She had rules for herself, carefully constructed over the years:
1. Never act on impulse.
2. Never reveal emotion.
3. Always have an alibi.
She thought of them as a game, one only she was playing. And Marcus had just become her first real test.
That night, Lily practiced. She held the knife from the kitchen drawer, weighing it in her hand, practicing the angle in the mirror when no one was home. She whispered Marcus's name under her breath. She imagined the silence after the laughter stopped.
It didn't scare her. It thrilled her.
At school the next morning, Marcus shoved past her in the hallway, muttering, "Watch it, freak." His friends snickered.
Lily's face never changed. But her heart ticked like a metronome. She knew then—it wasn't a matter of if. It was a matter of when.
And that when was coming soon.
In the cafeteria, she noticed Jason across the room. He sat with his teammates, laughing at something one of them said, but Lily's eyes lingered longer than she intended. Jason was different. His laughter wasn't cruel, his movements weren't careless. He watched people, too, though in a way no one else seemed to notice.
Sometimes Lily wondered if he saw the same things she did.
She quickly looked away, cheeks burning, and returned to her sandwich. Jason never seemed to notice her. That was good. She didn't want him to.
Not yet.
That night, Lily wrote Marcus's name in her mind again and again, like carving it into a wall. She pictured his grin, his laughter, the way his hand had snatched her book. She built the motive in her heart like a case file:
Target: Marcus Grant.
Crime: Humiliation.
Threat: Exposure of weakness.
Solution: Elimination.
Her breathing slowed. Her pulse steadied. The mask of Lily Dawson—the quiet, polite girl—remained intact.
But underneath, a different Lily stretched her fingers, sharp and hungry, ready to be born.
On Friday afternoon, as she walked out of the library, Lily passed Jason again. This time, his eyes flicked to hers—just for a second, no longer. But the weight of that glance lodged in her chest like a stone.
Had he seen something?
No. Impossible. She was careful. She was always careful.
And yet…
When she got home, she added something new to her locked box: a folded piece of notebook paper where she scribbled one single line.
Jason is watching.
The mask remained. But now, the stage was set. Marcus's laughter would end. Lily's rules would be tested. And Jason—quiet, enigmatic Jason—was closer to her story than she dared realize.
For now, Lily Dawson was just the quiet girl in class. The one no one suspected. The one who never raised her voice.
But the mask wouldn't hold forever.
Because monsters could wear uniforms, too.