The rooftop was silent again, save for the soft whipping of the wind through the half-broken fence. The figure had vanished without a trace like a ghost that knew exactly when to disappear. Yan Xiyan's pulse hadn't slowed; her muscles, taut like a bowstring, refused to relax.
She stood there for a moment, her back against the wall, her breath fogging in the cool evening air. Then...
"You gonna tell me what just happened, or should I keep pretending you're a normal schoolgirl with freakishly fast reflexes?"
Qiao Zeyan.
Of course.
He leaned against the stairwell doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but that irritating smirk dancing at the edge of his lips. His tie was half-loosened, hair wind-tousled, eyes sharp and annoyingly focused like he knew. Or was about to.
Yan Xiyan blinked. "I think you hit your head too hard during PE."
He raised an eyebrow. "Cute. But I saw you dodge a punch that hadn't even been thrown yet. And now you're chasing phantoms on rooftops?"
She shrugged, nonchalant. "Maybe I like the view."
He took a step closer. "You looked like you were about to shoot someone. With what, exactly? Your intense glare?"
She snorted despite herself. "You're the one creeping around rooftops. What were you doing up here?"
Zeyan's smile widened. "I could ask you the same thing. I was following a rumor about a ghost. Looks like I found something way more interesting."
There it was, tension. Teetering between flirtation and interrogation. Yan Xiyan held his gaze just a moment longer than necessary, then looked away. The silence stretched. But deep down, something else tugged at her, something unwelcome.
A sound.The click of a safety being released.A scent.Gunpowder and blood.A scream, small, sharp, and silenced.
She staggered slightly, hand instinctively gripping her side. Zeyan caught the movement, his face flickering with real concern. "Hey. Are you..."
"Fine," she cut in, a little too quickly. "Just... remembered something stupid."
But the image wouldn't leave.
A long hallway.A flash of red.Her hands gripping a sniper rifle too large for her twelve-year-old frame.A voice. Cold and low. "Pull the trigger, or she dies."
Yan Xiyan blinked hard. She shoved the memory back where it came from.
Not now.Not here.
"Let's get off the roof," she muttered, already walking past him. "Ghosts are boring."
Zeyan followed, but not without watching her a little too closely.