The first rule of being invisible: blend in, but never belong.

Solene Vale sat in the far corner of the school cafeteria, the one where the ceiling light flickered slightly and the floor always smelled like sour milk. It wasn’t the worst place to eat lunch, but it was far enough from the main crowd that no one would bother her. She had her earbuds in, though no music played. That was the second rule: always be aware.

She stirred the soup in her thermos with mechanical motions, the metal spoon scraping against the sides. Around her, the chaos of high school unfolded: laughter too loud, sneakers squeaking, the slap of a juice box exploding on someone’s tray. Solene hated it all. Teenagers were exhausting, so loud, so selfish, so predictable.

Kids were better.

Younger ones, under age ten, were honest. They cried when they were hurt, smiled when they were happy. They didn’t play mind games or pretend to be cool. They liked her, too. They liked her calm voice, her patience, her ability to braid hair and tell bedtime stories. She spent every weekday after school volunteering at the local daycare. It was the only part of her day that didn’t make her itch.

She brought the spoon to her lips but paused. Her eyes shifted to the left. Three tables down, someone was watching her.

She turned her head slightly.

A boy.

He was new. She’d seen him in the hallway this morning, being shown around by the guidance counselor. He was wearing a forest green hoodie with the hood down, hair slightly messy in a way that looked intentional. He had a calm smile, like someone who didn’t care if he belonged because he always managed to anyway. He was talking to a group of boys, laughing, animated, but his eyes flicked back to her in between their conversation beats.

Solene stared back blankly.

He smiled wider and gave a small wave. She lowered her gaze to her thermos. Strike one.

...

By the end of the day, she had six different escape routes mapped in the new building expansion. She timed how long it would take to get from her locker to the south stairwell at full sprint: 23 seconds. Good. No cameras in the second-floor girls' bathroom, which made it ideal for equipment checks if needed.

No one spoke to her. Not directly.

Except at the very end of the day.

She was crouched at the back gate of the elementary school daycare, tying one of the toddlers’ shoes. Little Harper, age 4, wouldn’t stop giggling.

“Your hair smells like strawberries,” the child whispered.

Solene gave a rare smile, soft and small. “That’s because I ate one.”

Harper gasped, delighted. “Can I eat one too?!”

“Tomorrow,” Solene promised.

“That was cute,” a voice said behind her.

Solene stood in one smooth, fluid motion. Her hand twitched, an instinctive motion toward the hidden blade strapped to her thigh.

But it wasn’t a threat.

It was him.

Green hoodie boy. Up close now. His voice was warm, like tea with lemon. His eyes were dark brown with golden flecks. Observant. Too observant.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, raising his hands. “I was just walking by and saw the whole strawberry line. Classic.”

Solene didn’t answer.

“I’m Julian,” he added, nodding toward the building. “I think we have English together.”

She blinked once. Then, flatly: “You shouldn’t be here.”

He looked around. “It’s just a sidewalk.”

“Children exit from this gate. School policy says outsiders should stay on the street.”

Julian arched a brow. “You memorized the school handbook?”

She shrugged. “I read it.”

“Okay, okay.” He held up both hands. “Guess I’ll keep my distance next time. Just wanted to say hi. You seem... interesting.”

Solene stared at him.

Then, deadpan: “Strike two.”

He grinned. “You keep score?”

“You’re being forward. Most people avoid me.”

“Why? You work with kids, you're clearly nice.”

“I’m not nice.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “You sure? You just tied a shoelace and made a kid laugh. Doesn’t scream ‘cold assassin’ to me.”

Solene blinked. A flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in her gut. A glitch in the system. A flutter. She didn’t like it.

Julian was still talking. “Anyway, see you tomorrow, Solene.”

She never told him her name. He walked off before she could question it.

...

That night, she ran diagnostics.

Not on a computer.

On herself.

In the hidden basement under her foster guardian’s house, the walls were lined with steel. Two punching dummies stood at opposite corners, and her weapons locker sat flush behind a hidden panel. She stripped out of her school uniform, tied back her hair, and changed into tactical black.

Within minutes, she was a blur.

Three rounds of full-contact drills. Forty-five minutes of strength training. Gun practice with a silencer. Knife work. Disarmament speed drills.

Her breathing remained steady. Her heartbeat never once spiked beyond baseline.

Except when she thought about him. Julian. His smile. His unflinching eyes. She scowled and turned up the weight resistance. He was dangerous. Not because he was a threat. Because he wasn’t.