3 Grandma

As the shuttle whisked Miro through the concealed tunnels, he couldn't shake the feeling of duality – a secret agent on a crucial mission, yet tethered to the seemingly ordinary world above. The shuttle's doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, revealing the library once more.

Miro, the seemingly ordinary librarian, returned to the quaint surroundings. Adjusting his wristwatch, feeling the weight of the laser cutter, he strolled toward the door. As he approached the sign to change it to "closed," an old lady appeared outside, her eyes holding a hopeful look.

"Young man, could you spare a moment? I need some help getting a few books. My eyes aren't what they used to be, you see."

Embodying his librarian role, Miro offered a warm smile and nodded.

"Certainly, ma'am. I'd be glad to assist you."

Setting aside the task of changing the sign, he swung the door open to allow the elderly inside. She gently grabbed his hand, and together they walked to the shelves. With genuine kindness, he guided her through the aisles, helping her retrieve the books she desired.

Once the old lady had her books, she thanked him with a grateful smile, holding his hand for a moment longer.

"You're a kind soul, young man. Thank you for your help."

In that moment, Miro felt a strange sensation. His surroundings blurred, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself back at his desk, lost in thought. The remnants of the glow lingered on his hand, leaving him contemplating the mysterious connection with the old lady.

Maybe he was dreaming, he thought.

His heart raced with worry and anguish, his mind racing back to the brief with the director. Thoughts of his mentor, Miles, and the Syndicate that had kidnapped him consumed him. He couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out. As he took in the familiar surroundings, he found little solace in the hushed whispers of book lovers that filled the air like a sacred hymn.

The library was a sanctuary for Miro, a place where the scent of aged paper and the touch of leather-bound volumes brought comfort.

He glanced at the clock hanging above the entrance, the old pendulum ticking away seconds that felt like hours. The anxiety gnawed at his insides, and he couldn't help but feel that the library's mysterious atmosphere was mocking him, taunting him with its secrets that it refused to reveal.

"Focus," Miro whispered to himself, gripping the edge of the desk. He needed to remain vigilant, for Miles' sake and for the truth that he knew was waiting just beyond his grasp. As the morning sunlight continued illuminating the library, he couldn't escape the sense that time was running out.

The library's hushed whispers carried memories of Miro's first encounter with Miles – the day he walked into the library with tattered clothes, skinny and malnourished, looking for books to join the order, eager to learn. He buried himself beneath piles of books on cryptography and intelligence-gathering.

Miles, a seasoned agent with an air of wisdom surrounding him, approached Miro with curiosity.

"Interesting choices," Miles commented, picking up one of the books and flipping through its pages.

"Thank you," Miro replied, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he realized how disheveled he must have looked. "I've always had an interest in this field."

"An interest? You're practically devouring these books," Miles chuckled. "I could use someone like you on my team."

"Your team?" Miro asked, his eyes widening.

"Long story. But if you're willing to learn, I can teach you everything I know," Miles offered, extending a hand.

"Deal," Miro said, gripping Miles' hand firmly.

From that moment on, their bond grew stronger every day. Miles taught Miro all about the world of espionage – the art of deception, the importance of remaining invisible, and the weight of bearing secrets that could change the course of history. As they trained together, Miro came to regard Miles as not only a mentor but also a father figure – someone who believed in him when no one else did.

Now, as Miro sat at his desk, the memory of Miles' laughter seemed like a distant echo, drowned out by the suffocating silence that followed his abduction.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

Miro looked up from his desk, bewildered. "How did you get in here?"

"You let me in," she replied with a smile.

"Man, I guess this case with Miles is affecting me more than I thought," Miro whispered to himself.

"Can you help me, please?" the elderly woman said. Miro looked up to see the elderly woman standing before him, her hands clutching a small stack of books.

"Ah, yes, of course," he replied politely, forcing a smile. "How may I assist you

?"

"Could you help me check out these books?" she asked, her voice barely audible beneath the sound of pages turning throughout the library.

"Of course," Miro said, taking the books from her trembling hands. As he scanned each one, his thoughts drifted back to Miles, their late-night conversations about life and purpose, and the lessons he'd received from the man who was more than just a mentor – he was family.

"Is everything alright, dear?" the woman inquired, her eyes full of concern. "You seem…distracted."

"Everything's fine," Miro lied, handing the books back to her. "Just a lot on my mind today."

"Ah, I understand," she said with a knowing nod. "Take care of yourself, see you soon," she said with a faint smile.

"Thank you," Miro replied, watching as she disappeared into the sea of bookshelves and vanished with a glow.