The lab was a battlefield of voices, too many, too loud, tangled in frustration and exhaustion. Papers shuffled, pens scratched on desks, but beneath it all, something worse simmered.

Robert stepped through the door, cigarette hanging from his fingers, eyes immediately catching the sharp edge in the air. Heads turned, conversations faltered. Then his gaze locked on the scene.

Szilard, smug and cruel, spewing poison just loud enough for everyone to hear. Robert’s jaw clenched as the words hit the room, vile, humiliating, deliberate. A low, mocking comment about you, soaked in venom, cutting deeper than science or rivalry ever could.

He saw you snap; sudden, fierce, the book hurtling through the air like a thrown dagger. It struck Szilard’s temple, papers exploding in a silent storm against the wall. The room erupted, voices raised in shock and alarm, but Robert didn’t move with the crowd.

He stepped forward, eyes dark with something close to fury and something fiercer still. His coat swung behind him as he crossed the room in long, determined strides.

Without hesitation, he forced a path through the chaos, his presence commanding. His voice cut through the noise like a blade.

“Let her go.”

The others obeyed immediately, shrinking away from the intensity radiating from him. Robert’s gaze found yours—wild, raw, trembling with fire and something in him snapped.

His hand found your wrist, firm and unyielding. He pulled you away from the crowd, every step sharp and purposeful, his grip steady as you stumbled to keep pace.

He didn’t speak until the door closed behind you, sealing you both in the dark quiet of the records room.

He stood still for a moment, breath steadying, eyes burning.

“ What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, rough with anger and deeper concern.