The elevator dinged softly as the metallic doors slid open. Lyric stepped out silently onto the third floor of the penthouse, her black boots echoing lightly against the polished floors. Unlike the rest of the luxurious home, this floor was minimalist and cold, containing only four rooms—each sealed with advanced security systems.
With her heart thudding heavily beneath her ribcage, Lyric approached the third door on the right. She raised her hand and pressed her index finger against the digital scanner.
Click.
The lock disengaged, and the heavy door hissed as it opened, revealing a chilling sight.
The room was dim, bathed in the pale glow of hundreds—no, thousands—of glass containers. Each one cradled a human heart, preserved and suspended in a viscous, golden liquid. The steady, slow thumping of the hearts filled the room like a haunting symphony. Each heart pulsed as if it were still alive… as if it remembered.
Lyric stepped inside, her face unreadable beneath the black mask that covered the lower half of her face. She moved calmly to the center of the room and opened one of the glass cases. Reaching in gently, she held the heart as though it were sacred. Then, slowly, she pulled off her mask and smiled—genuinely, but coldly—at the trophy in her hands.
A masterpiece.
She placed the heart back in its case and locked it before turning and walking into her personal quarters, adjacent to the trophy room. Her bedroom was pitch black, save for the infrared sensors embedded in the walls. But Lyric didn't need light. Darkness was her home. Her eyes adjusted instantly.
She peeled off her gloves and undressed wordlessly, letting her clothes fall to the floor one by one. Standing naked before the full-length mirror, her gaze zeroed in on the bullet scar etched just above her left breast. She brushed her fingers over it, then smirked coldly—almost proudly.
"I should've died," she whispered to her reflection. "But instead, I became something else."
She turned away from the mirror and slipped into the adjoining bathroom, disappearing into the shadows.
---
8:10 AM – Morning
Lilian sat comfortably on the living room couch, scrolling through her phone with a lazy smile on her face. She wore a white blouse and a light pink skirt, radiating an innocent charm.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell echoed.
She rose and opened the door to find Elana and Fred standing on the porch, dressed in their usual black suits and earpieces.
"Good morning," Lilian greeted politely.
"Morning," Elana replied. "Is Lyric ready for school?"
Lilian glanced over her shoulder. "I haven't seen her all morning."
As if on cue, the elevator opened with a faint hum. Lyric stepped out, wearing a sleek black hoodie, black jeans, and combat boots. Her face was emotionless, her aura icy. Without a word, she looked at Elana and Fred.
"Use a convoy. I'm not going in a normal car," she said coldly.
"Yes, Miss," Fred responded immediately.
The group walked out of the mansion and into a private driveway. At once, several black SUVs revved to life and formed a convoy, surrounding one main vehicle in the center.
---
Diamond College – 9:00 AM
As the convoy pulled to a stop at the college gates, a hush fell over the students loitering nearby. Students turned their heads, jaws dropping, eyes widening.
"Who the hell are they?"
"Is she royalty or something?"
"Did the mafia just enroll someone here?"
Lilian stepped out first, smiling sweetly as she waved shyly at a group of curious girls. Lyric followed, her expression like carved stone—cold, unreadable, and dangerous.
Elana and Fred nodded once and drove away immediately, leaving behind an air of mystery and intimidation.
A group of girls rushed up to Lilian, eager to make friends. Lilian giggled and engaged them happily. Lyric, however, brushed past the group and stopped a random boy.
"Where's the Elite Science class?" she asked flatly.
The boy gulped, intimidated by the dark aura surrounding her, but managed to stammer a direction. Without another word, Lyric turned and walked away, casting a frosty glance over her shoulder at Lilian.
Lilian sighed and excused herself politely from the girls, then ran after Lyric.
---
When they arrived at the Elite Science class, a middle-aged man in glasses was already teaching. He paused as the two girls entered.
"New students?"
Lilian nodded eagerly, but Lyric said nothing. She was scanning the classroom. Her gaze landed on an empty seat at the far back. Without waiting for permission, she strode past the students and sat down, leaning back with her arms crossed.
"I'm so sorry for her behavior," Lilian said hurriedly. "I'm Lilian Garcia and that's my sister, Lyric Cassandra Sandras. I'll just say this once—if you want to remain in peace, it's best to avoid Lyric. Please."
The class chuckled awkwardly.
The teacher nodded and gestured to a seat beside a handsome boy in the front row. Lilian blushed and made her way over, stealing a glance at the boy.
Class resumed. But halfway through, the cold voice that had silenced many before sliced through the room.
"Your answer is wrong."
The classroom went still.
The teacher paused, shocked. "Excuse me?"
Lyric stood from her seat and walked slowly to the whiteboard. Her movements were graceful but unsettling. She erased the teacher's solution and began reworking the equation from scratch. Her handwriting was neat and precise. At the end, she turned, scrawled Chemistry Textbook, Vol. 2, Page 167, Question 12.
The class was stunned.
A girl in the front whispered, "Only the A⁴ has the right to oppose teachers…"
The teacher opened his mouth to retort, but found himself frozen. Lyric's gaze bore into him like ice picks. There was something unnatural in her stare, something terrifying.
He swallowed. "Thank you… please return to your seat."
Lyric said nothing. She walked back, sat down, and inserted her earbuds. The rest of the lecture went on in silence.
She didn't take notes.
She didn't even open her eyes.
She was done listening.
---
Unknown Location – Same Time
A man sat alone in a darkened study, the only light coming from a dim green monitor displaying news reports.
He grinned, lips curling wickedly.
"Death strikes again," he murmured. "Senator Malcolm Drayce… butchered. And—" he paused for effect, "his heart is missing."
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
"Every victim of Death… the heart goes missing. It's her signature."
He laughed quietly.
"But who is she really?"
He turned to a black file on his desk, stamped with blood-red letters: PROJECT LYRICAL.
His eyes gleamed.
"The world has no idea what's coming."