eight more to go.
"Oh, for God's sake."
She checked the aisle.
Empty.
The librarian was helping someone near the entrance. The two students had gathered their things and were leaving.
Evelyn opened her backpack.
She hesitated.
Then slipped the healing book inside, beneath her spare clothes.
The bag became noticeably heavier.
So did her conscience.
"Sorry," she whispered to the empty chair opposite her.
She returned the other books to the nearby returns trolley, trying very hard to look like someone who had absolutely nothing to hide.
Which was difficult, considering she was currently hiding a stolen book.
She picked up her backpack.
Too quickly.
The strap caught on the chair.
The chair scraped against the floor.
Evelyn froze.
A woman near the windows looked up.
Evelyn smiled.
The woman returned to her reading.
*Right.*
*Time to leave.*
She headed toward the entrance at what she hoped was a perfectly ordinary walking pace.
Not running.
Definitely not running.
Running was suspicious.
She'd learned that at the supermarket.
"Found everything you needed, Emma?"
Evelyn nearly jumped out of her skin.
The librarian was smiling at her from behind the desk.
"Yes!"
Too loud.
Again.
She cleared her throat.
"Yes, thank you. Very helpful."
"Lovely. Have a nice afternoon."
"You too."
Evelyn continued toward the door.
She expected someone to call after her.
Or an alarm to sound.
Or a System notification to appear announcing that she'd unlocked the world's most pathetic criminal class.
Nothing happened.
She pushed open the door.
Stepped outside.
And kept walking.
She didn't stop until she'd turned the corner and the library was out of sight.
Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
"Oh, brilliant."
She had done it.
Again.
First the supermarket.
Now the library.
At this rate, she'd become a notorious criminal entirely by accident.
She adjusted the backpack on her shoulder.
Inside was a book that might eventually teach her how to heal injuries.
She'd also written down the name of a researcher in London who might know something about Undying.
It wasn't much.
But it was a beginning.
Evelyn glanced back toward the street she'd come from.
Nobody was following her.
Good.
She intended to keep it that way.
She pulled her hood up over her disastrous blonde hair and quickened her pace.
She needed somewhere quiet to read.
Somewhere safe to sleep.
And preferably somewhere she wouldn't have to steal anything else.
For at least a day.
"That would be nice," she muttered.
Then she disappeared into the afternoon crowd, carrying her stolen book and the first real hope she'd felt in days.