The watchtower trembled faintly as the whistle echoed a third time—sharp, shrill, and purposeful. Hana felt the vibration through the wooden floorboards, through her bones, through the past she'd tried to bury.
They were close.
Too close.
Woojin stood at her side, tense but steady. He wasn't a fighter—she knew that—but he had something most fighters lacked: a mind sharp enough to slice through any trap.
"Tell me what you need," he said quietly.
Hana almost smiled. Almost.
"First," she said, "we have to assume they're watching the common areas. The courtyard, the halls, even the dormitories."
Woojin nodded. "They would predict where you'd run."
"Exactly. Which is why we're not running."
Surprise flickered across his face. Hana didn't blame him. Assassins trained by the Sect didn't choose open confrontation unless absolutely necessary.
But this wasn't about winning.
This was about sending a message.
"You said they think you're alone," Woojin said slowly. "And you want them to keep believing that."
Hana nodded once. "If they don't know I have support, they'll underestimate us."
Woojin gave a faint smile. "Us. I like the sound of that."
She shot him a warning look, and he lifted a hand in surrender, though his eyes glimmered with quiet warmth.
A warmth she couldn't afford.
"Hana," he said gently, "whatever you're planning, I trust you."
Those words hit harder than any blade.
She tore her gaze away before her emotions betrayed her. "We move now."
She pushed open the tower door, scanning the area. The night air was thick with tension, heavy enough to taste. Somewhere beyond the walls, shadows slid through the dark with purpose.
She could feel them.
Woojin followed closely, every step quiet despite his lack of training. He listened when she moved fast, when she slowed, when she stopped suddenly to examine the ground or the faint shift of wind.
He didn't question.
He didn't doubt.
He adapted.
She'd never expected that from a scholar.
They reached the edge of the training field—a wide, open space lit only by the moon. Hana motioned for Woojin to stay low as she crouched beside an old stone lantern.
Woojin whispered, "Are they here?"
Hana shook her head. "Not yet. But they will be."
"How do you know?"
She pointed to the ground. A faint pattern of footprints—half-erased, intentionally scattered—marked the dirt.
"They're circling," she said. "Testing the perimeter. Studying patterns. Mapping routes."
Woojin inhaled sharply. "Like you would."
Hana froze.
Something in her chest tightened painfully.
He understood her. More than she wanted him to.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Like I would."
They moved deeper into the shadows, slipping past the west wing where lanterns still glowed from students studying late into the night. Hana watched each light carefully.
"We can't let anyone else get involved," she murmured.
Woojin nodded. "Agreed."
They were almost past the wing when Woojin suddenly grabbed her wrist.
"Hana—look."
She followed his gaze.
A figure stood on the roof of the main hall.
Tall. Still. Watching.
The moonlight glinted off a blade at their back.
Hana's blood chilled.
"That's not one of the juniors," she whispered. "He's a Shadow Watcher. A tracker. Their eyes."
Woojin's voice dropped. "So he sees everything."
"Yes." Hana's heart pounded. "And sends the information back."
The Watcher didn't move, didn't tilt his head, didn't reveal whether he'd seen them. That was what made them dangerous—they didn't need to move to kill.
Hana grabbed Woojin's hand, pulling him back into the shadows of the narrow garden path.
"Hana—" he began.
"No sound."
Woojin shut his mouth instantly.
Footsteps approached. Soft. Controlled. Three sets.
Hana pressed Woojin against the wall with one hand and pressed her palm over his mouth with the other. Her body shielded his, her head lowered to listen.
Woojin's breath warmed her palm, steady and obedient.
Hana forced herself not to react.
The assassins passed silently—one on the path, two on the roofline. They moved with deadly grace, using hand signals she recognized from years training beside them.
Three more shadows appearing behind the first.
And then—
A fourth.
Bigger. Heavier. A presence that made the air feel colder.
Woojin sensed it too; his body tensed beneath her hand.
Hana's heart dropped.
It was him.
Her mentor's successor.
The Sect's enforcer.
The one sent to finish what her mentor couldn't.
Jin Mu.
Hana whispered the name only in her mind.
Her pulse hammered so loud she feared Woojin could hear it.
Jin Mu paused on the path, head tilting slightly, as if listening.
Hana's breath stilled.
Every instinct screamed to run, fight, disappear—anything but be still.
Woojin remained motionless beneath her, trusting her entirely.
Minutes passed.
Long.
Dangerous.
Suffocating.
And then—
Jin Mu moved on.
The assassins followed him, disappearing into the deeper shadows behind the east shrine.
Only when the last footstep faded did Hana pull her hand away from Woojin's mouth.
He exhaled shakily. "Who was that last one? The one who… felt different."
Hana stared at the empty path, her voice barely a whisper. "Jin Mu. My mentor's successor. He trained beside me. Watched me. Tested me."
Woojin frowned. "Tested you?"
Hana nodded. "He used to say compassion was a flaw. That I had too much of it. That it would get me killed."
Woojin's jaw tightened. "He was wrong."
She didn't answer.
Because she wasn't sure.
"Hana," Woojin said, turning to face her. "You're shaking."
She hadn't noticed.
Woojin took her hand gently. "Let me help."
Her instinct was to pull away—but she didn't.
"Jin Mu is more dangerous than the others," she said. "He's patient. He studies weaknesses. He won't attack until he knows everything."
"Then we don't give him anything to learn."
A bitter smile touched her lips. "Easier said than done."
Woojin squeezed her hand. "Then we do it together."
Hana opened her mouth to respond, but a sudden crack echoed through the night—a branch snapping.
Woojin stiffened. "Now what?"
Hana turned sharply.
A figure knelt on the roof of the shrine. Smaller. Slimmer. Their posture too stiff to be a trained assassin.
Hana's eyes narrowed.
"That's not one of them."
"Then who—?"
The figure rose and stepped into the moonlight.
A student.
A girl from Woojin's class.
Mira.
Her eyes were wide with terror—fixed directly on Hana and Woojin.
She had seen everything.
Woojin breathed, "Oh no…"
Hana's stomach sank.
Mira opened her mouth—likely to scream.
Hana moved before Woojin even processed it. She dashed up the side steps, leaping onto the roof with inhuman speed.
Mira stumbled back, nearly tripping.
"Hana—wait!" Woojin called from below.
But Hana couldn't.
If Mira screamed, the entire academy would come awake. The Sect would realize Hana had connections—weaknesses. They would descend in full force.
Hana reached Mira in a heartbeat.
The girl backed into the shrine tower, trembling. "W-What are you?!"
Hana froze.
Her hand hovered inches from the girl's mouth—ready to silence her, but unwilling to hurt her.
Woojin arrived breathlessly at the top of the steps. "Mira, stop! She's not going to harm you!"
Mira shook her head violently. "I-I saw those men! They weren't normal! And she—she moved like—like—"
"A monster?" Hana finished softly.
Mira's lips parted, guilty and terrified.
Woojin stepped between them. "She's not a monster. She saved me. She saved the academy tonight."
Hana looked away.
Mira's shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths. Then, slowly—
She nodded.
Not fully trusting.
Not fully understanding.
But something had reached her.
Hana released the tension in her posture. "Mira. No one can know about this. If the wrong people hear—"
Woojin cut in. "Her life could be in danger."
Mira swallowed hard. "O-Okay. I won't say anything."
Hana studied her closely. The girl was terrified—but honest. She would keep quiet, at least for now.
Hana stepped back. "Go to your dorm. Don't leave until morning."
Mira nodded and hurried off into the night.
When she was gone, Woojin turned to Hana. "Are you alright?"
"No," Hana whispered.
Woojin reached for her hand again. She let him.
"Hana," he said softly, "we'll get through this."
She looked at him.
At the calm resolve in his eyes.
At the warmth she never expected to find.
At the trust she didn't deserve.
And for once—
Hana allowed herself to believe him.