The snow outside Velmark High lay in thick, undisturbed blankets, muffling the city like a white shroud. Inside the building, warmth hummed through radiators and hallways buzzed with chatter—but it all shifted the moment Arisa stepped through the main doors.
Not because of what she said. She said nothing.
She didn't have to.
Arisa walked with slow, deliberate grace—uniform crisp, posture flawless, hair down in a dark cascade that shimmered like silk. The same school outfit she wore before... and yet not the same.
She didn't hide. Didn't flinch. Didn't search the crowd for familiar faces.
Eyes followed her. Whispers bloomed in every direction:
"She's back?" "Wasn't she, like… missing?" "What the hell happened to her? She looks… expensive."
She passed Celeste near the lockers. Celeste grinned, tossed a comment over her shoulder:
"Back from your little coma, dollface?"
Arisa stopped—just long enough to meet her eyes.
A tilt of the head. A curve of the lips. A gaze that said I'm listening… but didn't reach the soul.
Celeste faltered.
Arisa smiled wider. Innocent. Empty. Then walked away.
She sat in homeroom like a statue. Perfect posture. Bag precisely aligned under the desk. She didn't look at anyone.
Including him.
Riven sat three rows behind her, beside the window, silent as always. Arisa never turned around. Never flinched. Never acknowledged him.
She wasn't supposed to.
Their arrangement wasn't public. Not anymore.
She was a tool. A weapon. Not a girlfriend. Not a doll on a leash.
Now, she was bait.
At lunch, a senior boy—Markus Hallen—approached her table. Popular. Well-dressed. Top of his class. Confident.
She didn't initiate. She didn't have to.
He introduced himself. She tilted her head. Asked about his name. His grades. His parents. Made him laugh.
He walked away with her number.
She walked away with his schedule, his weakness, and the names of three girls he used to date.
Back in the empty restroom, she leaned against the sink, alone.
Her reflection stared back. Her eyes were soft. Almost warm.
But inside? Cold.
She touched the edge of her lip. Then the edge of her collar.
The asset number was gone—but she remembered where it used to be.
She whispered to the mirror:
"Tell me what I am now."
The mirror smiled back.
So did .
Arisa didn't speak during her next class. She didn't need to.
She watched.
Every boy. Every girl. Every glance. Some wanted to touch her. Some wanted to be her. Most didn't know which was worse.
When the bell rang, she didn't rush. She moved with precision—timed steps, effortless grace. She moved like a girl who didn't know what fear was.
She passed by the cafeteria and stopped.
There, in the far corner, sat a boy she hadn't seen before. Not flashy. Not loud. Buttoned-up blazer, glasses pushed up neatly, reading a worn philosophy text like the world didn't exist.
She tilted her head.
Then changed direction.
She pulled out a chair across from him and sat down, uninvited.
He looked up, cautious.
"Do you always stare at strangers?" he asked.
Arisa's smile was faint. Surgical.
"Only the interesting ones."
He didn't respond right away. Just closed the book gently.
"What makes me interesting?"
She leaned forward, not too close—just enough.
"You don't talk to anyone. You read old books. You think you're above this place, but you're still here. That makes you curious."
"And what are you?" he asked.
She tilted her head the other way.
"I'm a memory test. If you forget me, I failed. If you don't, you're already in trouble."
He chuckled, dry and quiet. "Do you flirt like that with everyone?"
"No," she said, standing up. "Just the ones I want to study."
She walked away, leaving her scent, her cadence, and a question behind.
He would think about her now.
And that's all she needed.
Back in the corridor, she didn't smile. But inside her head?
"He's smart. Curious. Guarded. Worth testing."
She didn't text Riven. She didn't need to.
This one was hers.
Let's see if he breaks.
The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
Riven sat in his usual chair—legs crossed, fingers resting against his lips, eyes half-lidded as he reviewed something on a dark tablet screen.
The door didn't slam.
But she didn't knock either.
She walked in like she owned the floor, coat half-unbuttoned, eyes glassy with momentum.
He looked up.
And that was all the invitation she needed.
In three steps, Arisa was across the room. She dropped her bag by the door, shrugged off her coat mid-stride, and in a single movement, climbed onto him.
Straddling his lap.
Not with affection.
But with ownership. Hunger. A mission report wearing skin.
She leaned forward, her arms resting on his shoulders, forehead nearly touching his.
"I'm back," she whispered.
Riven didn't move.
He waited.
Arisa began speaking — voice low, steady, too fast for normal speech but too precise for panic.
"When I walked into school, the whispers started. About where I'd been. How I looked. One girl—Celeste—tried to test me. I smiled. She shut up."
"First period, I ignored everyone. Including you. Like you said."
"At lunch, Markus Hallen came to me. Popular. Confident. Weak. He gave me his number. I gave him nothing. Just took intel."
"Then the new boy—corner of the cafeteria. Reading philosophy. Detached. Calculated. I approached him."
"Didn't flirt. Just analyzed. I left before he could ask my name. He'll remember me. That's the point."
Riven's hands didn't touch her.
His eyes just traced the edges of her face.
"Do you want more details?" she asked. "About who stared? Who smiled? Who followed me down the stairs?"
She tilted her head. That dangerous glint flickering in her eyes.
"I can give you full behavioral profiles by morning."
Still no command. Still no affection.
Just silence.
Which made her speak softer:
"Or you can mark who you want me to start with."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Tell me, Riven. Who do I break first?"
He finally touched her — just two fingers along her jaw.
"I'll decide once I see how well you've trained him."
She smiled.
Then rested her head on his shoulder — like a gun returning to its holster.