The school bell rang, slicing through the morning air like a blade. Yan Xiyan adjusted her uniform collar with a practiced grace, hiding the sore ache in her shoulders. The effects of last night's endurance drills still clung to her muscles like chains. But she wore her calm like armor—expression smooth, posture straight, steps deliberate.
"Yo, sniper girl," someone whispered just low enough for the teacher not to hear.
Qiao Zeyan.
He was lounging in his seat like he owned the classroom, eyes half-lidded with lazy interest—but Yan Xiyan didn't miss the way they sharpened the moment they locked onto hers.
"You spaced out again. Third time today," he muttered as she slid into her seat beside him. "What's eating you? Sleep paralysis demon or just guilty conscience?"
"Neither," she replied coolly, brushing past his words. "I was meditating."
Qiao Zeyan arched a brow. "Meditating while staring daggers into the whiteboard?"
"I find violence enlightening," she deadpanned.
A beat passed before he smirked. "Noted. I'll make sure to offer you a punching bag next time you start levitating."
She turned her face slightly away, lips twitching in spite of herself.
But even as the class droned on, she felt the weight of his eyes. Observing. Calculating. He was getting closer to something, and it set her nerves on edge. Qiao Zeyan had always been unnervingly perceptive. Too perceptive.
Yet… strangely, she wasn't entirely bothered by it.
Later that night
The wind howled through the training field like a warning. Yan Xiyan dropped flat, rolled, and came up with the replica rifle trained on her moving target. A clean hit.
"Faster," barked Sergeant Zhang from the sidelines. "Again!"
She repeated the drill, dodge, roll, shoot. Again. And again. Until her lungs burned and her knees threatened mutiny. Her hands were slick with sweat, but her eyes… sharp. Still hungry.
"Good." Zhang gave her a rare nod. "But you're thinking too much. Snipers don't think. They know."
She wiped her brow and stood. "Understood."
He approached, lowering his voice. "Your form's tighter. Your reactions are crisp. But your mind is somewhere else tonight."
Her mind was flashing back to school. To that knowing look Qiao Zeyan gave her. To how close he was to seeing her, not the version she pretended to be, but her.
And worse, how a part of her didn't hate it.
Meanwhile…
Qiao Zeyan leaned back in his chair, flipping through his notes. Only they weren't math notes.
They were sketches.
Timelines.
Photos.
All of them tied to one girl: Yan Xiyan.
"She's hiding something," he murmured to himself. "Something big."
A knock came on his door.
His twin sister peeked in. "Still being dramatic?"
"I'm investigating."
She rolled her eyes. "It's high school, not a crime thriller."
"You wouldn't get it," he muttered, but her words stuck.
Was he being dramatic? Or was his gut telling the truth?
Still… the way she moved. The way she dodged instinctively during sparring. The reflexes no ordinary student should have.
Something didn't add up. And he was going to find out what.
Back at home, Yan Xiyan stared at the ceiling.
What she didn't notice… was the shadowy figure watching her window from a rooftop two buildings away.