The door shut behind her with a soft thud, but it echoed like a gunshot in her mind.

  Kira walked in silence, the city breathing around her, distant and indifferent. Her boots hit the pavement with practiced steadiness, but inside, she was unraveling thread by thread. Every word the Boss said had twisted into her thoughts like barbed wire. She didn’t know what disturbed her more—that he might be telling the truth, or that he might not.

  You’re a weapon.

  She shoved the thought down like she’d done a thousand times before, burying it beneath the rhythm of the city’s noise. But this time, it clung harder. Louder.

  The train station lights flickered as she stepped onto the platform, waiting for her ride back to the university. Her hands curled inside her coat pockets. She could feel the old instincts rising again—watching shadows, counting exits, tracking reflections in windows. You didn’t spend time in the Boss’s world and come out whole.

  A notification buzzed in her pocket. One new message.

  Unknown Number: Be careful who you speak to. Not everyone’s afraid of ghosts.

  No name. No context. But the chill that ran down her spine said enough.

  Someone had seen her.

  Someone was watching.

  Kira deleted the message without replying. If they wanted her scared, they’d have to try harder.

  She boarded the train, her gaze fixed out the window as the city blurred past. Tomorrow, she’d be back at the university—back to pretending. Back to the girl with a part-time job, a tucked-away history, and eyes that didn’t see everything.

  But the ground was shifting now. The Boss had confirmed it—whether he meant to or not. Disappearances. Secrets. And a past she wasn’t supposed to remember yet.

  Her worlds were colliding.

  And this time, she wasn’t sure if she’d survive the impact.

  The gym was empty—just how Kira liked it. It was too early for most students to even think about dragging themselves out of bed, and that suited her fine. The world was quiet when she wanted it to be, if only for a little while.

  Her fists met the punching bag in brutal rhythm—one-two, one-two, kick—then again. The leather groaned beneath her strikes, seams splitting near the base. The old bag had seen its share of fury, but this morning, it was being dismantled by something deeper.

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  She wasn’t fighting the bag. She was fighting everything.

  Sweat dripped down her temples, her breath ragged, but she didn’t stop. Not when her knuckles throbbed. Not when her leg stung from the repeated impact. Her mind was louder than her breath—echoing with words from the Boss.

  You’re a weapon.

  You don’t get to walk away.

  Make sure you’re prepared to lose everything.

  Kira punched harder, like she could silence the memories with the next hit.

  She had come here to escape the fog, to let her body do the screaming her voice never could. But somewhere between a brutal right hook and a shuddering kick, she realized she wasn’t alone.

  A shift in air. A stillness.

  She turned her head just slightly and saw him.

  Liam Carrington stood across the hallway, half-shrouded by the glass. His eyes weren’t wide or surprised—just watchful. Calm. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

  She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but she didn’t like it. Not because he saw her punching.

  Because he saw through it.

  Kira let the bag sway and backed away, resting her forehead against the torn leather. Her pulse was finally slowing. Her mind wasn’t.

  Who is he, really? Why does he look at me like he sees something I don’t?

  She made a mental note to learn more about Liam—not out of suspicion, but curiosity. Dangerous, but necessary.

  Later that morning, Kira walked through the east courtyard on her way to the lecture hall when she noticed a small cluster gathered near the arches. At first, it looked like typical college gossip. But then she saw her.

  Her case study partner—Meera—was lying on the stone tiles, her blouse torn at the sleeve, lip bloodied. The group scattered as Kira approached, and at the center stood Bella Walker, surrounded by her usual gaggle of perfectly polished minions.

  Rage came too quickly, bubbling just under the surface. The kind she’d buried deep—until now.

  Kira crouched to check on Meera, gently lifting her up. The girl’s eyes were red with tears but filled with silent gratitude.

  “Keep walking, Kira,” Bella called out, tone sing-song sweet. “Unless you want to end up like her.”

  Kira didn’t respond. She helped Meera up, ready to take her away.

  But Bella wasn’t finished.

  “You think the Kings are gonna save you now?” she taunted, stepping closer. “You’ve been playing pretend for weeks. Wishful thinking. They don’t care about girls like you.”

  Kira stopped. Slowly turned.

  Don’t. Don’t lose control. Just take her and walk away.

  But something in her snapped—the voice of the Boss echoing in her mind.

  You always have a choice.

  Without a word, Kira stepped toward Bella—swift and sudden. Before the girl could register it, Kira had her in a clean pinch headlock, arm snug beneath Bella’s chin—tight, but not choking.

  Bella gasped, her painted nails clawing at Kira’s wrist.

  “I don’t need anyone to fight you,” Kira whispered coldly into her ear. “Not the Kings. Not anyone.”

  She leaned closer.

  “Stay in your lane, Bella. Today is not your day.”

  Then she released her.

  Bella stumbled back, red-faced, stunned into silence. Her followers didn’t rush forward. Not this time.

  Kira turned without a backward glance, guiding Meera gently with her.

  This world’s no different than the one I left behind, she thought. Same cruelty, same rules in prettier clothes. And me? I’m still the weapon they trained.

  But maybe I get to decide what I aim at.