Chapter 10: The Price of Being Noticed
(Evan Carter POV)
Being noticed was dangerous.
Most people spent their lives trying to stand out—talking louder, dressing brighter, chasing attention like it was oxygen. Evan had learned early that attention was a blade. Invisible when ignored. Lethal when drawn.
Tonight, he had been noticed.
Not by the students who glanced at him in passing. Not by the professor who barely remembered his name. Not even by the girls who straightened when he walked by.
By someone who knew how to look.
Evan walked home at an unhurried pace, hands in his pockets, posture loose. To anyone watching, he was just another student heading back to his apartment after a late class. The city swallowed people like him every day.
But his awareness stretched far beyond what his expression betrayed.
Footsteps behind him—steady, controlled.
Distance maintained too perfectly.
Breathing regulated.
Not coincidence.
He turned a corner without breaking stride, letting a bus pass between him and the follower. Reflections slid across the glass windows—faces, lights, movement.
There.
Male. Mid-twenties. Athletic build disguised beneath casual clothes. Eyes alert, but not scanning wildly.
Professional.
Evan kept walking.
The mistake people made was thinking violence required urgency. Panic. Speed.
It didn't.
Violence only required certainty.
He entered his apartment building, nodding once at the security guard, and took the stairs instead of the elevator. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth.
The footsteps followed.
Evan unlocked his door, stepped inside, and left it open.
He counted silently.
Three.
Two.
One.
The man stepped into the doorway.
Evan turned.
The encounter ended before it began.
One step forward. One precise movement. Fingers locked around the man's wrist, twisting just enough to disarm without breaking bone. A shift of weight. A controlled strike to the nerve cluster beneath the jaw.
The man crumpled silently.
Evan caught him, dragged him inside, and closed the door.
No rush. No wasted motion.
He sat the man in a chair and waited until consciousness returned.
The man blinked, focus sharpening instantly despite the lingering pain. His eyes flicked around the room, cataloging exits, furniture, angles.
Good training.
"Relax," Evan said calmly. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be awake."
The man swallowed. "You noticed me."
"Yes."
"That wasn't supposed to happen."
Evan tilted his head slightly. "Then you weren't supposed to be here."
Silence stretched.
"Who sent you?" Evan asked.
The man hesitated.
Evan's gaze hardened by a fraction. "You have three seconds before I lose interest in being polite."
"One," he said coldly.
"All right," the man said quickly. "No names. Just confirmation."
"Confirmation of what?"
"That you're still active."
Evan considered that. "And?"
The man met his eyes. "You are."
Evan released him and stepped back. "Tell whoever's listening that Evan Carter is a civilian."
The man laughed once, humorless. "They won't believe that."
"They don't need to," Evan replied. "They just need to hesitate."
He opened the door.
"Leave," he said. "And forget what you saw tonight."
The man stood slowly, rubbing his wrist. "You've changed."
"No," Evan said. "I've adapted."
The man left without another word.
Evan locked the door and leaned back against it, eyes closing briefly.
Being noticed always came with a price.
Later that night, he cooked.
Stir fried noodles with Eggs. Vegetables. Simple. Efficient.
His sister sat at the table, doing homework, humming quietly under her breath. The sound grounded him more effectively than any breathing exercise.
"You're home early," she said.
"I finished what I needed to."
She glanced up at him. "You look… serious."
"I always look serious."
She smiled faintly. "True."
He served the food and watched her eat first, habit ingrained too deeply to ignore.
"Did something happen?" she asked after a moment.
"No."
She frowned. "You hesitated."
Evan met her gaze. "I was thinking."
"About?"
"Tomorrow."
She seemed satisfied with that. "I have a test."
"You'll do fine."
"You always say that too."
"And I'm always right."
She laughed and went back to eating.
Evan allowed himself a single second of peace.
Then his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He stepped into the hallway before answering.
"Yes."
The voice on the other end was familiar enough to be unwelcome.
"You were followed tonight," the mentor said calmly.
Evan's expression didn't change. "Your man lacked subtlety."
"He wasn't there to be subtle."
"Then you wasted him."
A pause. Amusement threaded the silence.
"You're getting arrogant," the mentor said.
"I'm getting careful."
"Careful gets people killed."
Evan's voice was flat. "Send the assignment."
"You didn't even ask what it is."
"I already know," Evan said. "If you're calling me yourself, it's personal."
Another pause.
"Good," the mentor replied. "Then you'll understand why this one matters."
The file arrived seconds later.
Evan opened it.
Read the name.
Marcus Anderson.
The world narrowed.
Billionaire. Public figure. Untouchable.
And Mia's father.
For the first time in years, Evan felt something close to resistance stir in his chest.
"You're too close," the mentor said softly. "That girl—she's a complication."
"She's irrelevant."
"Then this should be easy," the mentor replied. "Get close. Stay close. And when the time comes—"
"No."
The word cut through the air like steel.
Silence followed.
Then, quietly, "You don't get to refuse."
"I do," Evan said. "If you want it done properly."
The mentor exhaled. "Careful. That's the price of being noticed, Evan. People start remembering who you really are."
The call ended.
Evan stood in the dim hallway, phone still in his hand.
He thought of Marcus Anderson who might be related to the death of his parents.
He thought of Mia—her eyes, her questions, the way she looked at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle she already feared the answer to.
He thought of his sister, asleep in the next room.
And he understood the truth with chilling clarity.
This assignment wasn't about the target.
It was a test.
And failure would cost more than his life.
Evan turned off the phone, slipped it into his pocket, and stared into the darkness.
Being noticed had always been dangerous.
But this time—
It might be fatal.