The sun had yet to rise, but Nox was already moving like a shadow through the still campgrounds. He hadn't slept the entire night, instead keeping watch. The woods pressed in with a quiet unease, and with the lingering remnants of yesterday's ambush, he knew better than to trust a moment of rest.
His morning began with routine. Coffee—strong, black, bitter—brewed in a small portable burner. He drank it while stretching and running through a sequence of fast-paced bodyweight drills, every movement clean, sharp, precise. Sweat clung to his skin, but his breathing remained steady. Afterward, he slipped away to shower before anyone stirred. By the time he emerged dressed, clean, and masked, the world was just beginning to stir.
He hacked into the beach's perimeter security system with practiced ease, adjusting a few blind spots and verifying time stamps. A quiet alert from his custom tracker showed movement near the woods, but nothing breached the safe zone. Satisfied, for now, he shut the laptop and grabbed his wallet.
The convenience store just outside the campground gates was quiet. A sleepy cashier glanced at him but said nothing. Nox scanned the shelves. He knew from observing them the day before that Leo and Ash usually snacked on honey-drizzled rice crackers and a specific brand of banana milk. He picked up both without hesitation. He paid, dropped the snacks back at the edge of the trio's tent, and vanished again before Ash's morning monologue could begin.
By 9 a.m., the professor gathered the students on the beach. A warm breeze carried the smell of salt and sunblock. Everyone was handed a lump of soft clay with instructions to incorporate found beach elements—sand, shells, driftwood—into a small sculpture inspired by their emotional state.
Ash grinned and immediately set to work, sculpting a vibrant, chaotic wave crashing over little figures with tiny smiling faces. He explained, enthusiastically, that it was about "being part of something big and fun and unpredictable."
Leo's sculpture was slower to form. He worked in near silence, collecting polished black rocks and pressing them into the clay like constellations. He shaped a small boat, half-sinking into the sand, sails torn but still afloat. The professor raised an eyebrow but nodded thoughtfully.
Nox's creation was quiet terror in miniature. A shattered mask formed from broken shell fragments, embedded into clay that had been stretched and burned against a hot stone. Red pigment from crushed berries seeped around the edges like blood. The professor stared at it for a moment too long. "This... suggests unresolved violence. Have you spoken to a counselor?"
Nox didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
After lunch was announced, Nox slipped away.
The forest was denser inland. He walked in silence, scanning every branch, every print in the sand. That's when he spotted him—a man limping, too clean for a hiker, pacing nervously and glancing at the student camp. Legs uneven. A burner phone in one hand. Nox moved like a phantom. One strike to the throat. The phone clattered. A sharp twist dislocated the man's arm. The gun dropped.
"You're not local," Nox said quietly.
The man didn't answer. Nox shattered his knee with one swift stomp. Then the other. The burner phone was crushed beneath Nox's boot.
He left the man bleeding in the shadows with a warning carved into his memory. Then walked back into the light like nothing happened.
That afternoon, the trio gathered under a sloping dune. Ash, still bubbling with energy, pulled out his Arabic Art History notes. "Guys! What are we doing for the assignment painting?"
Leo sighed. "Desert mirage. Something with illusions."
Nox nodded. "Figure composition. Use repetitive motifs to highlight distortion."
Ash blinked, then jotted everything down like it was gospel. "You guys are awesome."
As the sun dipped low, the horizon caught fire. Ash stood with his camera, begging them to take a photo together.
"No," Leo said.
Nox shook his head.
Ash pouted but clicked shots of the scenery anyway.
Dinner was loud. Students passed marshmallows and sandwiches around the fire. Nox excused himself early, taking his cup noodles and slipping away behind the rocks to eat in silence. The ocean whispered in the dark.
When he returned, Leo and Ash were in the tent. Ash had a deck of cards.
"Truth or dare!" Ash grinned.
Leo shrugged. "Truth."
"What's your first memory?"
"Holding my mom's hand in a hospital hallway."
"Nox?"
"Truth."
Ash lit up. "Your favorite movie?"
Nox paused. "The comedy we watched last month."
Leo and Ash both stared at him.
Ash grinned. "You watched it?"
Nox didn't answer. His silence was the answer.
The game spiraled with more simple truths. Favorite meals. Pet peeves. Nothing deep. Nothing threatening. But Leo and Nox never chose dare. That silence between them was growing. Sharpening. Shaping.
Later that night, when the others fell asleep, Nox rose. Coffee brewed. He drank. Smoked. Stretched his limbs and jogged to the edge of the trees. A few quick punches into the sand, then hacking into a nearby grid for updates on blacklisted names.
He returned an hour later, the fire embers dying. Inside the tent, Leo and Ash were tangled in sleep. Nox stood for a long time in the entrance, watching them. There was something strange about the quiet—the trust in unconscious bodies.
He sat outside, back against a rock. Guard duty again. Like always.
They would return to the dorms tomorrow.
He had kept them safe again.
For now.
End chapter 26