04:30 AM. The room was still, dead silent, the kind of silence found only in places carved from routine and intention. Nox's eyes opened before the alarm buzzed. He hadn't needed it for years.
He moved like liquid shadow, silent and without hesitation. The bed remained untouched as he slipped from it, the sheets stretched taut. His breath steady. Heart rate controlled. Movements efficient.
Workout first.
Rooftop, mat unrolled beneath him like ritual. Ten sets of push-ups, each more brutal than the last, followed by slow and deep squats, precision pull-ups against the reinforced closet bar, resistance bands, breath-holding drills. He trained until the burn in his muscles felt clean, earned. No expression. No noise.
He stripped down to sweat-drenched basics, grabbed a towel, and hit the shower. Always the first. Always alone. Water ice-cold. His mask and hoodie lay neatly folded on the bathroom hook, untouched by steam.
Once dry, he redressed in layers of black.
Compression tee. Tactical undershirt. Loose black hoodie. Modified cargos with reinforced seams and hidden pockets. Steel-toed boots soft-soled. Mask slipped on, snug and silent. Gloves pulled over calloused hands. Identity concealed, intention amplified.
His laptop whirred to life. In seconds, he checked his latest encryption ping. No breach. Dummy accounts for burner funds stable. Next, a clean sweep of student records—grades, staff, health history, movement logs. He'd hacked into the campus systems days ago, but routines were only useful when updated.
He logged out.
Coffee.
He made it silently. French press. Strong. Black. Bitter. A single sip on the rooftop as the dawn broke gray and dull over the city skyline. His feet rested on the ledge. One hand held the coffee; the other clutched a silver folding knife, twirling slowly.
He watched the building below wake up. The slow stir of campus staff. The security shift change. Maintenance trucks rolling in. Doors unlocked. Shutters lifted.
Information.
Everything was about collection.
At 06:55, he returned to the room. Leo's bed remained untouched. Ash's was a rumpled pile of half-folded energy.
He set his empty mug down, checked the micro-arsenal behind his desk drawer. Glock, stripped and cleaned. Two ceramic knives. A modified stun pen. Foldable tools. Surgical wire. Burner phone, voice-masking earpiece, low-grade portable jammer. All tucked into wall slots, drawers, behind books.
Everything invisible. Everything reachable.
He slipped the laptop into his case and sat, waiting.
07:12, Leo stirred. His movements were equally measured but edged with something heavier. There was no sleep daze. He got up like a soldier who had trained with violence in his blood.
They exchanged no words. Just glances.
Ash woke next, tangled in his sheets, cursing under his breath about the time.
"I think we've got—what? Lit first? Or is it history?"
No response from either.
Ash dressed with rushed energy, chattering half to himself. "Alright, alright. Day one. Let's go not die."
Nox was already standing by the door when Ash turned around.
They walked the campus together, but not as a group. Ash trailed slightly behind, trying to match Leo's long strides. Nox walked with silent efficiency. No wasted motion. Just eyes constantly observing—exit routes, blind corners, structural weaknesses, pattern loops in student flow.
They reached Lecture Hall C at 08:00 sharp.
Nox took the seat in the back row, farthest left, with full wall visibility. Leo sat dead center—power position. Ash sat to Leo's right, already pulling out a tablet.
Students filtered in, and a steady buzz filled the room. Laughter. Greetings. The general chaos of youth.
But the three of them remained untouched by it.
Nox's eyes scanned faces. Subtle expressions. Who avoided eye contact. Who looked too much. He noted a girl chewing her nails in the third row. An upperclassman in a varsity jacket who kept his hand near his waistband. The professor's slow limp. The way the assistant keyed in with their left hand only.
The lecture began. Basic intros. Syllabus. Guidelines. But Nox wasn't here for learning.
He watched the patterns. The outliers. The mistakes.
He typed notes, yes, but not class-related ones. He built profiles. Behavior, ticks, routines. How long until the girl looked at her phone. How often the assistant looked at the door. Which window was left unlocked.
Leo didn't look his way once.
Ash nudged Leo during a joke the professor made. Leo didn't react.
Break came.
Nox stood immediately and left. Out the side hall, around the blind corner, out into the quad where the eastern sunlight cut sharp shadows between buildings.
He walked calmly but with purpose, cutting through the chatter and motion like a shadow never meant to be seen.
Back at the dorm, he pulled off the gloves and rolled his wrists. Tight. Getting better.
Then he brewed more coffee.
The second round was stronger. Sharp, bitter on the tongue. He brought it back to the rooftop. Sat. Drank. Observed.
At noon, he returned to the next class.
The rest of the day passed in a rhythm of silence and note-taking, pattern scanning and movement prediction.
The three of them shared space but not connection. Not yet. Ash tried, every few hours, to bridge the distance with a joke, a comment, a reference.
Leo gave clipped replies, tense nods. Always watching. Always guarded.
Nox gave nothing.
By evening, their paths led back to the dorm.
Nox peeled off first, heading to the gym.
He trained like a ghost in war—silent and punishing. Pull-ups until the bar burned his palms, weighted laps, core drills until his breath was a controlled hiss.
He returned to the room near midnight.
Leo and Ash were asleep.
He opened the panel behind his wardrobe, pulled out a new surgical kit—clean, vacuum-sealed. Bought earlier in the day with untraceable funds.
He filed it in place.
Another tool. Another safety.
Then, finally, he laid down.
He didn't sleep immediately.
He stared at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch.
The novel had begun.
But he wasn't part of it.
He was the shadow in the room.
Watching.
And waiting.
End of Chapter Five