I didn't stand up right away.
The bell rang, but the sound felt distant, like I was underwater. Muffled, echoing in my chest instead of my ears. Everyone else was moving. Chatter filled the room, sneakers squeaked against the floor, someone laughed too loud behind me.
But I kept staring at the door. Or maybe through it.
I hadn't imagined it.
Those desks were empty.
They were supposed to be full.
Nadya and Lev. The two who hadn't shown up. The two who hadn't spoken a word since this morning — because they hadn't been seen since this morning.
And Viktor was here. Alone.
I didn't know what that meant, but I didn't like it.
My fingers curled into fists on my lap. I didn't even remember doing it. My body was reacting faster than my mind — instincts kicking in before reason could catch up.
A calm surface. That's what I was taught.
Don't let them see what's under the ice.
I took a breath. It didn't help.
Someone walked past, bumping my desk lightly. I blinked out of it. My eyes flicked to the side — and of course, he was there.
Xander.
Always silent. Always watching.
Like a shadow stitched to my heels.
I should've stayed quiet. I should've just grabbed my bag and gone to lunch like everyone else. Pretended nothing was wrong.
But something was wrong. And I knew he knew more than he let on. He had to.
"Xander." My voice came out sharper than I expected.
He looked at me, calm as ever. Like he'd been waiting for me to speak all along.
I stood slowly, the legs of my chair scraping slightly. My hands trembled — not enough to be obvious, but I could feel it. Under my skin.
"You're going to tell me what's going on," I said, quiet and tight, too low for anyone else to hear.
His expression didn't change. Neutral. Professional.
I hated it.
"You've been following me around like a guard dog since you got here, and I've barely said anything. Fine. But now something is off and I'm done pretending like you don't know what it is."
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
"Don't do that," I snapped under my breath. "Don't just stare. I know you know something."
I stepped closer, chest rising.
"Was this always part of the job? Keep me in the dark until something explodes? Am I the bait? Or just the protected princess locked in her tower while daddy handles everything behind closed doors?"
Still nothing. Still the same unreadable look.
But his jaw clenched.
I saw that.
"You were there this morning," I continued, voice tight. "You saw the alarm. You saw the way the teachers tried to cover it up. And now you're standing here again, watching me fall apart, saying nothing. Do you enjoy this? Or is that part of the contract too?"
His eyes didn't move from mine. They didn't soften. But something was behind them now. A flicker.
Finally, finally, he said, "I don't know everything."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"I don't know everything," he repeated, slower. "I wasn't told about the other students. I wasn't told about your past. Or how trained you are. I know less than you think."
I took a half step back. My stomach twisted.
He wasn't lying.
Not with that voice. That weight.
"I'm here to keep you safe. That's all I was told. That's all I'm supposed to do."
The space between us stretched, filled with words I didn't know how to say.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. I wanted answers.
But instead I nodded once — sharp, mechanical.
"Fine."
I grabbed my bag, walked past him, and didn't look back.
But I felt him behind me, always there.
And for once, that wasn't comforting.
▪︎ • ✦ • ▪︎
Three days have passed.
The silence had gotten heavier.
Like it learned how to press down on the back of my neck when I wasn't looking.
Three days.
Three days of quiet footsteps behind me, of unasked questions, of watching him pretend like nothing happened in that hallway.
I let him.
Mostly.
But today something cracked. Maybe it was me.
We were behind the old conservatory, where the students rarely went—too cold, too quiet.
Too perfect.
I stood with my arms crossed, watching the wind drag leaves in slow spirals across the stone path.
And without turning, I said, "So which version did they give you?"
Behind me, stillness.
"The one where I'm a spoiled brat? The one where I'm a flight risk? Or maybe just the helpless little daughter of a man with too much power and not enough morals?"
I tilted my head toward the sky, eyes closed.
"Or did they skip the character sheet and just say 'stay close and don't ask questions'?"
Still nothing.
Typical.
I turned to face him then—slowly, carefully. Keeping my voice low. Steady.
"You look at me like I'm some puzzle you've already solved. Like you're just waiting for me to act according to script."
A pause. My gaze didn't waver.
"Here's the problem with that."
I stepped closer.
"I don't follow scripts."
His jaw was tight again. Like before. Like he wanted to say something and kept biting it back.
I watched him, measured him.
"Do you always do that?" I asked, quieter now. "Just… stand there? Let people think you're stone so they don't ask if you bleed?"
A gust of wind tugged at the edge of my coat. I didn't move. Neither did he.
"I don't need another statue watching me," I said, voice razor-thin. "If you're going to follow me, then do it with your eyes open."
And then I turned. Walked past him.
I didn't say anything else.
Didn't look back.
But I knew he was behind me.
Still silent. Still there.
And I didn't know if that made me feel safer—or just more alone.
Later, I forgot what I'd been thinking about.
It happened sometimes.
One minute I was holding a pen, ready to write something down.
The next, I was just… blank.
Like someone had reached into my head and flipped a switch.
I blinked down at the empty page.
No memory of where my thoughts had gone.
Only that they had spun too fast to catch.
The knock on my door came soft. Three taps. A pause.
Then again.
I didn't move.
Didn't answer.
The handle turned anyway.
Of course it did. He had a key.
Xander stepped inside.
No expression, no greeting—just that same quiet, watchful stillness.
"Didn't know we were skipping knocking now," I muttered.
"I did knock."
"Right. My mistake."
I glanced back down at the blank notebook in my lap.
"I noticed you didn't go to dinner," he said.
I looked up.
"Did your contract say to monitor my meal schedule?"
"No," he replied evenly. "But your father wants you alive. That includes functioning."
I rolled my eyes and stood up, tossing the notebook aside.
"Thanks. Really heartwarming."
"I'm not here to be heartwarming."
I froze at that.
Not because it surprised me—he'd said it before. He'd made it clear.
He was here because of a contract.
That was all.
Still, something about the way he said it this time… it felt different.
"I know," I said. "You signed the contract. You do the job. You're not here to comfort me or ask questions or actually care. Just keep me from dying. Got it."
He didn't deny it.
Didn't agree either.
Just stood there.
And for some reason, that made it worse.
I sat back down on the bed, grabbing the pen again even though I wasn't writing anything.
"You don't have to check on me," I added, quieter now. "Not unless I'm getting shot at."
He was already turning back toward the door.
But then he paused.
"You don't have to pretend either," he said.
Voice steady. Factual. No softness. No edge.
I looked up slowly. "Pretend what?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't explain.
The door closed behind him.
And I stared at it long after he was gone.
Still holding the pen.
Still blank.
The next morning, I didn't skip breakfast.
I didn't eat much, but I showed up. Sat through it. Let people see me.
When I stood to leave, I felt him behind me.
Xander. Always there. One step behind. Silent shadow.
I didn't look at him.
But I didn't fake a smile either.
Everyone else got the usual version of me.
Calm. Sharp. Composed.
But him?
I didn't bother.
He already knew.
And that was the only reason.
Not the weird tightness in my chest every time he was near.
Not the way my pulse shifted when his gaze passed over me.
Not the fact that his silence made more noise in my head than actual conversation.
No.
It was only because he already knew.
That was it.
Right?