Cage of Thorns: The Assassin's Redemption

Lina's POV

"Orphan."

Those two words struck me from behind just as I was looking down at my math textbook.

I couldn't understand those symbols. They were like some kind of code I'd never learned, harder to decipher than any cipher.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

A book slammed down hard on my desk.

I looked up and saw three faces.

The leader was called Blair—long blonde hair, lips painted the brightest rose red. When she smiled, her eyes didn't curve; you could see the meanness at the bottom of them.

Behind her stood two followers, one tall and thin, one short and fat, both wearing this aristocratic university's custom uniforms, with golden family crests embroidered on their chests.

I remembered the admissions handbook stated this university's full name was "St. Herman's Academy for Nobility," and most students were descendants of New York's Upper East Side families.

And I wasn't one of them.

I was just an assassin, a... assassin being hunted by the organization.

Thanks to Luca, I could wear this well-tailored, soft-fabric uniform.

When I first put it on, I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time.

This body had only ever worn combat gear and cheap disguise clothing before. Being suddenly wrapped in such exquisite fabric was like a blade being placed in a velvet-lined sheath.

"Are you deaf or mute?" Blair was dissatisfied with my spacing out and deliberately raised her volume. "Say something, Lina. Why are you so rude? Didn't your parents teach you?"

"Or is it—you don't even have parents?"

I didn't react.

Or rather, I'd trained myself not to react.

Dmitri had once warned me: emotions are an assassin's greatest weakness.

A true assassin isn't without feelings, but can lock those feelings in a cage under any circumstances.

I'd spent many years learning this skill. At this moment, that cage stood firmly in some corner at the bottom of my heart.

"She's just an orphan." The short, fat one laughed, voice sharp and cutting.

I lowered my eyes and turned to the next page of the textbook.

Blair stared at me for a few seconds, then slowly curved up the corners of her mouth.

I'd seen that kind of smile too many times—on hunters who thought they'd already caught their prey.

She bent down close to my ear and said in a volume only we could hear: "You know what? I hate bitches like you who pretend to be innocent the most. You think if you don't talk, we can't do anything to you?"

With that, Blair straightened up and gave her two followers a look.

The tall, thin one snatched away my math textbook. The short, fat one picked up the glass of water on my desk that I hadn't had time to drink yet and slowly, without spilling a drop, poured it over my head.

Ice-cold water trickled down along my hair, sliding over my forehead, nose bridge, and chin, dripping onto the collar of my uniform. The deep navy blue fabric bloomed with a dark water stain.

I didn't close my eyes, nor did I fly into a rage.

I just sat there quietly.

Snickering erupted in the classroom.

Dozens of eyes watched me—some gloating, some sympathetic but not daring to speak up, some purely curious, curious about what reaction a person would have after being humiliated like this.

I had no reaction at all.

I lowered my head, took tissues from my bag, and slowly wiped the water off my face.

Then I stood up, took back my math textbook from the tall, thin girl's hands, sat back down, and turned to the page I'd just been reading.