The day started like it always did for Nox. The clock hit 5:00 a.m., and the familiar chime echoed through the room, vibrating through his bones. He slipped silently from the bed at the end of the dorm room, surrounded by soft shadows and pale dawn light. With quiet precision, he made his morning coffee, letting the warmth fill his fingers while the scent curled into the air like a long-lost comfort. Mask secured, hoodie draped over his sculpted 6'2 frame, he stepped out into the morning chill for the first training circuit.
His body was a work of ruthless intention now—perfect muscles hardened by relentless discipline, every move laced with silence and control. The old cut near his spine still ached under the intricate thorned Roman tattoo, and the red belly button piercing glinted as a quiet reminder: this wasn't his body, and he never cared enough to remove it. He wasn't here to live. He was here to endure.
After a brutal round of calisthenics and precision shooting at the underground range, he returned to a quick shower and changed into his classwear—always black, always minimal. He walked into lectures like a ghost, blending into the sea of students. Arabic History today. Ash asked too many questions, his voice bouncing with curiosity. Leo, quiet and brooding, gave sharp, efficient answers. Nox sat between them, never offering a word unless asked directly. His responses were clipped, technical. No emotion. No room for it.
After the lecture and a forgettable lunch, they returned to the dorm for their upcoming assignment—a group piece interpreting a historical film. Ash lit up with excitement, dragging out the projector and throwing cushions onto the couch.
Nox didn't protest. The mission wasn't until midnight, and his fighting cage match would start in five hours. He could sit for a bit. He settled on the edge of the couch, stiff-backed, mask in place. In his gloved hand, he turned an unlit cigarette slowly between his fingers—never lighting it, just feeling the texture, letting the motion ground him.
They watched a historical Arabic film filled with poetic tragedy, brutal losses, and betrayed loyalties. Ash was hooked, commenting every few minutes. Leo, arms crossed, offered quiet insights, sharp and refined. Then, to their surprise, Nox spoke.
"The composition of the final scene mirrored ancient Roman funeral rites," he said flatly. "It's meant to signify rebirth through death."
Both boys turned to him.
Ash blinked. "Wow. That's... deep. You really watch stuff like that?"
"It was an assignment," Nox said.
Leo nodded once, his eyes thoughtful.
The movie ended. Ash stretched. "We're gonna ace this, man. Nox, you're a damn enigma."
Nox stood, already grabbing his gym bag. "Assignment format is posted. Follow it."
And just like that, he left. The cage fight was soon.
Dinner passed. Nox didn't eat with them, as always. He took his protein bars and a sealed thermos to the rooftop, vanishing like smoke. Below, Ash and Leo cleaned up. But then Leo's phone rang.
His father.
He stepped into the hallway.
"Leo. You cannot go on that trip. It's not our territory. We cannot ensure your safety."
"I can handle it," Leo said through gritted teeth.
"No, you can't. You're already under pressure. Stop pretending to be invincible."
"I said I can fucking handle it!" Leo's voice cracked. He hung up and slammed his fist into the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frame beside him.
Breathing heavy, chest tight, he returned to the dorm. Ash was already asleep. The air felt suffocating. He needed air. Needed silence.
He went to the rooftop.
There, Nox lay flat on his back, arms behind his head, hood up, mask on, body still. In his gloved hand, the cigarette still twisted slowly, fingers remembering something long gone. The sky above was smeared with distant stars.
Leo didn't say anything. Just stood there for a second. Then he stepped forward and laid down next to Nox.
The silence stretched, heavy and raw.
Their hands brushed.
It wasn't planned.
They didn't move.
There was no warmth, no spark. Just quiet.
But it eased something.
The cigarette stopped spinning in Nox's hand.
Leo closed his eyes.
Maybe, in this endless bloody world, the only comfort left was lying under the stars next to someone who didn't ask anything from you.
Midnight came. Nox stood, grabbing his bag. He vanished into the dark without a word.
Leo remained, watching the stars.
Nox's mission was clean. One bullet, one life. Precision. Distance. Detached. The rifle worked like silk in his hands. His new toy purred like a lover with every pull of the trigger.
He returned by dawn, his steps silent, his clothes bloodless, his mask untouched.
Another shower. Another coffee. Another day.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the ghost of a hand brushing his in silence disappeared .
End of Chapter 24