Kayla arrived at school earlier than usual.
The parking lot was barely half full, the morning air still cool enough to cling to her skin. She shut the car door quietly and adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Early mornings meant fewer eyes, fewer questions—and most importantly, fewer chances of running into people she wanted nothing to do with.
People like Aidan.
She hadn't seen him since yesterday, but the feeling he left behind lingered. It wasn't fear. Kayla didn't fear easily. It was irritation—sharp and unwelcome. Aidan watched too closely. Listened too carefully. He carried himself like someone who enjoyed chasing things that ran.
Kayla did not run.
Still, she had no interest in being noticed.
She took the long path toward the school building, avoiding the main entrance. Her footsteps were measured, posture relaxed, face unreadable. If anyone glanced her way, they saw nothing more than a composed student heading to class.
Halfway down the corridor near the science wing, she sensed movement.
A voice drifted through the hallway—low, familiar, and immediately unwelcome.
Aidan.
Kayla stopped short and changed direction without hesitation, slipping through a side hallway and into the open courtyard. Her heart rate didn't change, but her awareness sharpened. She chose a bench beneath a tree and sat, pulling a book from her bag as if she had been planning to be there all along.
She barely turned a page.
"Is this seat taken?"
Kayla looked up.
The girl standing in front of her had warm brown eyes and an open expression, the kind that made people feel comfortable without trying. Her hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She carried herself with quiet confidence—not loud, not shy. Balanced.
Kayla studied her for half a second before answering. "No."
"Good," the girl said with a smile, sitting down. "I've already been chased out of two other spots by couples who think public benches are private property."
Kayla's lips twitched despite herself.
"I'm Mira," the girl continued, offering her hand.
Kayla hesitated—then shook it. "Kayla."
"Nice to finally meet you," Mira said casually.
Kayla frowned slightly. "Finally?"
Mira laughed. "You've been a topic of interest since you transferred. Quiet girl. Always composed. Impossible to read."
Kayla closed her book. "People should find better hobbies."
"I agree," Mira said easily. "But curiosity is a disease around here."
Kayla glanced around the courtyard, her gaze unconsciously searching the entrances. She didn't miss the way Mira noticed.
"You're looking for someone," Mira said.
"I'm avoiding someone."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
"He doesn't understand the word 'no.'"
"Ah," Mira said knowingly. "That narrows it down."
Kayla turned her head slightly. "You know him?"
"Unfortunately," Mira replied. "Aidan has a habit of inserting himself where he isn't wanted."
Kayla's expression hardened. "He was watching me earlier."
Mira's tone softened. "He does that."
Kayla finally looked directly at her. "And you're okay with it?"
"No," Mira said simply. "But ignoring him tends to annoy him more than confrontation. He likes reactions."
Kayla nodded slowly. That aligned with her own assessment.
A shadow passed across the courtyard.
Mira's posture shifted subtly. "Speak of the devil."
Kayla didn't turn around. She didn't need to.
Aidan's presence was unmistakable—like pressure against the air. She could feel him before she saw him, could sense the moment his attention landed on her.
"Kayla," his voice called.
She stood immediately.
"I have class," she said to Mira.
"So do I," Mira replied, rising with her. "Same direction."
They walked side by side, Kayla refusing to look back. Footsteps followed briefly, then slowed.
Aidan didn't call out again.
Inside the hallway, Mira leaned closer. "You handled that well."
"I don't like being cornered."
"Neither do I," Mira said. "That's why I sat with you. He won't approach if there's an audience."
Kayla studied her. "Why help me?"
Mira shrugged. "First impressions matter. And I don't think you're the kind of person who deserves to be hunted for entertainment."
Kayla stopped outside her classroom. She met Mira's gaze, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"You're observant," Kayla said.
Mira smiled. "You're dangerous."
Kayla's lips curved faintly. "So I've been told."
The bell rang, echoing through the hallways.
"I'll see you around," Mira said, stepping away. "And Kayla?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever Aidan thinks he's doing—don't underestimate him."
Kayla watched her go, then turned toward the classroom door.
Behind her, down the hall, Aidan stood in the shadows, watching the space where Kayla had been.
She hadn't looked at him once.
That alone made her far more interesting than anyone else.
The cafeteria was loud even from a distance, and she didn't slow her pace as she passed it. Instead, she turned down the quieter hallway leading to the library.
She didn't expect anyone else to be there.
The library was quiet—too quiet for a place filled with hundreds of restless minds pretending to be disciplined.
Kayla sat by the far window, sunlight spilling faintly across the wooden table. A thick book lay open before her, untouched. She wasn't reading. She was listening—to heartbeats, to footsteps, to the subtle tension in the air that never lied to her.
Avoid Aidan.
Observe from afar.
Do not draw attention.
She repeated the rules in her head like a mantra.
A soft thud broke the silence.
"—ah!"
Books scattered across the floor.
Kayla looked up.
An orange-haired girl with round glasses knelt awkwardly beside the table, frantically gathering papers and notebooks that had slipped from her arms. Her uniform was slightly worn, not tailored like the elites'. A commoner—no doubt about it.
"I-I'm so sorry!" the girl blurted out, bowing repeatedly. "I didn't see you there."
Kayla stared.
"Oh," Mira said quietly. "You too"
Mira pick up the tray in hand, surprise flickering across her face. After she arranged the book in the shelf.
Kayla gestured to the empty chair. "Looks like it."
A chair scraped softly across the floor.
Mira smiled and sat down. "I swear I wasn't following you."
"I know," Kayla replied.
They ate in silence at first, the kind that didn't feel forced. Mira didn't stare. She didn't push.
"You don't like the cafeteria either," Mira said eventually.
"No."
"Good. I thought I was the only one who needed an escape."
Kayla glanced at her. "Crowds are… unnecessary."
Mira laughed softly. "Exactly."
Footsteps echoed faintly outside the library.
Kayla's attention sharpened immediately.
Mira noticed. "Him?"
Kayla nodded once.
"He came into class late," Mira said. "Didn't stop looking at you."
Kayla's jaw tightened. "He won't stop."
Mira leaned back slightly. "People like that lose interest when they don't get what they want."
"And if they don't?" Kayla asked.
Mira met her gaze. "Then they learn."
The library door opened.
Aidan stepped inside, his presence instantly altering the atmosphere. His eyes found Kayla—then Mira.
He smiled, slow and unreadable.
Kayla didn't move.
Mira picked up her drink calmly, breaking his line of sight. "He won't approach. Too many witnesses."
After a moment, Aidan turned and left.
Kayla exhaled.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Mira shrugged. "You didn't ask. I just stayed."
The lunch bell rang.
They stood at the same time.
"Same class tomorrow?" Mira asked.
Kayla nodded. "Same seat."
Mira smiled. "Then I'll see you again."
Kayla watched her leave, realizing something unexpected.
She didn't mind the company.
And that, more than Aidan's attention, unsettled her.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Kayla avoided Aidan successfully, slipping through halls, changing routes, always just out of reach. She could feel his irritation growing, but she didn't care. Or at least, she told herself she didn't.
When the final bell rang, students poured out of the building. Kayla walked ahead, hands in her pockets, gaze forward.
That's when she heard the laughter.
Sharp.
Mocking.
She slowed slightly and glanced to the side.
Near the gates, a small group of girls had cornered Mira. They stood too close, blocking her path, their voices dripping with false curiosity.
"So," one of them said, smirking, "what's your deal with Kayla?"
Mira clutched her bag tighter. "I—I don't know what you mean."
Another girl laughed. "Don't play dumb. You were sitting with her. Eating with her."
"And?" Mira asked, trying to sound brave.
The first girl leaned in. "Is she really as cold as everyone says? Or is that just an act?"
Kayla stopped walking.
For a brief moment, she watched.
Mira's face flushed. "She's just… quiet."
The girls scoffed.
"That's it? You're defending her now?" one mocked. "Careful. People who stick close to her won't last long."
Kayla's fingers curled slightly at her side.
Then she turned away.
She didn't interfere. Didn't speak. Didn't look back.
Whatever they were saying wasn't her concern. Mira wasn't her responsibility.
Attachment only complicated things—and Kayla didn't survive by being complicated.
She walked past the gates and into the fading afternoon light, expression unreadable.
Behind her, Mira stood alone, shaken—but watching Kayla's retreating figure with something new in her eyes.
Not fear.
Curiosity.
Kayla slipped inside her house, the front door clicking softly behind her. She paused for a moment, scanning the quiet driveway and the faint movements beyond the gate. Habit, honed over years of survival, told her to check every angle—even here, in a place that should feel safe.
Her bag dropped lightly on the side table, shoes aligned neatly beside it. Every object had its place; every movement was deliberate. She washed her face in the warm bathroom, brushing her hair slowly, methodically, as if scrubbing away the outside world along with the dust and sweat of the day.
Her phone was next. Messages skimmed, notifications dismissed. Only the important ones earned a response; the rest didn't exist..
The study corner awaited. Books stacked neatly, laptop open, notebooks ready. Kayla checked her assignments, planned the next day, and scribbled notes with precision, every mark calculated.
Then came the physical routine—stretches, push-ups, squats. Her body moved efficiently, powered by both instinct and habit, trained for strength and readiness. By the time dinner was served, she was calm, composed. She ate quietly, noting textures, scents, and flavors—not for pleasure, but for awareness.
Evening settled, and Kayla moved to the balcony, observing the neighborhood as dusk turned to night. Shadows shifted. Cars passed. Sounds drifted across yards. Every detail registered, cataloged, analyzed. The day's interactions replayed in her mind: Mira's tentative gaze, Aidan's lingering curiosity.
Before bed, she opened her journal. Not for emotion, but for clarity. Every observation, every thought, every contingency written down, stored, and studied. Only then did she prepare for sleep. Sheets tucked, room secure, belongings aligned, she lay down, muscles relaxing but senses alert. Even rest was controlled, measured—a predator never fully vulnerable.
Before the cage, before the serum, before the pain hardened her into someone untouchable, Kayla had a life filled with rare warmth.
Her parents were not ordinary people. Though distant at times, they had a love for her that was careful but unwavering. Even in a world of secrecy and power, they carved moments of normalcy for her. Her mother would hum quietly as she braided Kayla's long black hair, telling her stories of courage and kindness. Her father, stern yet gentle, taught her how to read people—not to manipulate, but to protect herself, to notice when danger was near.
It was in this bubble of fleeting safety that Kayla learned to trust, to hope, to imagine a world where love wasn't a weakness. She laughed freely with Divya, her best friend, and even played in the gardens, chasing sunlight and shadows alike. She was curious, alive, and unguarded—the girl the world would never expect to become a predator.
Then came the night that shattered it all. The men who had studied her parents' lives for years invaded the estate. They did not care about kindness or bonds. They killed indiscriminately. Kayla's parents—her shields, her anchors—gave their lives to save her, dragging her from the fire before it consumed everything. The screams, the smoke, the chaos, the acrid smell of burning wood—they imprinted themselves into her mind forever.
She remembered her parents' lessons clearly: observe first, react second. Feelings could mislead, attachments could cost lives. Her mother's whispered words echoed in her mind as she ran: "Remember who you are, Kayla. Strength isn't just physical—it's in your mind, your heart, your choices."
From that point on, Kayla became disciplined. Detached. A hunter in a world that had shown her no mercy. And while the world would call her cold, unfeeling, and unapproachable, she carried a secret within: a flicker of the girl who had once been loved, who had once trusted, and who had once dared to h
It was that spark—small, hidden, fiercely protected—that still made her human.