DINNER WITH THE ENEMY

Lila's house was everything I expected and more marble columns, crystal chandeliers, a private security gate, and the kind of floral arrangements you only see in magazines. The Morton family lived like royalty, and as I stepped through the oversized mahogany door, I had to remind myself: this was not a friendly visit.

This was reconnaissance.

Her father, Julian Morton, stood at the top of the staircase. He was taller than I remembered from the files. Grey at the temples. Warm eyes. The kind of face that would make a stranger think, what a kind man.

A lie.

"Welcome to our home, Ava," he said, offering his hand. "Lila's been talking about you nonstop."

I smiled, shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Morton. It's beautiful."

"You can call me Julian."

I'd rather call you what you are, I thought. Murderer.

Dinner was served in the grand dining room. Everything gleamed: silver cutlery, polished mahogany, candles flickering in antique holders. Lila's mother wore diamonds. Lila wore silk. I wore my best mask.

Julian asked questions. I had answers. He tried to dig about my past, my family, my schooling but I was a fortress. Every word had been rehearsed. Every smile calculated.

"You seem like a very intelligent young woman," he said.

I tilted my head. "That's sweet of you to say."

My knuckles were white beneath the table.

Julian Morton had been one of my father's oldest friends. He was the charismatic businessman, the charmer, the one who always played devil's advocate. But beneath the charisma was a man driven by power and paranoia. According to Genevieve's files, he had been the first to suggest betrayal.

"Think of it as survival," he'd said in a recovered voice note. "We can divide the assets, clean the mess, and the girl… well, it'll look like an accident."

He wanted it to be clean.

Now, he was smiling across the table at me, thinking he got away with it.

He didn't know his reckoning was seated right in front of him.

After dinner, Lila gave me a tour of the house. I made mental notes: camera locations, blind spots, security keypad placement. Her room was pink and sterile, all soft textures and expensive scents. She showed me old yearbooks, laughed at past hairstyles, and offered to braid my hair.

I let her.

Because sometimes, revenge starts with a braid and a borrowed robe.

As we lay in bed that night, whispering about classes and boys, she asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

I paused. "Once. But it didn't end well."

"Why not?"

"He died."

She froze.

I smiled. "In my dreams. He doesn't exist in real life."

She laughed nervously, not sure whether or not I was joking. Good.

In the middle of the night, I slipped out of bed, disabled the hallway alarm using a mirror and a magnet, and entered Julian Morton's study.

Locked. Child's play.

Inside, I found files. Notes. Business deals. And a USB drive labeled: The Eight.

Bingo.

I pocketed it, returned everything as it was, and slid back into bed.

Lila stirred beside me.

"You okay?" she mumbled.

"Yeah," I whispered. "Just had a dream."

"What about?"

I stared at the ceiling, voice calm. "Justice."

Lila wasn't cruel. She was privileged, oblivious, and eager to belong. That made her dangerous in a different way. Not because she was evil, but because she'd never question her comfort. She loved her father.

She didn't know what he'd done.

And that would make it hurt more when he died.

Back at school Monday morning, I sent Genevieve a secure message:

Target One's home mapped. Gained trust. Obtained sensitive intel.

She replied one minute later:

Good girl. Soon.

I closed the phone, slipped it into my boot, and walked to class.

Caleb Vale was leaning against a column, arms crossed, eyes on me.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

So I gave him a nod.

Let the game play on.

Because I was ready to start taking pieces off the board.