The room was already cold when they arrived.
Leo stepped into Dorm 406 first, scanning the dimly lit interior. Every movement was precise, shoulders back, chin slightly lowered—a stance bred from a lifetime of looking over his shoulder. He didn't speak, just let his eyes roam. Every instinct screamed to assess.
Ash followed, dragging two duffel bags and a battered laptop case, sweater sticking to his back from the heat. "Finally," he muttered, looking around. "Roomy, I guess."
Then his gaze caught on the figure already seated at the far window.
The third roommate was motionless.
He sat on the windowsill, half-wrapped in shadow, a hood drawn low over his face. Black mask high over the nose. A pair of violet, slitted eyes glinted from the darkness. Nothing else of him was visible.
No words. No acknowledgment.
The stranger—Nox—was there like a ghost inhabiting his corner.
His desk was already perfectly arranged: a sleek, unbranded laptop, a small ceramic mug, matte black. His bed was made military-tight. The wardrobe door was slightly ajar, hinting at layers of black clothes. No other colors. No other signs of life.
Leo didn't move for a second.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge the figure.
"You're our third?"
Nox didn't blink. Didn't nod.
Just sat in the silence, legs crossed at the ankle, gloved fingers tapping the side of his coffee mug once.
Leo frowned, then dropped his duffel on the nearest bed. He didn't ask again.
Ash cleared his throat awkwardly. "Cool. Guess that's a yes. I'm Ash. That's Leo."
No response.
Ash looked between them. "Alright. Mysterious type. That's fine."
Leo removed his jacket with calculated slowness. There was tension in his shoulders. A contained readiness. He hadn't wanted to come here. Forced into this school under the pretense of protection, away from the war his father was too afraid to fight with family involved.
Being caged with strangers put his skin on edge.
He looked again at the third.
Still watching. Still silent.
Nox tilted his head slightly, not enough to be dramatic. Just enough to say: I see everything you do.
Leo turned away.
Ash began unpacking. Clothes, tech, chargers. Trying to normalize the space.
Nox remained.
Every part of his side of the room was precise. Measured. The bed was a fortress. The drawers shut silently. No scent, no sound, no personality. The only sign of life: coffee, and the cigarette burning in a small tin on the windowsill. The smoke spiraled up and out the barely cracked window.
When Ash glanced up again, Nox was gone.
He hadn't heard him move.
Leo didn't comment, but his eyes sharpened.
**
The roof was quiet, wind slicing through the dusk.
Nox stood near the edge, hoodie zipped high, mask tight over his face. He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the stretch. The body was regaining shape. He'd pushed it hard the last week—five a.m. sprints, calisthenics until the skin felt raw. He wasn't mission-ready yet, but he would be.
He sipped from the mug. Black coffee. Bitter.
Below, lights flickered on in the windows.
The novel's story had begun.
He was just a bystander. A ghost in the walls.
But he would watch.
Everything.
End of Chapter 4