Chapter 6:
The lecture hall was unusually loud for a room full of students pretending to listen.
I sat near the window, one leg crossed over the other, a book open in my hands—not the one assigned. The professor's voice faded into background noise as I turned a page, unhurried, unaffected.
Around me, whispers bloomed.
"Is he always that quiet?"
"He looks unreal up close…"
"Those eyes—have you noticed his eyes?"
I didn't look up.
I didn't need to.
I felt it instead—the shift in air, the subtle tension that followed attention. Dozens of glances stealing toward me, curiosity sharpening into interest. I registered it the same way I registered exits and blind spots.
Not important.
Across the aisle, Mia sat rigidly straight, her pen paused mid-note.
She told herself she was focused on the lecture.
She wasn't.
Her gaze kept drifting—against her will—toward me. Toward the way I leaned back with careless grace, glasses low on my nose, fingers turning pages as if nothing in the world could rush me.
The girls behind her giggled softly.
"I heard he transferred from out of state."
"Do you think he's single?"
Mia's jaw tightened.
She didn't like that feeling pooling in her chest—sharp, unfamiliar, irrational.
Jealousy.
She looked away, forcing herself to breathe, only to realize something worse.
She cared.
The realization unsettled her more than the attention he drew.
When class ended, chairs scraped and voices rose. I closed my book and stood, movements fluid, economical. The whispers followed me out.
Mia watched me leave.
And for the first time, she wondered who Evan Carter really was—and why the thought of other girls noticing him made her chest ache.
The apartment was quiet when I got home.
Too quiet.
I slipped my shoes off at the door, senses scanning automatically. No unfamiliar sounds. No disturbances. Safe.
"Luc—"
A voice drifted from down the hall.
I relaxed.
"Lucius," she corrected herself immediately, stepping into view with a sheepish smile.
My sister stood there in an oversized hoodie, hair loosely tied back, ocean-blue eyes brightening when she saw me.
She was beautiful in a way that hadn't fully bloomed yet.
Her dark brown hair—thick, soft, unmistakably our father's—framed her face gently, giving her a warmth I didn't possess. It fell past her shoulders in loose waves, untamed and natural.
But her eyes…
Ocean blue.
The same rare color as mine.
Too vivid for someone her age. Too deep. They carried an innocence that hadn't been broken—yet beneath it lived quiet strength, resilience forged by loss she never spoke about.
She smiled, and the heaviness in her gaze softened into something luminous.
A budding beauty.
One the world would notice someday.
I hoped I would be strong enough to make sure it never took advantage of her.
"You're home early," she said.
"Skipped nothing important."
She snorted. "You always say that."
I walked past her, setting my bag down. "Did you eat?"
She hesitated.
I raised an eyebrow.
She sighed. "I was waiting."
I sighed too—but softer.
"Go sit," I said. "I'll make something."
She perched on the counter, watching me with those sharp eyes she pretended not to have.
"You're different," she said suddenly.
I paused only for a fraction of a second.
"How?"
"Quieter," she replied. "But… heavier. Like you're carrying more than usual."
Kids were perceptive like that.
Dangerously so.
"I'm fine," I said evenly.
She didn't argue.
Instead, she studied me—really studied me. The black hair. The glasses. The calm that never broke.
"You don't look like yourself," she murmured.
I met her gaze.
"That's the point."
She frowned but said nothing.
Dinner passed quietly. She talked about school, about a group project she hated, about a girl who copied her homework. Normal things.
Things worth protecting.
Afterward, she disappeared into her room. I stood alone in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"You've been observed again," the mentor said calmly.
"I noticed," I replied.
"You're attracting attention."
"College does that."
A pause.
"You're slipping," he said. "Emotional attachments compromise efficiency."
"I'm still alive," I said. "So is the target's daughter."
Another pause.
"That won't remain acceptable forever."
The call ended.
I stared at my reflection in the darkened window.
Evan Carter stared back.
Not Lucius.
Not Assassin X.
Not yet.
Down the hall, I heard my sister laugh softly at something on her phone.
The sound grounded me.
Centered me.
The world could wait.
For now.