Chapter 7:
Evan had already noticed it.
The whispers.
The glances that lingered a second too long.
The way conversations dipped the moment he passed by.
He didn't react.
He never did.
Sitting by the window at the back of the lecture hall, Evan flipped a page of the study book in his hands with lazy precision, his posture relaxed, one ankle resting casually over the other. To anyone watching, he looked like nothing more than a handsome transfer student absorbed in reading.
But beneath that calm surface lay instincts honed through blood, silence, and death.
Instincts that never slept.
Across the room, a group of girls huddled together, their voices hushed but excited.
"Is he always like that?" one whispered.
"He hasn't even looked up once…"
"But did you see his hands? They're… beautiful."
Mia sat two rows ahead, pretending to listen to the lecturer while gripping her pen a little too tightly.
She hated that she noticed.
Hated that her eyes kept drifting toward him on their own.
Evan Vale.
No—Evan.
That was the name he used here.
There was something unnerving about him. Not loud. Not arrogant. Not attention-seeking.
Just… distant.
Cold in a way that felt deliberate.
And yet—
Why did her chest tighten every time another girl laughed too loudly in his direction?
The lecturer droned on about economic theory, but Evan's attention was elsewhere. Not on the words. Not even on the room.
He was counting exits.
Three doors. Two windows. One potential blind spot behind the projector.
Old habits.
He closed the book quietly.
A subtle shift in the air made his fingers pause.
Danger.
Not immediate. Not lethal. But present.
Two rows down, a group of male students had turned fully in their seats, eyes locked onto him. Their expressions weren't curious.
They were hostile.
One of them—tall, broad-shouldered, dark haired dude wearing an arrogant grin—leaned back in his chair.
"So that's him," the guy muttered, loud enough to carry. "The pretty boy everyone's talking about."
His friend snorted. "Looks weak."
Evan didn't look up.
Didn't blink.
Didn't respond.
But Mia felt it.
The pressure.
It was subtle, like the air before a storm. Her skin prickled instinctively as Evan slowly lifted his gaze—not toward them, but toward the window.
Ocean-blue eyes.
Calm. Empty. Unfathomably deep.
The boys stiffened.
For just a second.
Then Evan looked away again, as if they were never worth acknowledging.
The tallest one swallowed.
"What… what the hell was that?"
"I don't know," his friend whispered. "But my heart just skipped."
Mia turned slightly, her eyes fixed on Evan's profile.
That look.
That wasn't normal.
When class finally ended, chairs scraped against the floor and noise flooded the room. Evan stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder with effortless grace.
He moved like a predator that didn't need to rush.
Mia hesitated before standing too.
She didn't know why she followed him out.
She told herself it was coincidence.
The hallway was crowded, students laughing, phones out, voices overlapping. Evan moved through them smoothly, never bumping into anyone, never needing to dodge.
People moved aside without realizing they were doing it.
Outside the building, the air felt lighter.
"Evan."
Her voice stopped him.
He turned slowly.
Up close, it was worse.
His features were sharp yet unreal, like something carved rather than born. Pale lashes framed eyes so blue they didn't seem real. His expression was neutral, unreadable.
"Yes?" His voice was calm, polite.
Too calm.
"I—uh—about the group project," Mia began, cursing herself internally. "We're… partners."
He nodded once. "I know."
That was it.
No smile. No awkwardness. No flirtation.
It unsettled her more than if he had tried.
"You don't talk much," she blurted.
A pause.
"Talking is unnecessary most of the time," he replied evenly.
Her breath caught.
Who says that?
Before she could respond, shouting erupted behind them.
"Hey! Pretty boy!"
The same guy from earlier approached, cracking his knuckles, his friends spreading out behind him.
Mia's heart slammed.
"Leave him alone," she snapped before she could stop herself.
The guy laughed. "Relax, sweetheart. Just wanna talk."
Evan stepped forward.
Just one step.
It was enough.
The world seemed to tilt.
Evan's presence sharpened, like a blade unsheathed without a sound. His gaze locked onto the guy's eyes—not angry, not threatening.
Judging.
Calculating.
"Move," Evan said coldly.
The word wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Something ancient and terrifying flickered behind his eyes, and the guy froze.
Every instinct screamed at him to obey.
He stepped back without understanding why.
"L-Let's go," one of his friends muttered.
They left.
Silence followed.
Mia stared at Evan, her pulse racing.
"What did you just do?" she whispered.
He looked at her.
For a brief moment—so brief she almost missed it—something human surfaced.
Regret.
"Nothing," he said. "Come. We should work on the project."
As they walked, Mia's thoughts spiraled.
Who are you?
Evan, meanwhile, was already thinking ahead.
The mission was progressing smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Mia was closer than anticipated.
And that—
That was dangerous.
Because for the first time since he had become Assassin X, Evan felt something he hadn't planned for.
Attachment.
And attachments had always been liabilities.