Morning sunlight cut through the blinds in thin, disciplined lines. Another message blinked on my phone before I'd even finished my coffee.
47A:Briefing update. Assignment confirmed. Hold position until further notice.
No target name, no time. Just waiting. Waiting was its own weapon—it dulled the restless parts of me that wanted movement.
By the time I reached school, the noise of ordinary life had already filled the halls: sneakers squeaking, laughter ricocheting off lockers, a hundred conversations overlapping like static. I slipped through them unnoticed.
The Pairing
"Lucky you," Ryan called as I stepped into English. "Group project time. Guess who your partner is?"
Claire snorted. "He's not lucky; she is."
I didn't need to look to know. Aria was sitting at the far table, smiling politely at the teacher's announcement.
"Pierce with Lorne," the teacher said. "Two analytical minds. Should be productive."
Claire whispered, "Productive, sure. Also, sexual tension in 3… 2…"
I ignored her. She beamed anyway.
Aria gestured toward the empty seat beside her. "Guess we're partners."
Her tone was easy, but her eyes studied me in a way that didn't match the smile. Observation. Calculation.
I took the seat. "Looks that way."
She opened her notebook. "We're supposed to analyze symbolism in The Hollow Crown. You're good at analysis, right?"
"Depends on the subject."
A tiny smile. "You mean you choose when to care."
That wasn't the kind of thing people usually noticed about me. I said nothing. She didn't seem bothered.
We worked in silence for a while—the faint scratch of pens, the hum of an overhead fan. Every now and then, I caught her glancing at me sideways, like she was testing the edges of a mirror.
The reflex
Halfway through class, a student bumped our table while walking past. A pair of scissors rolled off the edge.
Aria's hand moved before the metal even hit the air. She caught them by the handles—no flinch, no glance. Pure reflex.
The motion was clean, practiced. Too practiced.
She blinked a second later, pretending surprise. "Reflexes, I guess."
I forced a neutral expression. "Fast reflexes."
"Gymnastics," she said quickly. "Helps with balance."
A reasonable answer, perfectly delivered. Still wrong.
The conversation
When the bell rang, most of the class emptied out for lunch. Aria stayed, stacking her books with methodical precision.
"Mind staying a few minutes?" she asked. "We should finish outlining our essay."
"Sure."
The room quieted until it felt detached from the rest of the world. Outside, footsteps faded down the hallway.
She leaned forward on her elbows. "You don't talk much, do you?"
"I talk when it matters."
"What matters, then?"
"Truth," I said.
Her smile widened, faintly amused. "And what counts as truth to you?"
"Anything that survives questioning."
For a moment, she looked almost impressed. Then thoughtful. "Must make lying to you difficult."
"People lie without knowing," I said. "They tell themselves stories to stay comfortable."
Her eyes flicked to mine. "Do you?"
A pause. "No."
The air between us shifted—less like flirtation, more like a duel fought in silence.
"Everyone wears masks," she said. "Even the ones who pretend not to."
Her tone was too pointed to be coincidence. I kept my voice steady. "You sound like you've worn a few yourself."
Her pencil froze mid-twirl, then resumed spinning. "Maybe I have."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then Claire's voice burst through the doorway. "Oh my god, you two look like you're plotting world domination. Are you done flirting or what?"
Aria laughed—light, effortless. "We're done working, I think."
Ryan peered in behind Claire. "Yeah, sure. Totally academic vibes here."
Their presence broke the tension like a snapped wire. Aria gathered her papers, slipping them into her folder. "See you tomorrow, Ethan."
She said my name too smoothly. Most people stumbled over it, tried to soften the tone. She didn't.
When she walked past, I noticed the faint scent of metal polish on her sleeve—barely there, but familiar to anyone who cleaned a weapon. Coincidence, maybe. Maybe not.
After school, I found her outside near the front steps, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice was calm, low. "Yes, I'm aware. No, I haven't seen him break pattern yet."
Pattern. That word landed like a trigger pull.
She turned mid-sentence and noticed me a few paces away. The conversation ended instantly; the phone slipped into her pocket.
"Hey," she said, smiling easily. "You heading home?"
Her tone was perfect, casual. But for half a second, something flickered behind her eyes—recognition mixed with calculation.
"Yeah," I said. "You?"
"Same. I just—" She hesitated, choosing words. "I had to call my brother. He worries if I don't check in."
Too quick. Too clean.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and changed the subject. "You always walk home alone?"
"Usually."
"Guess we both like quiet."
"Or we both like not answering questions," I said.
She laughed softly, and for the first time it sounded genuine. "Maybe that's it."
Then she glanced at the clock tower. "See you tomorrow, Ethan."
She turned and walked away, leaving the faintest trace of unease behind her.
That night, the city glowed through my apartment window in fractured orange and blue. I sat at the desk, phone beside me, waiting.
At 23:00, the screen lit up.
47A:Target confirmed. File attached.
I opened it.
A name appeared, blurred at the edges until the encryption finished loading. My pulse didn't spike, but my focus narrowed to a single point.
The name wasn't Aria's. Not yet.
But beneath the text, an annotation: Affiliated with rival network. Codename "Seraph." Possible internal breach.
Seraph. The underworld's rumor—an agent who could infiltrate any organization without trace. No confirmed identity. Only whispers.
And I'd seen that same calm, calculating precision in Aria's eyes this morning.
Coincidence, again. Maybe.
I closed the file and stared at the dark window. My reflection looked back—expressionless, exact. A mask built for survival.
If Aria Lorne was just a classmate, the game was simple. If she was Seraph, it was already in motion.
Either way, I couldn't afford mistakes.