The days after the watch incident passed quietly.
Too quietly.
Sun and Emma didn't speak much anymore. No whispered comments. No obvious exchanges. To anyone watching, they were simply classmates—two gifted children who sat beside each other and minded their own business.
But the silence between them wasn't empty.
It was aware.
Sun noticed how Emma always seemed to know when he was looking at her. Emma noticed how Sun never flinched when teachers raised their voices or students cried. Neither of them trusted the other completely.
That made it better.
Sun woke up the morning of the party already knowing how the day would end.
He dressed without care—simple clothes, clean, unremarkable. He didn't need to stand out. People looked at him anyway. His calm made them uneasy, even if they didn't understand why.
By the time he reached the party entrance, the sky was already darkening.
Then he saw her.
Emma stood near the doorway, dressed in red.
Not bright. Not playful.
Intentional.
The color clung to her like a warning she didn't bother hiding. For a brief moment, Sun simply watched her, noting the way she stood—straight-backed, composed, already separate from everyone else.
He walked up beside her.
"Hi," he said calmly. "You look stunning."
Emma turned, clearly not expecting it. A faint blush appeared before she could stop it.
"You too," she replied softly.
Then the air shifted.
Her father.
His gaze locked onto Sun immediately—sharp, cold, measuring. Not the look of a proud parent, but of a man who sensed something wrong and didn't yet know where it came from.
Sun met his eyes without hesitation.
"Good evening, sir," Sun said politely. "I'm Sun Winchester. Emma's classmate."
They exchanged a few words. Polite. Controlled. Empty.
Emma's father didn't smile once.
Sun enjoyed that more than he should have.
---
Inside the hall, everyone found their seats.
Without thinking, Sun sat beside Emma. It felt natural—inevitable.
The ceremony dragged on. Speeches. Applause.
Then came the medals.
Sun didn't look at the stage.
He watched Emma.
When the boy's name was called and the medal placed around his neck, the room filled with clapping.
Emma didn't move.
Her face remained calm, but her eyes sharpened, fixing on the boy with quiet intensity.
Not anger.
Decision.
Sun felt a slow satisfaction spread through him.
She's already crossed the line in her head, he thought.
The body will follow.
---
Later, the party shifted to the backyard. Lights were strung between trees. Music played. Adults laughed too loudly.
Sun scanned the crowd once.
Emma was gone.
He followed.
Not hurried. Not obvious.
He moved through the trees, keeping his distance, senses focused. He saw Emma ahead, speaking softly to the boy. Her voice was gentle, reassuring. She smiled just enough.
Sun felt no disgust.
No hesitation.
Only appreciation.
Near the edge of the cliff, it ended.
A sudden movement.
A sharp breath.
Then silence, swallowed by the dark below.
Sun didn't rush forward.
He raised his phone once and took a single photo.
The moment frozen.
Not for blackmail.
Not for control.
For memory.
He slipped the phone away and turned back toward the party, unbothered, unmarked, returning before anyone noticed he had ever left.
---
Emma returned later.
Her dress was unchanged. Her expression was calm.
But her eyes were alive in a way Sun recognized immediately.
He stepped toward her.
"Emma," he said smoothly, extending his hand. "Dance with me."
She hesitated—just a fraction of a second.
Then she took his hand.
They moved together easily, bodies in perfect rhythm. Sun watched her face as they danced, noting the control, the restraint, the way she held herself together.
During a slow turn, his fingers brushed her wrist.
The medal slipped free.
Emma didn't notice.
When the music ended, the night unraveled quickly. Panic. Confusion. Adults calling names.
Emma pulled at her father's sleeve, asking to leave.
Sun stood a short distance away, the medal hidden in his pocket, his expression perfectly neutral.
You killed tonight, he thought calmly.
And I watched.