The bell rang.
Students swarmed the hallways, laughter echoing and shoes scuffing tiles. But for Yan Xiyan, the world had gone still. She stood in the third-floor hallway, gaze locked with Qiao Zeyan's. There was something in his eyes today, something sharper than usual. Not suspicion, no. Curiosity. Interest. A puzzle piece clicking into place.
"You're late again," he said coolly, walking beside her without asking.
Xiyan gave a tight-lipped smile. "Maybe I just like making dramatic entrances."
"You like hiding things too."
She flinched, just slightly, but covered it with a scoff. "We all do."
Their banter was laced with unspoken weight now, like walking a tightrope over a canyon of secrets.
As they turned the corner, a student tripped on the stairwell, nearly crashing into Xiyan. She instinctively moved faster than anyone should've, catching the boy by the collar before he hit the ground.
Too fast.
Qiao Zeyan noticed. He always noticed.
"You've got amazing reflexes," he commented, too casually. "Must be all that... 'dramatic entrance' training."
She gave a nervous laugh, but her stomach was a knot of barbed wire.
Later that afternoon, the rooftop was quiet. Xiyan leaned against the railing, wind toying with strands of her hair. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. No name. No number. Just one word on the screen: "Tonight."
Her fingers went cold.
"I knew I'd find you here."
She spun, instantly guarded until she saw him.
Qiao Zeyan.
Again.
"You're following me now?" she asked, voice colder than the breeze.
"I could ask the same. You've been... interesting lately." He walked closer, eyes trained on her like he was dissecting her. "And you're not like the others."
She smiled, a little too bright. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Don't. It wasn't one."
Before she could retort, the door to the rooftop creaked. Both their heads turned.
A figure in black stood at the threshold, face obscured, posture calm, too calm.
Yan Xiyan's blood ran cold.
The Shadow.
Qiao Zeyan took a step forward, brows furrowed. "Who the hell..."
"No," Xiyan hissed, grabbing his wrist. "Don't move."
The figure raised a gloved hand and flicked something through the air. A folded note landed at Xiyan's feet. Then, like smoke, the figure vanished.
Qiao Zeyan opened his mouth. "That's not normal..."
"I know," she snapped, snatching the note before he could see it. She shoved it into her blazer pocket. "Don't ask."
His stare was hard. "I don't need to. You're in something. Deep."
"You don't know the half of it."
That night, she stood alone in an abandoned warehouse lit only by the silver glow of moonlight.
The note had said: "Face your past or it will finish what it started."
And as the smell of gun oil and old blood filled her lungs, the memory hit her like recoil.
Her first mission. A factory. A hostage. Her trembling hands on the trigger. The whisper of Sergeant Zhang in her earpiece: "Breathe. Aim. Fire."
But when she pulled the trigger, the hostage's eyes had widened not in fear but recognition.
It was someone she knew.
Used to know.
And she had shot them anyway.
She staggered back against the warehouse wall, breath shaking. The memory left her cold. That betrayal, hers and someone else's never left her.
And now… it was coming back.
The Shadow was dragging it all into the light.