Chapter 45
Raven
After a week of military training that had finally come to an end, we were all back at school. I tapped my nails against my desk, watching my classmates file into the classroom with their usual Monday morning sluggishness. The hallways had been buzzing all morning with whispers and poorly concealed laughter about one conspicuously absent student.
"Heard Maddie's taking a 'mental health break,'" Jessica announced to no one in particular, making air quotes with her fingers. "Apparently peeing yourself in front of half the school qualifies as trauma now."
The room erupted in snickers.
"I heard her parents are looking into transferring her," Tyler's friend Brad chimed in. "Can you blame them? That video hit 50K views on TikTok already."
Tyler himself had been noticeably quiet since we returned from camp. I spotted him in the hallway this morning, and when our eyes met, he quickly looked away, like a mouse that had narrowly escaped a snake's jaws and couldn't believe its luck.
It was... boring, honestly. The fear radiating from my former tormentors had been satisfying for about five minutes. Now it was just predictable. Even Becca, who'd tried to frame me with the cut uniform, practically dove into empty classrooms when she saw me coming.
Mrs. Johnson cleared her throat at the front of the room. "Attention, everyone. The school-wide SAT practice test is scheduled for this Friday. This is mandatory and will count toward your final grade in multiple subjects."
A collective groan rippled through the classroom.
Leo turned to me with theatrical despair written across his face. "End me now," he whispered, clutching his heart. "Just put me out of my misery."
I smirked. I'd spent the past month flipping through the various textbooks in my spare time. After memorizing the ballistic trajectories of twenty-seven different firearms and mastering the nerve pathways of the human body to perfect my kill techniques, high school calculus and literature felt like child's play.
"It's just a standardized test," I shrugged. "Not exactly brain surgery."
Leo scratched his head, then his expression brightened. "Well, why am I even stressing? We're the bottom-feeders anyway! Our academic future was decided the Sarahent we chose to prioritize having an actual personality." He grinned and extended his fist. "Let's make a deal—whoever scores higher than 800 buys the other dinner. Sound fair?"
I raised an eyebrow, feeling a mischievous smile spread across my face. "Eight hundred? Please. I'm aiming for sixteen hundred."
Leo stared at me as if I'd just announced my intention to sprout wings and fly to Mars. "Sixteen hundred? That's... that's literally a perfect score. Harvard and Yale send personal invitation letters to people who get that. Are you insane?"
I leaned back in my chair, enjoying his bewilderment. "What? Those schools can't be that hard to get into."
In my previous life, education had been... well, secondary to learning how to kill efficiently. But I'd always harbored a secret fascination with academia. The luxury of knowledge for knowledge's sake, not just as a tool for survival or destruction. Perhaps this life could offer more than just revenge fantasies and power plays.
"Oh sure," Leo rolled his eyes, "And I'm secretly Batman."
---
When I pushed open our front door that evening, the scent of actual home cooking—not takeout or microwaved dinners—greeted me. Unusual.
"Raven! Perfect timing," Sarah called from the kitchen. "How was school, honey? Are you recovering from that brutal training camp?"
I dropped my backpack by the door. "School was school. And the camp was..." I searched for an appropriate word that wasn't 'entertaining' or 'laughably easy.' "...educational."
David appeared from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water. "Here, thought you might be thirsty. Your mother's colleague's son is staying with us for a while. He just arrived today."
"Oh?" I accepted the water, taking a sip.
"Yes, he's right—"
That's when I saw him. Sitting casually on our shabby living room couch as if he belonged there, his steel-gray eyes meeting mine with calculated amusement.
Nash Wilder. Leader of the Ares Legion. The man who had almost captured me after the race.
Water sprayed from my mouth in a perfect arc toward his face.
With reflexes that confirmed everything I knew about him, Nash tilted his head slightly, letting the water spray past him. Not a single drop touched his immaculate self.
"Hello, Raven," he said, voice smooth as polished steel. "I'm Nash. It's nice to finally meet you."
My brain went into overdrive, calculating possibilities with the cold precision that had kept me alive for years. Why was the leader of one of the world's deadliest private military companies sitting in my living room, pretending to be the son of my mother's coworker?
Option one: He tracked me down after I touched him during our encounter in the woods. With his extreme mysophobia, maybe he's here to eliminate the only person who's violated his no-contact bubble in years. Though if he'd wanted to kill me for that, he could have done it right then and there.
Option two: He somehow knows I'm Phantom and wants Satan's Heart.
Option three: Both of the above, plus whatever else I hadn't figured out yet.
For the first time since awakening in this body, I felt genuinely unsettled. Nash was dangerously attractive—the kind of handsome that had probably been weaponized in numerous operations. But I knew better than to let that distract me. Men like him weren't to be admired; they were to be neutralized.
I forced my face into a pleasant mask. "Hi, sorry about that. Water went down the wrong way."
"No problem at all," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine, like a predator evaluating prey. Or perhaps a predator recognizing another of its kind.
The front door burst open, and Cole barreled in, practically vibrating with excitement. "Raven! There you are!" He barely acknowledged Nash with a cursory nod before continuing. "That race you won? The organizers are handling all the registration stuff for you! They want you back - they're obsessed with you!"
"Registration?" I asked, grateful for the distraction from Nash's unnerving presence.
"Yes! But not just as a driver—" Cole's eyes were bright with enthusiasm. "They want us to start our own racing team! You and me! The Martinez Demons or something equally badass!"
Despite my caution around Nash, I couldn't help but smile at Cole's excitement. This boy who had so quickly become a brother to me was practically bouncing on his toes.
"I don't know if I'm really interested in—"
"Please?" Cole's expression was so earnest it hurt. "You've already helped me more than anyone ever has. This could be our thing, you know? A real family business."
Family business. Two words that in my previous life meant something entirely different—blood and power rather than connection and shared joy.
"Alright," I conceded. "Let's do it."
Cole let out a whoop of joy and grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around. "You're the best sister ever!"
Over Cole's shoulder, my eyes locked with Nash's. In that split second, something dark and lethal flashed across his face—a look I recognized all too well. It was the look of a man calculating exactly how to eliminate an obstacle.
And that obstacle was Cole.
Fuck, I thought, my body tensing involuntarily. What game is he playing?