Chapter 48

Chapter 48
Lina's POV

She stood in front of the bulletin board, looking up at that ball poster.

Today she wore no makeup, only a light layer of lip gloss. The fishtail braid had been replaced with an ordinary high ponytail, still tied with that dark green ribbon.

She wore a neat school uniform, the shirt collar meticulously turned out. She looked like an ordinary high school girl.

From my angle, her profile fell in the morning light. Her eyelashes cast a small shadow below her eyes, lips slightly pressed together.

Without a smile, her face looked several years older than usual, a weariness between her brows that didn't belong to this age.

Several girls passed by Cecelia. One patted her shoulder in greeting.

Cecelia's expression switched in an instant—brows smoothed, eyes curved, corners of mouth lifted to just the right arc, showing two canine teeth.

"Good morning!" Her voice was as light and cheerful as a lark just out of the nest, smiling brightly as she greeted those girls.

I looked away and walked with Maggie toward the classroom.

Rounding the hallway corner, I felt that gaze again—not Cecelia's, but someone else's.

My footsteps didn't stop, but my peripheral vision quickly swept the end of the hallway.

A figure in a dark blue hoodie leaned against the fire hydrant looking at his phone, a black stud in his right ear.

It was him—the person who'd been walking around the cafeteria last time, Alessandro's informant planted in the school.

He was still here. He was still watching me.

I didn't speed up, didn't change expression. I just drew my gaze back and continued listening to Maggie describe the details of her pink dress.

Walking past that boy, he glanced up at me, then continued looking at his phone.

His movements seemed very casual, not like someone executing surveillance, more like he just happened to be standing there.

But I noticed his phone-holding posture—different from ordinary people, his thumb positioned right by the volume button. That was the common gesture for secretly taking photos with a phone camera.

What had he photographed—my face, the scene of Maggie and me walking together, or Cecelia greeting people just now?

Whatever it was, those images should be transmitted to Alessandro within minutes, then analyzed frame by frame by Verona's intelligence team.

All our activity patterns, social relationships, and any exploitable weak points would become parameters in their plan.

Maggie linked her arm through mine as we entered the classroom. With only one minute until first period, the classroom was already full.

Blair's seat was still empty. Her two lackeys huddled in the corner, heads down pretending to read.

Since Blair's second disappearance, they'd been like toys with batteries removed, losing all sound and momentum.

I glanced at Cecelia's seat—also still empty. She was probably still exchanging pleasantries in the hallway.

Maggie dropped her backpack on the desk and immediately turned back to continue the earlier interrupted topic.

"By the way, what are you wearing this weekend?" she asked.

"What?" I was momentarily confused, not immediately understanding what she meant.

"The ball, of course! You can't go in your school uniform, right?"

Once Maggie started on this topic, she couldn't stop—from dress colors to heel heights, from hairstyle choices to purse coordination. In the middle, she even inserted a warning about "never wear light-up hair accessories," saying last year a boy wore them and was laughed at by the whole school until graduation.

"I haven't decided yet," I said honestly.

"Then you need to hurry! You have to finalize your outfit by Friday. Saturday at noon we'll go get our hair done together, come back in the afternoon to do makeup, and at night—" Maggie clapped her hands together, eyes shining, "you'll be the brightest star of the whole event."

She said this with excessive seriousness, as if I were some world-class superstar rather than a plain-looking killer hidden in the crowd. This baseless confidence made me can't help but curve my lips.

Just then, the class bell rang.

Maggie reluctantly turned back to her seat. Before leaving, she slapped a note on my desk that read "Friday afternoon 3 PM, Fifth Avenue, don't forget."

I folded the note and tucked it into my textbook. Just as I looked up, Cecelia entered through the back door.

Cecelia's and my gazes collided in the air for less than half a second before we tacitly looked away.

No confrontation, no probing, not even hostility—instead more like a silent consensus. We were both still on this chessboard, both still waiting for Dmitri's next move.

Before that move fell, neither of us would act first.

The next few days passed unusually calmly—so calm that the hairs on the back of my neck remained half-raised.

At Raven, this was "the false calm before the storm," a sign all veterans would be wary of.

When the enemy stayed still in the shadows, it wasn't because they'd forgotten you, but because they were gathering strength for the final strike.

Nothing worth recording happened those days, only scattered fragments.

Cecelia still came to class on time every day, chatted and laughed with classmates during breaks, ordered lasagna in the cafeteria at lunch, returned to the apartment alone after school.

She didn't approach me again, didn't say any unnecessary words to Maggie.

She lived herself into a quiet, harmless backdrop, completely different from her lively, warm presence when Blair was still around.

Only I knew that wasn't retreat—it was restraint.

Cecelia had sheathed her edges, waiting for the next opportunity to unsheathe.

Maggie strictly followed the warning I'd given her. She didn't go anywhere alone with Cecelia, didn't accept snacks she offered, didn't respond to the occasional casual conversation topics she threw out.

But Maggie's way of refusing carried her characteristic soft strength—she would say "no thank you" instead of walking away coldly, would politely nod when Cecelia greeted her then immediately turn to talk to me.

Her gentle, subtle withdrawal drew an involuntary sigh from me. Maggie understood better than any of us how to handle life and people gracefully.

Luca's habit of leaving breakfast at my door continued.

Every morning when I opened the door, I could see the paper bag on the floor. The hot chocolate's temperature was always just right, the croissant's crust always crispy.

Actually once when he delivered breakfast, I happened to open the door.

Our eyes met. He just looked at me and nodded once. I nodded once too. Neither of us spoke.

We were both waiting.

Waiting for the result after seventy-two hours.