Knox's POV:
I made a catastrophic error, and the cost is her presence. Bella won't even glance in my direction now. At university, our paths cross—a cruel trick of fate—and I see her shoulders tense, watch as she turns on her heel to walk the long way around, anything to avoid the sight of me.
It's a pain sharper than any blade. But it's a pain I deserve.
It doesn't matter now. Today is the last day. She won't have to see my face after this. Good.
Enough. I need to bury this weakness. There's a mission to complete. The pills won't move themselves, and the betrayer in our ranks won't eliminate himself. This is the life I chose, the only one I'm fit for. Focus, Knox.
The headmaster's office was a pool of shadow and silence, exactly as I'd planned. Luck had little to do with it; timing and observation had confirmed the room would be empty.
I worked quickly, gloved hands moving with silent efficiency through the drawers. Jack's intel was specific: a blue file, distinct from the standard student records. The color code for potential threats. My own file is probably in here somewhere, I thought with a flicker of cold amusement.
My fingers found it. The distinct blue cardboard. I flipped it open, my eyes scanning the names until I found the one I needed. There.
I slid the boy's dossier free, closed the file, and returned it to its place. In under a minute, the office was restored, every item perfectly aligned. No trace of my presence remained.
Stepping back into the hallway, I peeled off the thin latex gloves, balled them into my pocket, and replaced them with a fresh pair from the dispenser I always carried. One pair of gloves gone missing at home wouldn't raise an eyebrow with the staff. Meticulousness was the difference between success and a bullet.The target was acquired. Now, the hunt could truly begin.
I hadn't taken ten steps from the office when I saw him—the boy from the file, the living photograph. He slipped like a ghost into an empty lecture hall. Perfect.
I followed, the door sighing shut behind me. He was at the lectern, his back to me, stuffing a bag with small, familiar blister packs. The counterfeit pills. A distributor, then. A direct link in the chain poisoning my streets.
I didn't speak. I drew my pistol, the sound a soft whisper of leather and metal. The shhk-click of the silencer threading into place was a sound he knew too well. His entire body went rigid.
I didn't wait for him to turn, to beg, to see my face. There was no drama, no final words. Just the muffled phut of the round leaving the barrel. He dropped, a marionette with its strings cut, his head meeting the wooden floor with a final, dull thud.
I stood in the ringing silence, the scent of cordite a faint perfume in the stale air. I dialed Jack, my voice low and even.
"We have a spill in Lecture Hall 4B. Contact the cleaners."
The body wasn't even cold when a gasp cut through the silence. I turned.
A pale-faced professor stood frozen at the doorway, his hand still on the knob, his expression a perfect mask of pure, unadulterated terror. His eyes were locked on the scene: the gun in my hand, the body on the floor.
Oops. Caught.
The thought was a dry, internal flicker. There was no panic, only a swift, cold recalculation of the variables.
In the distance, the first wail of a siren pierced the air, quickly multiplying into a chorus. My connections in the police department were solid, but they couldn't save me if I was caught standing over a fresh corpse, weapon in hand. That deal was void the second those sirens started. The game had changed. It was no longer a clean-up operation. It was an escape.
I fixed the professor with a look that turned his blood to ice, freezing him in place. That was all the time I needed. I walked right past him.
The hall was mercifully empty. I spotted the P.E. storage closet not far away—a perfect, temporary blind. I ran for it, my footsteps echoing. Suddenly, a figure rounded the corner and slammed into me. Bella.
Her wide, startled eyes met mine for a split second. There was no time for apologies, no time to see if she was hurt. If she was out here, she was a witness. I couldn't leave her.
In one fluid motion, I wrapped an arm around her, pulled her into the dark storage room with me, and slammed the door. I pulled the bump key from my pocket—a versatile tool that could be jimmied into almost any lock. A quick twist, and the bolt slid home with a definitive thud.
I pulled Bella away from the small, grimy window, my gloved hand coming up to cover her mouth. Her body was rigid against mine, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm I could feel through my own chest.
"Not a sound," I breathed against her ear, my own pulse thundering in my ears. The sirens were right outside now.