16

16
Mirella’s POV

The project was due in two weeks, and somehow, our “group” felt like anything but a team.

I tried organizing meetings, setting times for us to gather in the study lounge, even sending reminders through the school chat app. But Kaelen never showed up. Not once.

He’d just email his part of the work, neat and perfect — like he was showing off. Every file came on time, every sentence flawless. But it wasn’t teamwork. It was control.

Iris didn’t seem bothered. She sighed with relief every time we finished a meeting without him. “It’s better this way,” she said one afternoon while we reviewed our notes. “At least we don’t have to see his face.”

Yuki nodded quietly. “He makes people nervous.”

Maybe they were right. But I hated it. I hated that he could ignore us and still get away with it, like rules didn’t apply to him.

How could we be a team if one person refused to even show up?

By the third missed meeting, I’d had enough.

I told Iris and the others to continue without me and went looking for him. It wasn’t hard. If Kaelen wasn’t in class or the lounge, he was usually at the basketball court.

When I got there, the sky was beginning to dim. The court was quiet, the only sound being the steady bounce of the ball against concrete. He was playing alone, shooting effortlessly — every throw perfect.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching him move. There was a calm precision in the way he played, like he didn’t even have to think about it. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faint muscles in his arms, and the fading sunlight made him look almost unreal.

I shook my head. What was I doing? I didn’t come here to stare at him.

I took a step forward. The sound of my shoe against the ground caught his attention. He stopped mid-throw and turned toward me.

His expression didn’t change — still that unreadable calm. “You following me now?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I came to talk.”

He tossed the ball aside and wiped his hands on his shorts. “About?”

“The project,” I said firmly. “You’ve been skipping every meeting. You can’t just send your parts and disappear. It’s supposed to be teamwork.”

He tilted his head slightly, amused. “And what exactly do you want me to do? Hold hands with your little group and brainstorm ideas?”

My jaw clenched. “I want you to show up. That’s all.”

“I’m busy,” he said, his tone flat.

“Busy doing what? Playing basketball alone?” I shot back.

That got his attention. His eyes darkened, but instead of snapping, he walked toward me — slow, steady steps that made my heart thud faster.

By the time he stopped, he was standing too close. I could feel his breath, faint and even. I hated how calm he always was, how nothing seemed to touch him.

“If you don’t want to be part of the group,” I said, forcing myself not to back away, “then just say it. Leave. Don’t waste our time.”

He studied me for a moment, then said quietly, “I’ll meet with your group.”

I blinked, surprised. “You will?”

“Yes,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “But on one condition.”

My stomach tightened. “What condition?”

“Lunch. With me. Alone.”

I froze. “What?”

He shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “You want me to cooperate, right? That’s the deal.”

My mind spun. Why would he want that? He didn’t like me. Half the time, he acted like I was invisible. This didn’t make sense.

“I’m not having lunch with you,” I said.

“Then I’m not showing up,” he replied easily, already turning back toward his basketball.

Frustration flared in me. He was impossible — arrogant and manipulative. But the project was important, and I couldn’t risk my group failing because of him.

“Fine,” I muttered.

He turned back, his brows slightly raised. “What was that?”

I glared. “Fine. I’ll have lunch with you.”

A real smile — not a smirk, not a cold curve of his lips — but an actual smile flickered across his face. It startled me. It made my chest skip.

“Good,” he said simply, and picked up his ball again.

I walked away before I could embarrass myself by blushing.

\---

The next day, I almost convinced myself to skip lunch. Almost.

But when Kaelen appeared at my desk after class and said, “Let’s go,” I couldn’t back out.

We ended up at a quiet corner of the cafeteria, away from everyone else. The air between us was thick with silence.

I didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to start. He just ate, calm as ever, eyes occasionally lifting to watch me. It was unnerving.

Finally, I said, “So... you got what you wanted. You going to show up now?”

He didn’t look up. “I will.”

“Good.”

Silence again. I poked at my food, trying not to look at him.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Why do you want…to create your own group?”

My fork froze midair. For a second, I thought I misheard him. “What did you just say?”

Kaelen leaned back in his chair, his tone calm but sharp. “Your little plan. The one you told Yuki about. You want to form your own group, don’t you?”

My stomach dropped. How did he even know that?

I tried to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gave a quiet laugh — low, mocking. “You’re terrible at lying, Mirella.”

My name rolled off his tongue too easily. I felt my cheeks heat up. “You’ve been listening to my conversations now?”

“Not listening,” he said smoothly, “just… aware. In this school, it pays to know things before they happen.”

“So you’re spying,” I snapped.

He didn’t deny it. “Call it what you want. I prefer to think of it as staying alive.”

The way he said it made me pause. There was no arrogance in his tone this time, no smug confidence. Just something darker, heavier — like he’d seen things I hadn’t.

I looked at him for a long second. “You really think I’m stupid enough to believe you care about staying alive?”

“I think,” he said, resting his chin on his hand, “you have no idea what you’re walking into.”

My throat tightened, but I refused to look away. “And what exactly am I walking into?”

He smiled faintly. “War.”

The word hung between us, cold and real.

“You want to challenge the legions,” he continued. “That’s not bravery, Mirella. That’s suicide. You think because you’ve got three scared kids and a dream, you can change the way this place works?”

His voice was quiet, but every word hit like a punch.

“I don’t need your approval,” I said finally, trying to keep my voice steady. “And I don’t care if it’s suicide. Someone has to try.”

He leaned forward slightly. “And what happens when they crush you again? When you lose everything you’re trying to build?”

“I’ll start again.”

He blinked — maybe surprised, maybe just amused. “You’re stubborn.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’ll take it anyway.”

For the first time, something shifted in his eyes. The usual coldness softened, just a little. He studied me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

“You don’t scare easily, do you?” he asked.

“I’ve already been through worse.”

He nodded once, almost to himself, and then pushed his tray away. “Then you should start preparing.”

“For what?”

“For the part where they fight back.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kaelen stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It means nothing in this school happens without a price.” He too
k a step back, his gaze locked on mine. “And when the legions notice what you’re doing, you’ll pay it.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already walking away.