The first crisp bite of wind settled across the campus like a watchful breath, cooling the edges of dawn as Nox exhaled steam through the fabric of his mask. Perched on the rooftop ledge, all shadows and sharp silhouettes, he monitored the digital tremble of distant networks dancing on the sleek screen of his ultra-slim hacking pad. The screen's matte glow reflected violet in his eyes—piercing cat-like slits that surveyed the world without blinking.
It had been nearly four months since he had entered this world, nearly four months since she—once known as one of the most lethal assets of a nameless underground syndicate—had died only to awaken in the body of a discarded illegitimate son named Nox Virility.
She had remained silent, hidden, detached. She lived in the dorms now, yes. But she did not belong to it. The corner where her bed stood—under the wide, drafty window—was militarized. The two closets she claimed were now altered and fortified. One was rigged with leather-lined compartments stacked with modded pistols, knifework, compact C4 molds, and untraceable passports. The other was her tech haven: multiple encrypted servers, burner phones, and a custom-built laptop reinforced against cyber-intrusions.
And beneath her bed—a black steel trap door, opening downward into a secret, collapsible sniper gear case she had constructed over weeks using hacked college delivery systems and scavenged parts. Nox left no trace, no error.
Ash had tried—bless his persistence—to connect. The art student had a sharp smile, wide brown eyes, and the habit of humming pop songs under his breath. He spoke to fill the silence.
"Any thoughts on the sculpture assignment?" he had asked a week ago, glancing between Leo and Nox, a hopeful gleam in his gaze. Nox didn't move. Leo, the mafia heir who never looked entirely present, had muttered something noncommittal before returning on updates he was given.
Ash was getting used to the quiet, though. At least Leo spoke.
Leo Morati Volkoc didn't trust the silence. His cold steel gaze and predator's walk spoke of someone hunted, his instincts always coiled like a spring. He never showed his back in the hallways, always carried something sharp in his pocket, and when he wasn't studying or pretending to sleep, he was sending encrypted messages through firewalled channels. He knew danger was near.
He just didn't know where it was watching from.
Nox's first mission had arrived via a cryptic black-market feed. A precision assassination—long-range, high-caliber, timed to perfection. The client didn't know who he was dealing with. But Nox needed to test this body. Her body—his body now—was almost perfected. The morning runs, rooftop workouts, agility drills, close-quarters combat with customized drones, gymnastic precision and relentless sniping practice at an abandoned underground range he had uncovered beneath a decommissioned subway station.
The rifle of choice: a modified AI AXMC. Dual-caliber, carbon black, with an extended suppressor and reinforced recoil damper. Customized scope calibrated to night wind speeds. Every bullet hand-checked. Zero room for noise. Zero room for failure.
It had taken him three minutes to breach the target perimeter. Ninety-two seconds to confirm and lock. One shot. High-exit trauma. The body dropped like lead. By the time anyone responded, Nox was already sipping hot espresso back on the rooftop, the rifle stripped, scrubbed, and hidden in a wall cavity behind the industrial ventilation.
Two nights later, the danger coiled around Leo.
He had left the dorm. Alone.
Nox had been tailing a possible leak in the dorm's security network when the alert pinged. A set of rogue frequencies flagged under one of Leo's aliases.
Through the dark, he watched. Leo had not gone out with a civilian. He wasn't reckless like that. Instead, he had taken a coded meeting in an alley near the campus edge, face shadowed beneath a hoodie. When the hit squad came for him, they came hard—four on foot, two snipers waiting above.
Nox didn't move.
Leo fought.
He was brutal. Blades flashed under dim lamplight, blood hit the pavement. One clean kill, two injured. But he staggered. One bullet clipped his shoulder.
That was when the backup arrived.
Sleek black cars. No plates. The kind of men who moved like ghosts. Mafia blood ran deep, and his father had not left him unguarded. In a blink, the assailants were neutralized, their bodies disappeared into silence.
From above, Nox watched, exhaled smoke, and vanished into the night.
He wasn't ready to intervene. Not yet.
Not until the puzzle made sense. Not until he knew why fate had dropped her soul into the heart of this novel she once carred about, and wrapped her in a war she didn't yet care about.
For now, she trained. Watched. Waited.
And wondered how much longer the silence would last before it cracked.
End of Chapter 14