[EARLY MORNING – RAIN CONTINUES]
Rain had a way of hiding footsteps.
Ms. Mai noticed that.
She stood under the school's outer corridor roof, watching students arrive. Her reflection in the glass was perfect.
Too perfect.
She tapped her earpiece once.
"Control," she said softly. "I need confirmation."
Static for half a second.
"Go ahead, Observer."
"Any movement on the Unknown Variable?" she asked.
A pause.
"No direct sightings," Control replied. "But something changed last night."
Ms. Mai's jaw tightened. "Define changed."
"Three low-level brokers vanished. Different districts. Same signature."
Her fingers curled. Unit Zero's work was clean. This wasn't them.
"…Understood," she said. "Maintain watch."
The line cut.
Ms. Mai exhaled slowly. The Smile wasn't curiosity. It was a signal.
[CLASSROOM – FIRST PERIOD]
Lilly slid into her seat, uneasy.
Noah was already there. Too still.
"You okay?" she whispered.
He nodded—but didn't look at her.
"Did you see him again?" she asked.
"No," Noah said. "That's the problem."
She frowned.
"Yesterday," Noah continued, "I felt watched."
He finally turned to her, looking exhausted.
"Today, I feel… remembered."
(I had a dream about him. It was weird. He was trying to sell me a vacuum cleaner. I definitely remember him now.)
Lilly shivered. Remembered. Like a marked target.
[MS. MAI – LECTURE MODE]
"The purpose of reconnaissance," Ms. Mai said, writing clean lines across the board, "is not to observe movement."
She turned.
"It's to notice deviation."
Her eyes landed briefly on Noah.
"When patterns break," she continued, "someone caused it."
Noah held her gaze.
(Is she talking about me? Did she see me almost trip in the hallway? That was a deviation from walking normally.)
For a fraction of a second—
She saw it.
Not fear.
Recognition.
You feel it too, she realized. Dangerous.
[SECTOR A – FLASHBACK INTERCUT]
Crowds. Noise. Movement.
The Smiling Man again.
But this time—
He wasn't looking at Noah. He was watching someone else.
A child dropped a coin.
The man stepped aside so no one tripped.
Normal behavior. Perfectly human.
Too precise.
And then—
His eyes flicked back to Noah.
Smile returned.
As if to say:
Still you.
[CONTROL ROOM – RED ALERT (SILENT)]
No alarms sounded. Only screens shifted color.
"Pattern deviation detected," an analyst said.
"Explain," the Commander ordered.
"Criminal networks are reorganizing," the analyst replied. "Not retreating. Re-aligning."
"To what?" the President asked.
The analyst swallowed.
"…A central unknown."
The President closed his eyes.
"So Nana marked the field," he said quietly. "And something answered."
[SCHOOL ROOFTOP – LUNCH BREAK]
Wind cut through the open space.
Noah leaned against the railing. He was hungry. Nana usually packed his lunch, but today he had to make it himself. It was a sad sandwich. Just ham. No cheese.
Lilly joined him, offering half her (much better) sandwich.
"You're not hungry?" she asked, seeing his untouched food.
"No," he replied. "I'm listening."
(My stomach is growling. It's so loud. I'm trying to listen if anyone can hear it.)
"To what?"
He shook his head. "I don't know."
Then—
Footsteps.
One set. Unhurried.
They turned.
Empty rooftop.
But Noah felt it.
Close. Very close.
A voice spoke—calm, amused, right behind his left ear.
"You look disappointed."
Noah spun around.
Nothing.
The voice continued, softer now.
"I thought you'd be faster."
Lilly grabbed Noah's arm. "You heard that too, right?"
He nodded. Heart pounding.
"Yes."
(Who is that? Is someone hiding? Is this a prank?!)
The voice chuckled.
"Good," it said. "That would've been boring."
Silence snapped back into place.
The wind returned. The city noise below resumed.
Lilly was pale.
"…Noah," she whispered, "that wasn't in your head."
He stared at the empty air.
"No," he said.
And for the first time—
He smiled back.
(It's a ventriloquist! Someone is playing a trick on me! Okay, funny guy. Two can play at this game.)
To Lilly, and to the government drone hovering two miles up, the smile looked chilling.
It wasn't fear.
It was acceptance.
The game, they thought, is no longer one-sided.