Chapter 112
Raven
The silence in Nash's car was deafening as we sped through the night. The faint scent of gunpowder still clung to my clothes, a reminder of the chaos I'd left behind. Nash hadn't said a word since we'd left the warehouse, and strangely, I appreciated that. My mind was a hurricane of contradictions.
I stole a glance at his profile. The moonlight carved shadows across his face, highlighting cheekbones that could cut glass. This man who commanded Ares Legion—the organization I'd considered my enemy—had just helped save trafficked children. My worldview tilted dangerously.
"You're looking at me," he said without turning. "Thinking about killing me or kissing me?"
I scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself."
But the truth hit me like a sucker punch: something inside me had shifted tonight. Watching Nash coordinate the rescue operation with quiet efficiency had cracked something in my armor. The possibility that I might not be completely alone in this fight was... unsettling.
"What exactly does your organization do?" I asked finally, breaking the silence. "Besides the obvious."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The big things—dismantling child trafficking rings, intervening in systematic violence against women, disrupting global exploitation networks." His voice dropped an octave, casual as discussing the weather. "And the small stuff, of course—deposing dictators, neutralizing warlords, occasional regime change when necessary."
I nearly choked. The infamous Ares Legion—the organization I'd always considered nothing more than high-end mercenaries and killers—primarily focused on rescue operations? Protection of the vulnerable?
"You're not what I expected," I admitted reluctantly.
---
The next morning, I did something unprecedented—I nodded at Nash before leaving for school. His coffee cup paused halfway to his lips, surprise flickering across his face before morphing into that infuriating smirk.
"Have a wonderful day at school, Raven," he called after me. "Try not to kill anyone."
"No promises," I replied, and could have sworn I heard him chuckle as the door closed.
The moment I stepped into homeroom, I was swarmed by classmates—a wall of curious faces and rapid-fire questions.
"Where have you been?"
"We heard you disappeared for days!"
"Tyler's saying you're in some kind of trouble!"
I raised an eyebrow, calculating. Three days absent wasn't unusual for most students, but apparently, I'd become something of a celebrity.
"If you must know," I said, dropping my voice conspiratorially, "I was consulting for the Pentagon. They're having issues with their satellite encryption systems."
I'd expected laughter. Instead, wide eyes stared back at me.
"Holy shit, that's why the FBI agents were asking about you," someone whispered.
"I knew it!" Leo exclaimed. "My dad said someone hacked into NORAD last month—was that you?"
I blinked, momentarily speechless. "Sure. Why not?"
The whispers erupted around me as I took my seat, fighting the urge to laugh. If I told these people I was actually Phantom—the world's deadliest assassin who died and possessed their bullied classmate—they'd probably ask for my autograph.
Maya slid into the seat beside me. "You weren't really at the Pentagon, were you?"
"What do you think?" I replied.
"I think," she said carefully, "that you were actually in Monaco, teaching the royal family how to dodge assassination attempts while simultaneously winning their underground poker tournament." She grinned. "And somehow, the crazy part is that if you told me that's exactly what happened, I'd probably believe you."
Before I could respond, Mrs. Johnson entered, clearing her throat dramatically. "Class, settle down. We have a new student joining us today."
A tall figure sauntered in behind her, and the classroom temperature seemed to rise ten degrees as female (and several male) students collectively held their breath.
"This is Miles Berkeley," Mrs. Johnson announced. "He's transferred from Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire."
Leo leaned over. "Isn't that the guy from Jake's party? The one who challenged you to that card trick thing?"
I narrowed my eyes. Miles was indeed the amateur magician I'd humiliated at the party—the one who'd been hanging around Tyler. His expensive clothes and perfectly styled hair screamed rich kid, but there was something different about him now. His eyes scanned the room until they locked with mine, and his face lit up with an intensity that was almost alarming.
"Another of Tyler's pathetic schemes," I muttered. "I'll have him out of here by lunch."
But instead of taking the empty seat near the window, Miles strode directly toward me. The class fell silent as he stopped at my desk, then—to everyone's shock, including mine—dropped to one knee.
"Raven Martinez," he declared, loud enough for the entire stunned class to hear, "I've transferred schools to be near you."
"What the fuck are you doing?" I hissed. "We're in class."
Miles grinned, unrepentant. "The teachers won't say anything. I've got special dispensation."
Sure enough, Mrs. Johnson was suddenly very interested in organizing papers on her desk, pointedly ignoring the spectacle.
"They told me you were dangerous," Miles continued, lowering his voice, "but they didn't tell me you were a goddamn ghost with those cards. I've been practicing sleight of hand since I was seven, and I couldn't even see what you did." His eyes gleamed with admiration. "I know I'm not worthy to be your boyfriend or anything, but..." he took a dramatic breath, "I want to be your apprentice."
The class erupted in whispers. I stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant amusement.
"My apprentice," I repeated flatly.
"Yes!" Miles nodded eagerly. "You saw through every feint, every misdirection. Even pros don't catch me that fast. That kind of perception? That's genius level. I want to learn how you see the world."
I leaned forward, close enough that only he could hear me. "Get up before I break both your kneecaps. We'll discuss your delusions after class."
His smile only widened as he rose to his feet. "As you command, master."