Chapter 4:
I felt him before I saw him.
That prickle at the back of my neck—the one that never lied. The kind you earned after years of surviving places where hesitation meant death.
I slowed my steps, blending into the stream of students crossing the quad. Laughter floated through the air, backpacks swung casually, phones glued to faces. Normalcy everywhere.
Too much normal.
Mia walked beside me, chatting about her psychology professor and how he spoke like every sentence was a riddle meant to test patience.
"I swear, he enjoys confusing people," she said, rolling her eyes. "Last lecture, half the class looked like they were questioning their life choices."
I hummed in response, my attention split. My eyes scanned reflections in windows, shadows cast on the pavement, movements that didn't match the rhythm of the crowd.
There.
Across the quad.
A man in a dark jacket stood near a campus map, pretending to study it. Mid-thirties. Lean build. Too still. Students passed him, but he didn't move with them—didn't belong to their flow.
His gaze flicked up.
Locked on me.
Then away.
Too fast.
My jaw tightened.
"Mia," I said calmly, "I forgot I have to check something at the admin building."
She blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah. Won't take long."
She frowned slightly, then smiled. "Okay. Text me later?"
"I will."
She waved and turned toward her dorm, disappearing into the crowd. I waited until she was gone before changing direction.
I didn't look back.
I didn't need to.
I could feel him follow.
I led him toward the library—wide steps, glass walls, multiple exits. A perfect testing ground. I slowed near the entrance, pretending to scroll through my phone.
The man slowed too.
Confirmed.
I stepped inside, letting the air-conditioning wash over me, and veered left between shelves stacked with books no one read anymore. The place was quiet—soft footsteps, whispers, the faint hum of fluorescent lights.
I turned a corner sharply.
Stopped.
The man nearly collided with me.
He recovered instantly—too instantly. His eyes were sharp now, calculating, no trace of pretense.
"Sorry," he said.
His voice was neutral. Professional.
I smiled faintly. "You should watch where you're going."
He nodded and moved past me, footsteps steady.
I counted to three.
Then followed.
He exited the library and crossed the street, heading toward the older part of campus—narrower paths, fewer students. Bold.
Or confident.
I took the bait.
The path narrowed between two buildings. The noise of campus faded, replaced by the distant sound of traffic and rustling leaves.
He stopped.
So did I.
He turned slowly.
"You're good," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "At walking?"
"At noticing," he corrected. "Most people don't."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agreed. "You're not."
We studied each other. No weapons visible. Didn't mean he wasn't armed.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
He smiled faintly. "You already know the answer to that."
"Humor me."
"People who don't like loose variables," he said. "And you're becoming one."
I laughed softly. "You followed me onto a college campus to say that?"
"To confirm something," he replied. "And now I have."
I shifted my weight casually, measuring distance, angles, exits.
"What did you confirm?" I asked.
"That Assassin X doesn't belong here," he said.
The name landed heavy.
I didn't react.
He exhaled, impressed. "Not even a flicker."
"You're mistaken," I said. "I'm just a student."
He stepped closer. "Students don't move like predators."
I struck.
Not fast.
Precise.
My elbow snapped forward, stopping a breath away from his throat—then adjusted mid-motion and drove into the nerve beneath his jaw instead. His body reacted before his mind did. Air rushed from his lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp.
He staggered back.
I didn't chase.
I waited.
He recovered quickly—credit where it was due—and swung for my head. I leaned aside just enough for his fist to cut through empty air, then tapped his wrist with two fingers.
Something popped.
He hissed in pain as his grip failed him.
I stepped inside his guard, my knee rising calmly, methodically, into his ribs. Not full force—just enough to collapse structure. Bone cracked softly. He folded with a grunt, breath stuttering.
Still standing.
Still trying.
Impressive.
I caught his collar as he lunged again and pivoted, using his own momentum to slam him against the wall. The impact echoed down the narrow path.
He struggled.
I didn't.
My forearm pressed against his throat—not crushing, not panicked. Controlled. Surgical. I leaned in close enough that he could hear my breathing.
Slow.
Steady.
Unbothered.
"You're decent," I said quietly. "For someone who tracks instead of hunts."
His eyes widened with a bit of fear.
And understanding.
"You're Assassin X," he rasped.
I didn't confirm it.
I didn't need to.
I released the pressure just enough for him to breathe, then stepped back, already losing interest.
"Tell your handler something for me," I said, straightening my jacket. "If you follow me again, I won't correct my strike."
He coughed, clutching his ribs, forcing himself upright. Pain etched his face, but there was no anger there.
Only respect.
"This isn't over," he said hoarsely.
I met his gaze, cold and calm.
"It was over the moment you thought you could watch me."
I turned away first.
By the time I reached the end of the path, I knew he wouldn't follow.
He was smart enough to survive.
He turned and walked away, disappearing down the path.
I stayed where I was for a moment,
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"You made a scene," the Boss said calmly.
"He followed me," I replied. "Onto campus."
"You're losing discipline."
"I handled it."
"You shouldn't have needed to."
Silence stretched.
Then he spoke again. "You're getting attached."
I clenched my jaw. "I'm doing my job."
"Are you?" he asked. "Because from where I'm standing, you're forgetting what you are."
I said nothing.
"You have one purpose," he continued. "Do not let a girl turn you into a liability."
"She won't," I said.
A pause.
Then a low chuckle. "We'll see."
The call ended.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and headed back toward the main campus.
I found Mia sitting on a bench near the fountain, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when she saw me and smiled.
"There you are," she said. "I was starting to think you vanished."
"Sorry," I said. "Got held up."
She studied my face. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
She didn't look convinced.
"You seem tense," she said softly.
"I'm fine."
She hesitated, then reached out and took my hand.
The warmth startled me.
"You know," she said, "you don't always have to be on guard."
I looked at her—really looked at her. At the sincerity in her eyes. At the trust she offered so easily.
"I wouldn't know how," I admitted.
She smiled gently. "Maybe I can teach you."
Across the quad, near the same campus map as before, a different man stood watching us.
This one didn't pretend to blend in.
He lifted his phone.
Took a picture.
Then typed a message.
Target confirmed. Emotional attachment verified.
I squeezed Mia's hand slightly tighter.
The game wasn't just dangerous anymore.
It was personal.