Nox woke before dawn. The school was silent, heavy with sleep. He started his morning in ritual: black coffee brewed strong and bitter, downed in quiet gulps. A cold shower followed, numbing and sharp against his skin. He lit a cigarette afterward, not out of need but rhythm. The flick of the flame glowed against the curve of his mask. He never removed it. Not even now.
He moved to the hidden arsenal under the school floorboards—a space he carved out himself. Knives, wires, smoke bombs, a compact handgun. Too many weapons for a school trip, but Nox didn't care. He wasn't going unprepared.
By the time the students gathered at the bus, the sky was still painting itself blue. Nox sat in the last row, shoulder against the window, arms crossed. Ash bounded in, dragging Leo along.
"C'mon, sit here! I saved us a spot," Ash beamed.
Leo slid into the seat beside Nox with a quiet nod. Ash took the window seat on the opposite side. His energy bubbled over.
"Can you believe they're taking us to the beach? Like, what are we even supposed to learn? Ocean vibes?"
Leo chuckled lightly. "Art therapy, maybe."
Ash laughed. "I'm gonna draw a shark with sunglasses."
He turned to Nox. "What about you? Gonna paint your soul or something?"
"Something like that," Nox muttered, voice low.
Ash blinked, then grinned like he'd won a prize. "He speaks!"
The ride continued with Ash rambling. Leo gave occasional answers, quiet and dry. Nox remained silent but listening. His gloved hand tapped against his knee, a subtle rhythm of vigilance.
They arrived mid-morning. The beach sprawled out before them in blue and white. Salt hit their senses. Students scattered. The teacher handed out canvases and sat on a folding chair with sunglasses and a whistle.
"Draw your feelings," she instructed. "Let the ocean guide you."
Nox crouched in the sand, canvas propped up. His hand moved with cold efficiency. Reds. Deep blacks. Violent strokes. His sea was red and raw, the water thick with memory. In the corner, faint silhouettes writhed, half-buried corpses beneath the waves. A massacre in silence.
Leo painted too, slower, unsure at first. His canvas became a sea of red as well, but different. No bodies. Just a silent tide. Overwhelming. Unstoppable. A weight he couldn't see but always felt. He glanced at Nox's canvas, something twitching behind his eyes.
Ash drew crashing waves and beach umbrellas. A stick figure with shades. Bright yellow sun. He looked between the other two paintings, unsure whether to laugh or worry.
The teacher walked by and paused at Nox's.
"You're carrying something dark," she said.
Nox didn't answer. Didn't look at her.
That night, the bonfire cracked in the sand. Students circled, fire painting their faces in warm gold. Ash pulled Leo and Nox down beside him, planting them near the center.
"Story time! Come on, who wants to go first?"
Someone started a ghost story about a drowned girl who haunted bathhouses. Another told a tale of a monster in the woods. Nox listened. Leo did too, silent and unreadable.
Ash nudged them. "You got anything?"
Leo shook his head. "Not in the mood."
"What about you, mystery man?" Ash turned to Nox.
Nox said nothing. Just stared into the flames. Ash sighed. "Tough crowd."
Later that night, in the shared tent, Leo lay in the middle. Ash was already snoring on the other side. Nox stayed still, breathing quiet. He waited.
When the others slept, he slipped out. In the shadows of the trees, he ran drills—fast, brutal strikes against imaginary enemies. Then hacking. He used a slim tablet, fingers flying as he tapped into encrypted channels, checking for territorial chatter or bounty leaks.
He paused only once—when a name popped up in a message.
Leo.
Unconfirmed, it read. But nearby.
Nox stared at the screen. Then he shut it off, stood, and vanished deeper into the woods to bury the last trace of blood from the two intruders he'd already killed hours ago. Protecting Leo? Maybe. But that wasn't what he told himself. He called it caution.
Always caution.
When he returned, the moon was low. He slipped back into the tent, stretched out beside Leo. The younger boy's breath was steady. Peaceful. Nox didn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling, watching shadows crawl, always alert, always armed.
The trip was just beginning.
End of Chapter 25