The summer heat had settled over the campus like a thick blanket, pressing against the buildings and baking the stone paths until they shimmered in the afternoon light. But for Nox, the temperature never altered his rhythm. Black-on-black attire—an oversized t-shirt clinging slightly to his back, modified combat pants tucked into lightweight summer boots. His signature black baseball hat and face mask never came off in public, hiding the sharp angles of his face. Only his three silver studs caught the light, glinting beneath the rim of his hat.
Ash woke first, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and stretched out on the thin dorm mattress. Across the room, Leo was still in bed, the fan spinning lazily above him. Ash blinked, sat up, and the smell hit him—coffee, toasted bread, and something sweet.
"He did it again," Ash mumbled, getting to his feet and padding over to the small kitchenette. Plates were neatly laid out: toast with jam for him, a plain omelet for Leo, and a cooling cup of black coffee in a matte-black mug.
Leo sat up groggily, sniffing the air. "Is that... coffee or a wake-up spell?"
Ash chuckled. "Both, probably."
Just then, the door swung open, and Nox walked in, one hand clutching a small bag, the other adjusting the hem of his shirt. He set the bag down on the counter.
"Ice cream," he said simply, voice flat but not unfriendly.
Ash's eyes widened. "What flavor?"
"Chocolate. One strawberry," Nox answered, already moving toward his corner desk where his tablet was booting up.
The day passed slowly under the weight of the sun. The trio sat on the floor of the common area, canvases stretched out before them. Their summer assignment: illustrate the essence of heat through abstract expression.
Ash dabbed orange and red into the middle of his canvas. "I'm going for this kind of... emotional burn. Not just heat, but like, heartbreak too."
"That's dramatic," Leo remarked, pencil scratching as he drafted something that looked like a warped sun wrapped in barbed wire.
"You know what they say about artists," Ash quipped. "We're just broken souls trying to make sense of the world."
From the side, Nox adjusted Ash's cup of water. "You're running dry."
Ash glanced at him and gave a half-smile. "Thanks, ghost."
Leo smirked. "He's more of a phantom. He appears when needed and disappears before you notice."
"He corrects us, too," Ash added. "Like a brooding art sensei."
Nox didn't answer. He was seated on the edge of the couch, scrolling silently through layers of blueprints and code on his tablet. Occasionally, his eyes flicked up, checking the brush strokes or the angles of their sketches. His feedback came in quiet, precise sentences:
"Too heavy on the red. Balance it."
"Your line weight is inconsistent."
"Leo, your symmetry is off by 2 percent."
Leo rolled his eyes but obeyed.
Lunch arrived like a soft lull—simple sandwiches that Ash had thrown together, paired with fruit and iced tea. Nox took his mug of black coffee and vanished to the rooftop. He needed that height, that distance, to focus. The cigarette dangled between his fingers, unlit. He didn't always smoke. Sometimes, it was just the weight of the familiar that kept him grounded.
Up there, he tapped into a secure line, pushed past firewalls with muscle memory. His latest job: a fund leak through a shadow account. He watched numbers dance, rerouted a trail, and collapsed it in a dead folder no one would find. Clean. Efficient.
When he returned, Ash was already sprawled on the couch, finger pointing at the television. "Movie time. No backing out. You brought us ice cream, you're one of us now."
Nox sat without a word, cigarette still in hand. He didn't light it.
The movie was a slow-burn tragedy, a story of love found and lost in a coastal village. Ash cried halfway through. Leo wiped his eyes at the end, muttering something about allergies.
Nox said nothing. But he watched.
Watched the way Ash leaned on Leo's shoulder without asking.
Watched the way Leo didn't shrug him off.
"That ending," Ash sniffled, "was cruel."
"Life is cruel," Leo replied, but there was a softness in his tone.
As the credits rolled, Nox stood and stretched. The rooftop called again, but not for silence this time. Tonight, it was part of the path.
Leo glanced at his phone, a flicker of tension crossing his face. "I need to head out. Family thing."
Ash nodded, too focused on starting another game to ask questions.
Nox disappeared through the back exit. The streets were quiet, the air sharp with heat. He moved like smoke through alleyways until he reached the old warehouse.
The underground fighting ring was louder in summer. Men without names, fighting without rules. Nox stepped into the light, eyes cold.
His opponent was built like a truck.
Nox still won.
He didn't smile. Didn't grunt. He just finished it. Quick, brutal, controlled.
Later, in the silence of the rooftop, his knuckles wrapped and bleeding, he sat with his coffee. He could still hear Ash's laughter in his ears. He'd heard that laugh before.
In a story. In a book.
The pieces were falling into place.
Below him, two figures slept unaware.
Nox watched.
And waited.
End of Chapter 32