Chapter 50
Lina's POV
Friday morning.
When I woke up, I didn't hear the alarm. The morning light leaking through the curtain gaps was still gray and misty, carrying the unique chill of a New York autumn.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, then reached for my phone and lit up the screen: 6:12 AM. Nearly an hour earlier than the alarm's preset time.
After several days of being woken by the alarm, my body chose to wake up on its own today. It probably knew what day this was.
Luca said Dmitri's encrypted command window was between Thursday and Saturday, and today was already Friday.
That meant from now on, every hour, that black flip phone in Cecelia's pocket could light up at any moment.
I needed to be on full alert.
At the school gate, Maggie was already waiting at the usual spot. Today she wasn't holding sandwiches but two cups of coffee—one handed to me, one she held herself. Her other hand pointed at the weather forecast on her phone screen to show me.
"No rain tomorrow night! No rain! No rain! Important things bear repeating three times — if it doesn’t rain, my hair won’t go frizzy. You know what that means for the ball, right? Everything’s perfect!"
"It means everything," I cooperatively echoed.
"Exactly!" She stuffed her phone back in her pocket and linked her arm through mine as we walked through the school gate. "Oh right, don't forget—three PM, that shop on Fifth Avenue. I already called to make an appointment. They have a new deep blue dress that would be perfect for you."
When we entered the academic building, the hallway was livelier than usual. Student council officers had hung a new banner above the bulletin board: "Autumn Ball Countdown—Tomorrow!" followed by three exclamation marks and a crooked smiley face.
The girl with the golden balloon hat stood at the bottom of the ladder directing traffic, saying first the left side of the banner was too high, then the right side was crooked. The people below were sweating profusely under her commands.
During the break after second period in the morning, I saw Cecelia from afar in the hallway on my way to the restroom.
She was walking from the direction of the stairwell. When she looked up, our gazes happened to collide.
As Cecelia passed by me, she didn't pause, only turned her head slightly. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something to me.
But in the end she just pressed her lips together, lowered her eyes, and walked toward the classroom without stopping.
And I continued forward without pausing either.
Dmitri had taught me one thing: never be curious about an enemy's emotions.
Emotions are tools, weapons, calculated outputs and carefully choreographed signals.
That time Cecelia cried in the bathroom, that time she laughed under the oak tree—both could have just been performances to lower my guard.
Lunchtime in the cafeteria.
Maggie ate while going over tomorrow's schedule with me.
Meet at noon, get our hair done first, then go to her house for makeup, return to the apartment at 5 PM to change, depart for the school auditorium at 6:30.
As Maggie said all this, she counted on her fingers one by one. At the end she realized she'd forgotten one item—a dance partner.
She pouted, saying Fred still hadn't invited her, but she'd already decided to take the initiative. This afternoon she'd go stake out the student council office, put three ball tickets in front of him, and ask if he was going or not.
Her nonsensical declaration made me laugh. I said I wished her luck.
She proudly tilted her head back and said of course it would go smoothly.
After afternoon classes ended, Maggie couldn't wait to drag me to that shop to try on dresses.
The shop was filled with dresses of all colors. The air was thick with the smell of fabric and ironing.
The clerk was a middle-aged woman in a black apron. When she saw Maggie, she smiled and said she'd kept that pink dress Maggie had liked last time.
Maggie cheered and rushed into the fitting room. I sat on the sofa outside waiting for her.
Next to the sofa was a clothing rack with a row of dresses hanging on it, colors arranged from light to dark.
On the far right was a deep blue gown, satin material, skirt with three layers of tulle. The neckline was cut just right to cover the old scars above the collarbone.
Seeing me stare at that dress for more than five seconds, the clerk walked over and asked with a smile if I wanted to try it.
"No need. Someone has already prepared one for me."
Actually, I wasn't sure whether Luca would actually prepare one for me. I just didn't want to try on clothes here, so I said that offhandedly.
When Maggie came out of the fitting room, the pink skirt swayed gently around her knees. The three layers of tulle spread out like petals, making her look like a fairy.
She spun in a circle and asked if it looked good. I nodded and said it looked beautiful. She was so happy she spun several more circles at the fitting room door.
I sat on the sofa watching her spin, going over tomorrow's timeline in my mind again.
The ball started at 7 PM. All the auditorium's entrances and exits would be guarded by student council officers. The second-floor viewing platform was the only position with a full view of the venue.
If Dmitri's people wanted to infiltrate, the best entrance wouldn't be the main door—it would be the back kitchen delivery passage.
If Cecelia was going to make a move at the ball, the optimal moment wouldn't be the opening—it would be those few seconds when the champagne tower got knocked over and everyone's attention was drawn to it.
These analyses and deductions ran automatically in my subconscious, like a computer that never shut down.
After leaving the shop, Maggie and I parted at the street corner.
She headed east back to school to stake out Fred at the student council office. I headed west back to the apartment.
The evening sunlight penetrated the branches and leaves of the street trees, casting dappled golden spots on the road.
I walked on the sidewalk alternating between light and shadow, my pace neither fast nor slow, my mind still thinking about tomorrow's ball and its security blind spots.
I had just returned to my room, changed into slippers, and put down my backpack when three moderate knocks sounded at the door.
I walked over and opened it.
Luca stood outside, wearing a deep gray shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, holding a folder in his hand.
He didn't speak, just held the folder at his side and looked at me steadily.
His stubble was more prominent than usual today, a light bluish shadow on his chin. Those deep brown eyes had several red veins that hadn't faded.
Only when he stood before me did I realize we hadn't actually spoken a complete sentence to each other in two whole days.
"Dmitri's command arrived." Luca got straight to the point. "This afternoon at 4:13 PM, the one-way encrypted channel opened for thirty-one seconds. The signal was completely intercepted, triangulation completed. The intelligence team has confirmed the location—Red Hook in Brooklyn."
Luca opened the folder and handed it to me.
"Cecelia synchronized the content with me immediately after the command arrived," he said. "Dmitri ordered her to act at the ball tomorrow at 8 PM sharp. She'll drug you, and after you show symptoms of losing control, she'll send a signal. Raven's people will pose as school security and enter through the back kitchen passage to take you away."
I took the folder and looked at the contents—Dmitri's text instructions.
"Don't damage vital areas. I want her alive."
Alive. Dmitri wanted me alive.
He didn't want my life—he wanted me, the weapon he'd personally forged.
Even after I'd been out of his control for so long, after he'd sent countless people to hunt me down, he still wanted to snatch me back from Luca's side, wanted me to continue being his blade.
This realization made my stomach turn—not from fear, but from an indescribable nausea.
"Mm, understood. So now we close the net?"
"The plan is set." Luca pulled out a printed floor plan from the folder and spread it open. It was the architectural layout of the school auditorium—second floor viewing platform, back kitchen passage, emergency exits. Every position was marked with red and blue pens.
"Tomorrow night my people will deploy here, here, and here," he pointed to several spots on the diagram. "On the surface the ball proceeds normally, but actually all entrances and exits are sealed. Your task is to be yourself in the auditorium as usual—talk with friends, drink beverages, dance. The only difference is what Cecelia gives you won't be rage drug but vitamin water. The real drug has already been replaced by me. After she sends the signal and Raven's people enter through the back kitchen passage, my people will intercept them."
I nodded. "What about Cecelia? What's her position in this plan?"
"Cooperate with the performance. She continues following Dmitri's instructions—pretends to drug you, sends the signal, completes her task process on Raven's side. That way even if Dmitri is monitoring remotely, he won't detect anything unusual at the last moment."
Luca flipped the diagram to the second page. It showed a street map of Red Hook in Brooklyn, the dock warehouse location circled in red pen. "At the same time, my other team will raid Dmitri's safe house at the exact moment the auditorium operation begins. Two-way net closing—he can't escape."
I looked through those diagrams. Security, personnel, timeline, multiple failsafes—he'd considered everything.
Luca had dug this chess piece called Cecelia out of Dmitri's board and placed her on our own board, arranging a trajectory for every piece that wouldn't collide.
During these seventy-two hours, he'd silently waited for me to process my emotions while quietly weaving the final loop of this net. I had to admire his capability.
I just hadn't expected Cecelia to agree to cooperate. Had something happened without my knowledge?
"Why did Cecelia suddenly agree to cooperate with us?" I asked directly. "Aren't you afraid she'll betray us?"
"I showed her the file this afternoon."
I immediately understood.
The room suddenly fell into silence. My fingertip lightly tapped that auditorium floor plan as I stepped closer to Luca.
"Tomorrow night, I'll follow your plan in the auditorium," I said. "But I have one condition."
"What condition?"
"When you lead the team to Brooklyn, I want to go with you."
Hearing this, Luca immediately started to say something, but I didn't give him a chance to interrupt me.
"I'm also a chess piece in this plan, right?" I looked straight into his eyes. "But this chess piece doesn't want to be placed safely in the rear. Since I was three, I've been arranged by others—Dmitri arranged for me to kill, you arranged for me to go to school, Cecelia arranged for me to be her prey. Tomorrow night's game—all the pieces are on the board, everyone has their position to stand."
I paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and firmly pushed out this thought that had been circling in my mind for days, word by word.
"I want to stand beside you, not be protected behind you. I want to draw this damn period together with you."
Luca looked at me without speaking. Then he extended his hand.
Not like before, touching my sleeve or the back of my head, but gently placing his palm on the back of my hand and patting it lightly.
"Alright. Stand beside me. We'll do this together."
I looked down at Luca's hand—well-defined knuckles, thin calluses on the side of his ring finger from years of holding guns.
Then I turned my hand over, palm facing up, fingers threading through his, and gently grasped his hand.
The signal for the end of a cold war doesn't need words—it only needs a handshake with just the right temperature and just the right pressure.