Chapter 5

BLUE HOUSE

The Black Maybach rolled to a smooth halt in front of a towering glass skyscraper. Its reflective panels shimmered under the setting sun, casting long shadows across the entrance marked in bold letters: BLUE HOUSE. The building was as intimidating as it was prestigious, home to the country's most secretive operations and elite decision-makers.

The back door of the car opened and Lyric stepped out, dressed in a simple black hoodie, her face covered with a sleek matte-black mask. She looked nothing like the kind of person you'd expect to walk into the Blue House—small in stature, dressed in school uniform slacks, her presence silent but chilling.

Beside her stood the man who had introduced himself earlier as Agent Ronan Creed, a sharply dressed operative with calculating eyes and a resting frown that never seemed to leave his face. He gave her a slight nod and led her inside after a quick biometric clearance at the main entrance.

Once past security, they walked through sleek, dimly lit corridors until they stopped in front of a large door marked Operations & Intelligence Division. Lyric could hear shouting from inside.

The door opened.

Chaos.

Several men in suits were arguing heatedly. The air was thick with tension and unspoken fear. Multiple holographic projections hovered above a central table—maps, case files, and blurry images of corpses.

But everything stopped when Lyric entered.

For a few seconds, there was only silence.

Some of them turned and stared in disbelief.

"Is that... her?"

"She's just a girl…"

"The Ghost? That's her?"

Murmurs rippled across the room. A few scoffed, others stared with wide eyes, unable to reconcile the infamous hacker known as Dark L with this seemingly frail schoolgirl.

But Vice President Milo Vance, a composed man in his late fifties, stood up the moment he saw her. He gestured politely to the seat in front of him. "You may sit, Ms. Lyric."

Without a word, she sat down gracefully, her posture unbothered. Her presence, even silent, carried a heavy weight—like a storm hiding beneath still waters.

One of the agents, a tall man with a military haircut, leaned forward. "We'll need you to remove your mask. This is a federal investigation, not some high school rebellion."

Lyric turned her head slowly in his direction and met his gaze through the mask with a soul-piercing glare so cold the man recoiled slightly. Without acknowledging him verbally, she turned back to Vice President Vance.

"Who are all these noisy people?" she asked with tired disdain.

Vice President Vance smiled slightly at her bluntness and began introducing the people in the room—top-tier investigators, cybercrime analysts, forensics specialists, and military advisors. Lyric nodded lazily, absorbing everything with detached interest.

"Why was I dragged from school?" she asked next, her voice low and slightly robotic through the mask.

One of the men stood. "Senator Malcolm Drayce was murdered last night. The way he was killed matches the profile of the previous victims. We believe it's the serial killer known as Death."

Lyric's eyes flickered slightly. She remained calm as they described the condition of the body—ripped out heart, no fingerprints, no DNA traces, perfectly clean crime scene. The heartless corpses were becoming a grim trademark.

"Do you have any leads?" she asked.

One analyst spoke up. "A car dashcam caught a figure leaving the crime scene on a black motorbike. But… the footage was corrupted. We can't retrieve it."

The Vice President snapped his fingers at his assistant. "Get the backup. Show her the footage."

The assistant paled. "Sir… the backup's gone too. Erased remotely… completely."

Frustration swept the room. Curses echoed under tense breaths.

But Lyric simply stood, brushing nonexistent dust from her sleeve. "I'll handle it," she said, her tone final.

She gave a formal bow to the Vice President and turned to leave. The agents watched her go in silence.

As she stepped back into the Maybach, her cold, calculating expression returned. Do they really think she'd leave evidence after committing her own crime?

This was all part of her plan. Just one more step toward getting close to the Blue House.

The very place she would reduce to ashes.

Sixteen years ago, they destroyed her life. Now, she would return the favor.

---

The car pulled into the gates of Diamond College, a prestigious private institution for the elite. But the campus was eerily quiet. Classes had ended hours ago.

Lyric didn't feel like going home. Nor did she want to call anyone to pick her up.

Instead, she walked back into the school building and headed for her classroom. The lights were off. She found her seat and sank into it, resting her head on the desk.

She wasn't asleep, but her mind drifted. And suddenly, the past clawed its way to the surface.

---

14 YEARS AGO

Seven-year-old Lyric lay motionless in a hospital bed. She had just awoken from a two-year coma, a pale shadow of the spirited girl she once was. Her once-vibrant eyes were now dim, as if her soul had aged beyond her years.

A woman with long black hair entered—Aunt Regina, her father's younger sister, a strong single mother. Beside her stood a bright-eyed girl, bouncing on her heels.

"Hi! I'm Lilian!" the girl beamed. "What's your name?"

Lyric stared at her without answering.

Regina walked over and touched Lyric's hair gently. "You're safe now, sweetheart."

Her parents, her older sister, and her twin brother—all gone. Murdered in a fire. That's what they said. She couldn't remember the flames, only darkness.

For two months, Regina nurtured her like her own daughter, and Lilian became the sister Lyric never thought she'd have again. She slowly began to open up.

Then it all changed.

One quiet afternoon, masked men in black burst through the door. Screams. Chaos.

Regina shoved both girls into the laundry room, covering them with towels.

"Don't make a sound," she whispered urgently. "Don't move."

Through a crack, Lyric watched in horror.

One of the men grabbed Regina by the hair and demanded, "Where are the children?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice steady. "Even if I did, I'd rather die than tell you."

They tortured her—cutting her fingers one by one, snapping bones, laughing as they poured boiling water over her back. Still, she never spoke.

Then they slit her throat and set the house on fire.

Lyric shielded Lilian with her body, making sure she didn't see it. Making sure she would never remember it.

---

She jerked awake with a scream.

Cold sweat drenched her body. Her mask was damp from panic.

It was the first time in fourteen years she had dreamt of Aunt Regina's death.

Until now, her nightmares had always been about her parents, her twin.

She sat up shakily, trying to pull herself together.

That's when she heard footsteps.

Her body stiffened.

The door creaked open.

The four boys from earlier in the day stood in the doorway, just as surprised to see her as she was to see them.

They walked in slowly.

"You again," one said. "What's your name?"

She didn't reply.

Another grinned. "Why did you challenge Professor Haines? You basically embarrassed him."

She adjusted her posture and spoke evenly. "He was teaching nonsense. I couldn't stand it."

Her words were calm but cut like a blade. "Now shut up or leave."

The boys blinked.

Did she just—

One of them chuckled. "Do you even know who we are?"

She ignored them.

"Are you one of those scholarship kids?" another sneered.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. Elena.

She stood, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked past them like they didn't exist.

She left the classroom and headed downstairs.

Her ride was waiting.

And for now, her war would have to wait. But not for long.