The scent of pine needles and industrial-strength cleaning fluid still permeated the air, a phantom reminder of the violence Vladimir and I had shared just hours ago in the gym. He had left immediately afterward, plunging back into the black hole of war logistics. I, however, was left with a new kind of hunger: the hunger for knowledge.

I sat alone in the library again, not for comfort this time, but for the privacy afforded by its security protocols. Vladimir had given me his trust, but he had ...