Page 47 of Mercy Written in Blood

Haruki lifted the radio from his belt.

"Ken."

Static. He tried again.

"Ken, respond."

Nothing.

A dark figure crossed the breach. Haruki fired. The muzzle flash illuminated the chamber for a fraction of a second — black clothing, pale mask, no insignia. The bullet struck the figure high in the chest and forced it back a single step. It did not fall. Haruki fired again, and this time the shape vanished sideways.

"Move," he said. "Back wall. Now."

Takeda crawled first. Kameda followed, pulling her equipment case without seeming to realise she was still holding it. Endo reached for Minamoto, but the older professor shoved him away.

"Leave the journal," Minamoto said.

His voice sounded wrong. Not frightened. Resigned.

Another figure entered. Haruki saw only an outline before it moved — too fast, though not impossibly fast; that would have been easier to understand. This was speed sharpened by training, every step efficient, every motion stripped ofhesitation. The attacker reached Toma before Haruki could turn. A narrow blade passed beneath the worker's ribs. Toma made a small, confused sound. The attacker caught him as he fell, lowered him without noise and withdrew the blade.

Professional. That was the word Haruki's mind supplied. Not angry. Not frenzied. Professional.

Haruki fired twice. The attacker twisted aside from the first shot; the second struck the shoulder. Black fabric tore. Dark blood appeared beneath it. The figure looked down at the wound, then at Haruki. The mask was smooth and white, marked only by a thin vertical line over the mouth.

Haruki fired again. The attacker vanished behind the shelves.

"Who are you?" Haruki demanded.

No answer.

Takeda reached the far wall.

"There's nowhere to go."

Haruki knew. The chamber had one entrance. The attackers knew it too. They had not come to trap them — they had come because no escape had been intended.

He crossed to the others, keeping the pistol aimed towards the breach.

"How many?"

"I saw two," Endo whispered.

"More," Minamoto said.

Haruki looked at him.

"How do you know?"

"They never work in pairs."

The professor's certainty chilled him.

"Who?"

Minamoto looked towards the journal.

"The Unveiled."