The next morning, the hallway buzzed with gossip, like a hive stirred too soon. Everyone was talking about the board. The red string. The blade. The sniper quote. And the girl in the middle of it all.
Except none of them realized the girl they whispered about was right there, walking calmly past, skirt swishing slightly, eyes glazed with apathy. Yan Xiyan had learned long ago: never give the wolves your scent.
Her footsteps slowed slightly as she passed the now-empty bulletin board. Scrubbed clean. Sanitized.
But the message lingered.
"You shouldn't be here alone."
Qiao Zeyan's voice, smooth and too close behind her, was like a thorn snagging silk.
"I'm not alone," she replied, deadpan. "You're following me again."
"Only because every time I blink, something weirder happens around you."
She turned, gaze sharp. "Maybe weird things just happen when you're around."
He smirked, crossing his arms. "Touché. But seriously... Someone pinned your face like a mugshot and quoted a sniper manual. That doesn't scream coincidence."
She arched a brow. "And that means you're what, my bodyguard now?"
"No," he said, casually stepping closer. "Just someone who's a little too curious for his own good."
Before she could shove a retort down his throat, a loud clatter from the stairwell snapped both their heads to the side.
A janitor's cart had tipped.
Or had been tipped.
Xiyan's eyes narrowed. She spotted the figure rounding the corner in the reflection of the stairwell glass, a hooded silhouette, moving with deliberate calm.
She moved before thinking. Sprinting after them.
"Xiyan!" Zeyan called behind her, but she was already flying down the stairs.
By the time she reached the lower level, the hallway was empty.
Except...
She noticed it.
A faint trail of chalk dust on the floor. Unusual.
She followed it.
It led her behind the auditorium. The maintenance wing.
Locked.
She pressed her hand to the door.
It was warm.
Someone had been here recently.
"Locked door. No cameras. No witnesses." Her voice was a whisper. "Classic misdirection."
Her gaze swept the corridor.
And then she saw it. The smallest detail.
A faint smudge, fingerprints, maybe on the fire alarm box.
She didn't touch it. Not yet. She had a better idea.
That afternoon, she baited the trap.
During the club announcement hour, while everyone was either gossiping or half-asleep in their seats, Xiyan slipped away to the library.
She slid a note between the pages of a fake borrowed book, a tracker paper laced with graphite she'd prepped in the lab. If someone retrieved it, she'd know. Grandpa Yan taught her that: Sometimes, you don't chase the enemy. You let them come to you.
She just had to wait.
It didn't take long.
By late evening, the signal pinged.
She smiled to herself. Got you.
Only… when she arrived at the library's east wing, the book was gone.
And in its place… was a flower.
A single crimson carnation. Fresh.
Attached to it was a note:
"Your aim is steady, but your heart stumbles. Let's see how well you perform when the target moves."
Her hands tightened around the stem.
So they knew she was watching.
They were playing her game better than she expected.
And worse, there was emotion in this. It wasn't random.
Somehow, the past was bleeding into the present.
She looked up, pulse quiet but heavy. And standing in the far end of the hallway just briefly was the same shadowy figure.
Watching her.
Not running.
Taunting.
And as she stepped closer, the figure turned and vanished into the stairwell.
Leaving only silence.
And her thoughts screaming.