CHAPTER 7: A Quiet Morning and Blooming Lilies

Mia woke slowly, as if surfacing from a deep underwater dream.

Her eyes burned.

Red. Puffy. Tender from the night before.

She blinked against the soft morning light, her vision blurry and slow to clear. The unfamiliar weight of comfort pulled at her body, anchoring her. Something was different. Warmth. Real, human warmth.

Her fingers curled into fabric — soft cotton, scented faintly with lavender and something calmer, steadier, like cedarwood.

Selene.

The realization made her freeze. She hadn't let go.

She was still curled into the woman's side, her head tucked beneath her chin, one leg draped carelessly over Selene's hip. Her small fingers gripped the robe like it was armor, like it was the only thing tethering her.

And then—

A pair of calm, silver-blue eyes looked down at her. Selene was already awake. Watching her. Their gazes met.

Mia flushed instantly. Her ears turned pink. Her cheeks flared. Her heart thudded in quiet, sharp beats.

What did I do?

She almost pulled away — almost — but her hands wouldn't move. Her body betrayed her mind.

She didn't want to let go.

Not yet.

Selene didn't say anything right away. She only reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of Mia's hair behind her ear.

"You didn't do your morning routine," she said quietly, like someone noting a soft change in weather.

Mia looked down, ashamed but not defensive. She gave a faint nod.

Selene waited a few moments, then asked softly, "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Mia's hands gripped her robe tighter.

"…I will," she murmured, barely audible. "Just… not right now."

Selene nodded, no pressure in her expression. "Alright," she said simply. "Come. I want to show you something."

Mia didn't change out of her robe.

Selene didn't insist.

Still barefoot, the girl walked beside her through quiet, polished corridors that stretched like endless dreams. The sunlight streaming through tall windows bathed the marble floors in gold. The villa, usually too vast and cold for comfort, felt… quieter now like it was holding its breath with them.

They passed arched doors Mia had never seen. Velvet curtains. Oil paintings that whispered of forgotten histories.

The girl had never explored this far, the villa was gigantic after all. Although she covered new ground every day as part of her daily routine. She knew how to memorize layouts, track shadows, to escape, if needed.

But this…

This was different.

Selene led her through a small, ivy-covered door at the end of the hallway.

And the moment Mia stepped outside, her breath caught.

It was another world.

A garden stretched before her—lush, almost enchanted. Wild in design, but perfectly kept. Vines curled around white lattice arches, heavy with fragrant roses of crimson and dusk-blue. Pale wisteria hung like trembling chandeliers. The scent was thick and heady—jasmine, lilac, earth after rain.

A gentle breeze carried it all, cool against Mia's warm cheeks. She walked slowly, her fingers brushing over petals as they passed.

They came to a serene pond nestled at the heart of the garden—wide, still, glistening. Purple and pink lilies floated across its surface, dancing with the light. Dragonflies skimmed over the water like sparks.

Mia stood at the edge, enchanted.

The colors felt too beautiful to be real. Too soft for a heart that once felt like a prison.

A stone path led them beneath a willow tree, where a small white table waited with two chairs.

Before Mia could process it, a maid appeared.

Silent. Graceful.

She placed a porcelain teapot and two delicate cups on the table, steam rising gently from within. There were small biscuits, dusted with sugar and lavender petals.

Not a word was spoken. No instruction given. Selene hadn't moved. Hadn't even looked at the maid.

Strange, Mia thought. I never saw her give the order.

But she said nothing.

The maid bowed and slipped away as silently as she came.

Competence like that didn't come from fear. It came from respect… or deep conditioning.

Selene sat down and poured tea for both of them.

Mia hesitated for a moment, then climbed into the chair opposite her.

The china was warm in her hands.

The scent of the tea was delicate—like soft peach and something floral. It grounded her.

They didn't speak.

Not at first.

They just sat there, beneath the drooping branches, letting the silence settle between them like mist.

Birds chirped somewhere in the distance.

The wind rustled the petals across the pond's surface.

And Mia… breathed.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she wasn't calculating. She wasn't preparing to defend herself.

She simply… was.

She smiled; her plan was already in motion. Why else did she let him stay long enough to make his confirmation? 

From the far window of his office, Ken watched them.

His gaze lingered not on Selene — though her presence was a comfort — but on the small girl sitting across from her.

Mia.

Red-robed, barefoot, with her hair slightly tousled from sleep.

No mask. No icy exterior. No sharpened gaze.

Just a quiet child sipping tea in a hidden garden.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

She was adapting. Slowly. Gently. Not through force. Not through rules or power.

But through trust.

And that was worth more than any order he could give.

Ken leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

Let the world wait.

For now, she was blooming.

Whispers of the Vanished

John had faced ghosts before.

War made sure of it—ghosts of brothers, ghosts of innocence, ghosts of blood-drenched mistakes. But this… this child. She wasn't a ghost.

She was something worse.

He stood silently in the shadowed hallway of the Rowland estate, pressed against cold marble, his breathing a mere suggestion. His muscles thrummed under the strain of the silent Ghoul technique—an ancient art he'd learned from an old martial artist who once offered him shelter during a mission gone wrong. The man said the technique was born from a powerful clan of assassins. "They vanished," the old man had whispered, "but their shadows never did."

John had mastered the technique—but even with his talent, he could only use it in brief bursts. It warped the muscles, pushed the body past human limits. Misuse meant permanent damage. He'd nearly shredded his spine training it. And now, standing here, watching a five-year-old girl walking while in the technique's sustained state, completely unaware of her surroundings—he thought.

Until she looked directly at him.

Her gaze flickered—not in surprise. Not in fear.

Recognition.

She knew.

John stiffened. He felt something cold in his spine. It was like looking at a child shaped from smoke and silence. Something that had survived things meant to break monsters.

He fell back.

When Nora left the estate earlier, she had asked him for confirmation: Was this the girl, the prodigy rumored by the organisation? Nora had a hunch; they never saw her, but she did see her eyes when she was in the cage. Those eyes sent chills down her spine then. and they seemed to fit perfectly on the girl. She heard the clan placed tattoos only on their prodigies. at their ankles if low ranking, and at their forearms if it was a rare talent. So she thought if she was the one, it had to be on her forearm.

The mission was simple. Get close. Look for the mark. Confirm or deny.

But she kept slipping away. Every time he trailed her, she moved like vapor—one second walking, the next gone. No noise. No trace.

And now, finally, he saw her walking the halls. Sebastian, the infamous former executioner of the Eastern Syndicate, followed closely behind her. His presence alone was terrifying, yet the girl walked calmly, like she was the one in control.

John's eyes scanned her arm—no tattoo. Nothing. Relief was creeping in—

Until she turned her head, never stopping her steps, and said, "Sebastian, I'm not trying to criticize your work or anything, but you know he's still here, right?"

She didn't point. She didn't look directly.

But her eyes met his.

John froze. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

Sebastian turned.

John didn't wait.

He leapt through the nearest window. But caught a glimpse of the girl`s smile. He felt fear.

Glass shattered around him as he plummeted into the hedges below. Pain exploded in his leg—he might have fractured something, but it didn't matter. Better a broken leg than being caught by that man.

The silent Ghoul technique saved him. Barely.

Later, bandaged and bruised, he gave Nora his report.

"She's not the one. No tattoo," he said, voice even.

He left out the part where she saw him. Left out the part where she moved in a technique lost to history. Left out the way her presence made his military instincts scream.

He wasn't loyal to Nora.

He was loyal to the highest bidder.

And soon… someone was going to pay very, very well for this information.

Because whatever that girl was, she wasn't a runaway.

She was the beginning of something else.

And the game had just changed.