The lunch bell rang, scattering the morning's tension into a low hum of chatter and footsteps.Ryan moved through the crowd without hurry, weaving past cliques and tables until the stone fountain came into view — their usual spot.
But the bench beside it was empty.No Lily.
He stood there a moment, scanning the courtyard, until a voice from behind explained what he already suspected.
"She's at the weekly council meeting," a girl passing by told him. "President's duties. Can't skip."
Of course. Lily was many things — but careless with responsibility wasn't one of them.
Ryan sighed, running a thumb over the folded letter in his pocket.He'd have to wait to talk to her.
That's when he noticed it — a flicker of movement by the far doors leading into the old gym wing.Someone standing just at the edge of the frame, watching.
Not just watching — lingering.
Ryan didn't move right away. He leaned against the fountain, letting the seconds stretch, then — without looking directly — gave a subtle signal with his hand.
John, who had just emerged from the cafeteria with a drink, caught it instantly and started toward the figure.
What happened next wasn't what Ryan expected.
A loud thud echoed across the courtyard as John's body hit the ground, sliding across the stone tiles until he stopped a few feet from Ryan. He groaned, rolling onto his side.
Standing where John had been a moment ago was the new student from this morning — the one by the windowsill.Expression calm. Posture perfect.
Ryan straightened, eyes narrowing. "That's impressive," he said evenly. "Not many people can put John down that fast."
The stranger stepped forward — and Ryan realized she wasn't just another transfer. Her gaze was steady, the kind of focus he'd seen before in only one place.
"My name's Elara," she said, voice soft but deliberate. "I'm from Rosewood Village."
The name hit him like a stone dropped into still water.Rosewood — the place whispered about in the Sinclair family's darker circles.A training ground, yes — but not for ordinary soldiers. Rosewood produced specialists. Operatives. Hired guns. Assassins.
Ryan's tone cooled. "You know my name, then."
Elara's lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile. "Everyone in Rosewood knows your name, Sinclair."