"There are only two of option." I heard Adrian drawl lazily, his voice laced with quiet amusement.
I stopped chewing my gum, my gaze sharpening as I looked through my scope. The cold wind kissed my bare shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine. I hadn't realized how chilly the night would be. All I had on was a cropped sleeveless top, and foolishly, I'd left my jacket behind.
"It's either you become your father… or spend your life trying not to be him."
My eyes widened slightly—not just because Adrian's words echoed something I'd heard before, like a memory brushing against the edge of déjà vu, but also because of what I saw unfolding at the heart of the party.
"Can you just shut up for a second?" I snapped, my voice sharper than intended—my mind too occupied with what I'd just seen.
"Why?" Adrian asked, visibly confused.
Adrian's voice echoed through my earphones—we were communicating through our earpieces, stationed at opposite angles of the party. He was on the rooftop of the adjacent building, while I had taken position on the other side to monitor every corner of the venue with clear precision.
I fell into silence, eyes narrowing as I scoped the field once more.
"Adrian…" I whispered, tension lacing my voice.
My heart pounded violently in my chest. I knew it was too soon to jump to conclusions—but something didn't sit right. I couldn't afford to ignore it.
"I thought only Mr. Mendoza was invited?" I said, alarm creeping in.
"What's wrong, Evenaria?" Berto's voice cut in, sharp with concern.
"Luis Valencia is here." My voice trembled slightly. "We might've been wrong. We assumed his men would infiltrate to assassinate Mr. Mendoza from a distance—but he's inside. He's at the party! Please, someone confirm the visual!"
"I'll double-check and issue orders," Berto responded quickly.
I clenched my jaw and refocused through my scope—but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't tear my gaze away from Luis Valencia… or the towering bodyguard standing protectively by his side.
I heard the soft beep in my earpiece.
"Luis Valencia was invited—last minute."
I had more questions, but I fell silent, shifting my focus back through the sniper scope.
I scanned every window surrounding the venue. Every possible hideout a Lustra Noctis sniper could take. They were here—I could feel it in my bones. Watching. Waiting.
"Mr. Mendoza is exiting," Control's voice crackled through. "Stand down. Take a break."
I exhaled sharply and shook my head. Reaching for the cigarette pack beside me, I lit one and took a long drag. Adjusting my earpiece, I let the smoke trail into the cold night before returning to my scope—even without new orders.
"So anyway... like I was saying, Evenaria," Adrian's voice flowed casually into my ear, as if we weren't on a mission.
I knew I should've told him to shut up, but truth be told, the sound of his voice kept me grounded.
"If he was a Marine, and you became a soldier… it means you chose to follow his path. Most people? They run from that kind of pain. Especially when it's traumatic. Your father died on a mission, you told me that hurt like hell. But you still chose to be a…"
His voice continued in the background, but my mind had already wandered—pulled into memories I'd tried so hard to bury.
It was déjà vu—Selene's words echoing exactly what I'd heard before in the school bathroom. The very same thought. The very same tone.
I'd heard it once... and I remembered it all too clearly.
"So, you're planning to leave the country and train abroad?" she asked, her voice cool but curious.
I let out a small snort, shaking my head as I watched my reflection in the mirror.
I was getting ready for my archery practice at the auditorium—the only sport that ever truly interested me. Maybe because I used to go to the firing range often with Mom and Dad. It was our idea of bonding, a quiet pastime that somehow made me feel alive.
"No. Why would I?"
"Then what are you planning to take in college?" Selene crossed her arms, one brow arching with intrigue.
I had no answer. Unlike my step-sister, who thrived in the world of business, I didn't have a grand plan. If you asked me what I truly enjoyed, I could only say one thing—archery… maybe even shooting.
"You can't think of anything?" she asked again.
She walked up behind me, raising her brow once more as she leaned in closer to my reflection. I turned my face slightly away, just enough to avoid hers, before meeting her eyes through the mirror.
"College is still far off, Selene. And if I decide to study abroad, it's not impossible. My parents are always traveling, and Jennie studied overseas too."
"So you're really planning to follow your father's path? Even after he died because of that job?"
Déjà vu.
I straightened, suddenly aware of how her words had taken hold of me. Shaking the weight of them off, I focused my eyes on the blue paper target meters away. I pulled back the bowstring, keeping both eyes open, narrowing in on the bull's eye.
I was in the school gymnasium, lost in the stillness of my archery practice. Selene and a few of our friends—those with no classes that afternoon—sat casually on the bleachers behind me.
And to drown out their voices, I released the arrow.
The moment it left my fingers, I already knew it missed. I shook my head.
It landed on the outer gold ring. Applause echoed behind me, cheers following suit, but they felt empty. As I reached for another arrow, my gaze drifted to the empty bleachers on the right.
I loved practicing. I truly did. But today, their voices weren't helping. I didn't know why Coach ever thought it was a good idea to let them in during sessions. Then again, they asked. And the coaches—or even the teachers—never really said no to their requests. Not even in moments like this.
"I still don't get why the school even admitted him," Selene's voice cut through, sharp and deliberate.
I took my time—not because I needed to, but because I could. Slowly, I nocked another arrow, letting my gaze drift to the empty bleachers on the right. Still vacant. It was just practice, after all. Only my friends had shown up. Coach wouldn't arrive until later to assess the targets.
Aside from us, there was one other person in the gym: a boy quietly standing on the far side of the bleachers, a mop in his hands.
"He should've been kicked out already. A suspension is ridiculous."
"I know, right? We should start a petition!"
The boy resumed mopping the bleachers, but not without glancing my way. I pulled back my bow, just enough to test the tension—and saw him pause mid-swipe to watch me again.
I pursed my lips to hide a grin. He was trying not to look. But he was definitely looking.
I lowered the arrow slowly and loosened my grip, feigning a need to check its shaft. Just to delay the shot. And right on cue, he turned back to his mopping.
"Has James told his parents already?"
"Of course! I even told mine. They sent a letter to the school about it. So I don't get why he's still here."
"Maybe he'll be gone by next week?"
"Doubt it. If they only suspended him and made him mop the bleachers, that means they think he's already paid for what he did."
"It's been two days! By now, he should've been expelled!"
I could feel the heat rising from my friends' voices—their irritation sharp and swelling like a tide.
"What's really bothering me," one of them said, "is that he's from some remote province. Then suddenly, he gets admitted here out of nowhere. No one even knows who backed him."
"Maybe it's the school?" another suggested. "That's the only explanation. Because really, how else could this happen?"
"Seriously? You think the school would stake its reputation on someone like him? Just because he's somehow connected to it? Our parents are politicians and CEOs. There's no way they'd choose him over us."
I raised my bow once more and focused on the target. From the corner of my eye, I saw him—still holding that mop—stop and look again.
I released the arrow.
It landed on the inner gold. A satisfied smile played on my lips.
I turned toward the bleachers—and there he was. Nodding. A subtle, almost involuntary gesture. But the moment he realized I'd caught him, he froze… and immediately returned to mopping, pretending nothing had happened.
"Maybe he's dating someone from the admin?" Selene offered, half-joking, half-serious.
I frowned and glanced at them. They were watching me, yes—but they were far more invested in tearing him apart than acknowledging my bull's eye.
I reached for another arrow.
"I mean, it's not impossible," someone added. "He does look like the type women go for. Poor boy with a mysterious benefactor? Classic."
"So what, one of our administrators actually finds him attractive?"
"Well... he is kind of cute."
"He's handsome, honestly."
"You can't be serious," Selene's voice cut through sharply, loud with disbelief.
"That's disgusting! He's not even remotely good-looking!"
One of the boys laughed. "If that's your standard, Selene, then the rest of us are doomed."
"He's just tall, that's all. And I happen to find tall guys attractive—"
"Gross. He's poor, remember?"
I let out a quiet sigh. Truthfully? He was handsome. But we never admitted things like that out loud. Not when someone wasn't part of our world. To us, he was an outsider. Unfamiliar. Poor. Out of place in our prestigious international school.
"If he manages to help James get away with it, I'll hire an investigator myself."
"No need," another said casually. "My guess? The school took him in because he's smart. I've seen his grades—they're exceptional."
"What do you mean okay? I heard he's a dropout. And he's a year older than us! Always failing, they say. Not only is he poor—he's dumb. There's no way he'll keep up with our lessons. It's only a matter of time before they kick him out. If not because of his attitude, then definitely because of his stupidity!"
"Our parents should do something. What if he's a spy for some syndicate? What if one of us ends up in danger? We could be kidnapped for ransom!"
I released the arrow. It landed on the inner blue. I shook my head, displeased, then glanced at the bleachers to the right.
He was still there.
His expression was serious as he looked from the target to me. I loaded another arrow and released it—it hit the inner blue again.
I frowned and cast another glance his way. He pressed his lips together, his jaw twitching slightly. I wasn't sure if he was disappointed… but somehow, I felt embarrassed that he might be.
"Guys," Hanz said, pulling everyone's attention. "My mom just messaged me. That guy's not getting expelled."
"What?"
"Why not?"
I reached for another arrow, my hands moving slower now as I listened with growing curiosity.
"She didn't say. The school refuses to give a reason."
"Impossible!"
Selene laughed, the sound mocking.
"Really? The school not bending to pressure for once? That's new."
"You're lying, Hanz."
"I'm not. Look for yourself."
I wet my lips and turned back to the target, forcing myself to refocus.
But I couldn't stop myself from sneaking a glance.
He was no longer pretending to mop—he had completely stopped, watching me openly now with that unreadable expression. My cheeks warmed. He looked so serious, so… focused on me. I let the arrow fly—and missed the circle entirely.
I groaned inwardly, rubbed my temple, and shook my head in disbelief. I grabbed another arrow and began to stretch the bow.
Before I could release it, I looked again.
This time, he smiled.
It was soft, almost reassuring. My eyes widened slightly. My fingers trembled around the string.
But I breathed in deep, tightened my grip, and corrected my stance. I narrowed my eyes and stilled my heart. The arrow flew—and landed on the inner gold.
My chest swelled with satisfaction, and I saw the way his eyes lit up in approval. He looked at me, as if I had done something extraordinary.
I smirked, winked at him, and quickly turned away before I could see what came next.
"Let's just go talk to him," Selene said suddenly, pulling me back to the noise.
My head snapped toward my friends just in time to see a few of them heading toward the opposite bleachers.
"Where are you going?" I asked, even though I already had an idea.
"We'll just ask him a few questions," Selene replied with a sly smirk.
I saw the glint in their eyes, the kind that told me this wasn't going to be a harmless chat. No, I knew that look. They were planning something—and it wouldn't end well for him.
"Selene, don't," I said firmly. "It's not worth it."
She raised a brow. "Are you taking his side now?"
"We don't know him," I replied. "He might be one of us—"
A chorus of laughter interrupted me.
"What, you think he's from Solace or something?"
"The school always sides with us. And now that they're not, there must be a reason. And even if he's poor… so what? Maybe he's a scholar—"
"Evenaria, he's dumb," Selene snapped. "He's not a scholar. He's a dropout—from where? We can't even pronounce the name of that town. He's stupid and ugly. Why are you defending him?"
"James's family is powerful. If the school couldn't kick that guy out, that means he's more influential than any of our families. Don't you see that?"
"Are you seriously defending that stupid guy, Evenaria?"
Stupid guy…
I repeated the words silently as I took a long drag from my cigarette and leaned over my sniper scope.
He was standing beside Luis Valencia, his gaze scanning the crowd like a hunter looking for his prey.
They slipped out of my line of sight. I released the scope, lips parted slightly as smoke slipped past them. Silence hung in the airwaves. The radio was quiet now. Everyone was waiting for the signal.
I took another puff, slower this time. Then, I leaned back to the scope.
And to my absolute fucking surprise—
I ground the cigarette out on the concrete beside me, the corner of my lips curving into an amused smirk.
Across the venue, perched on the edge of a balcony, was a compact sniper setup. And it was aimed… directly at me.
Well, this was new.
Amused and intrigued, I wrapped my fingers around my rifle and carefully aligned the barrel with his.
We were locking each other now. A standoff. A game of patience. A silent dare.
Bored, I reached for my phone and turned off my mic so no one on the channel could hear me. I hit the dial, eyes still on the scope.
He moved with the precision of someone trained—no wasted movement, no loss of aim. He reached for his phone, keeping the rifle steady, then answered with a quiet click.
"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice a lazy drawl laced with challenge.
"You should be fired for taking a personal call while on duty," his deep, dark voice drawled through the line—gravelly and irritatingly composed.
"Oh, really?" I teased, voice light with mockery. "Aren't you working too? And yet, here you are—answering. Shouldn't you be fired as well?"
He scoffed, low and dry. "Care to say that again?"
My jaw tensed. Of course he'd point that out. Of course he'd remind me—he was the one in command. He wouldn't get fired. Not easily, at least.
"You're just one call away from your superior," I warned, letting the threat settle between us.
But two could play that game.
"You know why I'm stationed here?" I said, tone light, almost sing-song. "Why I've got the best vantage point, the clearest shot? Because I'm the best in this field. Think they'd fire me over a call?"
"Professionalism matters more than skill." His words slid off his tongue with practiced ease, like a man who's used to being obeyed.
I let out a soft, amused laugh. That bossy tone of his—whenever he used it—I knew I was getting under his skin. He wouldn't assert control if he didn't feel it slipping, would he?
"I've taken plenty of clean shots while on a call," I murmured smugly. "Sometimes even while flirting with a boyfriend. What about you? How many can you do? Or… can you even handle that?"
"Unprofessionalism isn't something to be proud of," he snapped, like a real commander speaking to a wayward cadet.
But his tone didn't scare me—it amused me.
"I'll call your superior," he said, low and heavy like a loaded gun.
His voice painted a picture in my head—me standing in front of a long desk, him seated in a leather chair, looming with authority, while I kept my head down like a scolded employee. Somehow, the image thrilled me.
"He won't fire me," I said smoothly. "I'm too precious."
"We'll see about that."
I expected him to hang up. But he didn't. His scope didn't waver either. He was still watching me. So I leaned in to play a little more.
"And if you do convince him…" I let my voice drop, suggestive, slow. "I'll just change his mind… in other ways."
Silence.
"Like what?" he finally asked, sharp and clipped.
I grinned, knowing full well he could see me now. He hadn't pulled away from his scope either.
"Like what?" he asked again, this time sounding irritated—as if he didn't want to want the answer, but couldn't help himself.
"I don't know…" I purred. "Care to suggest a strategy?"
He said nothing.
And I smiled even wider.
"Maybe I'll just sleep with him," I said casually, like it was nothing. "Two birds with one stone. I get what I want—and have fun while I'm at it."
He sighed.
There it is.
"You," he began, voice strained and simmering. "Do you seriously think your superior could be manipulated that way? Do you even hear yourself? That's a serious allegation, Evenaria."
His tone was clipped, barely keeping the anger from boiling over.
"You don't believe me?" I taunted, my voice soft and sly. "You're free to watch. Like old times. You loved watching me, remember—"
"I'm not a fucking pervert, Evenaria." His voice cracked like a whip. "Can you even hear what you're saying?"
I knew I'd hit a nerve. And God, it felt good to piss him off.
"You actually think I'd want to watch something that revolting?"
My smirk faltered.
Something in my chest snapped.
"Revolting?" I repeated, my voice low and trembling with fury. "I'm not the revolting one here."
Words started slipping through my fingers. I grasped at them—furious, humiliated.
"Maybe it's you! Look at you—can't even land a girlfriend. No one wants to date you because you're probably bad in bed! And I'm the disgusting one?"
I lost it. I knew I did.
He crossed a line—and I exploded.
"You don't get to say that unless you've tried me. So have you?" I spat. "Have you even tried me to know?"
And then, the bastard smirked. Slow. Arrogant. Like he was enjoying every second of my unraveling.
"I don't need to try you," he drawled. "I'd rather sleep with the entire paramilitary and military than ever touch you."
The radio crackled.
I pressed the mute button on my phone so he wouldn't hear the command.
"Mr. Mendoza will move now. Snipers, pack up. Squadron A, prepare the convoy."
I inhaled sharply.
Adrian started speaking again, but I pulled out the earpiece and ignored him.
"We're done. You can lower your gun now," I said coolly, as if nothing just happened.
"Oh yeah?" he replied. "And what—so you can shoot me instead?"
I laughed. "I'm lowering it. I said we're done."
I lowered my sniper slowly, but I still wanted to see him. I pulled out my binoculars and searched.
There he was.
Still aiming at me.
"Wow…" I muttered, lips curling into a smirk. "You really want to watch me, huh? Even after the job's over? Pretending like it's not just so you can steal another look?"
I lowered my binoculars and waved at him with both hands, a playful grin tugging at my lips. I knew he was watching—so I made sure to give him a show.
Casually, I reached back and pulled out my hair tie, letting my braids tumble loose around my shoulders. I ran my fingers through them slowly, smiling sweetly in his direction.
Just to be sure, I checked through my binoculars again.
Yep.
Still watching.
"You like that?" I teased, voice dipped in sugar and venom. "Is that why you can't stop locking on to me?"
"I'm working," he shot back, voice as cold and clipped as ever.
"We're done, remember?" I reminded him, arching a brow. "Do you think I'd lower my gun if I was bluffing?"
He didn't answer.
I waved at him again, this time slower—almost mockingly.
"Maybe you missed me," I said with a soft laugh. "That's why you're still watching. Couldn't look away even if you tried."
Still, nothing.
He remained silent.
I packed up my rifle, stealing glances his way every few seconds, smiling every time I caught him still on me. Finally, I looked through my binoculars one last time.
Still locked on.
Still watching.
"I hope you don't miss me too much after this…"
I tucked the binoculars into my bag, then lifted my gaze—no scope, no lens, just my bare eyes meeting the direction of his.
I knew that through his scope, he saw me perfectly. Every detail. Every movement.
So I gave him something he wouldn't forget.
I lifted my top, tugging it up along with my sports bra.
Through the scope, I watched his composure snap.
"You're—" His voice cracked in disbelief.
I chuckled low, heat bubbling in my chest from the thrill.
"Put that fucking down, Eve," he growled.
"Or what?" I tilted my head. "You'll shoot?"
"Put. Your. Shirt. Fucking. Down."
His voice wasn't just angry—it was desperate.
And in that desperation, I tasted power.