In The Dark

Part 1: Artemis

The first person I killed, I was sixteen. He crept into the room at the orphanage in the dead of night, unaware that I lay awake, gripping a knife beneath the covers. His footsteps barely stirred the creaky floorboards, and his heavy breathing was drowned by the pounding in my chest. This man had never touched me before, which almost felt like an insult.

I knew what he was doing to the other girls—week after week, visiting their rooms like a dark secret slipping through the halls.

But I wasn't going to be his fifth victim.

I had prepared for this moment, the handle of the stolen kitchen knife wrapped tight in my leather-gloved hand. The night I was on kitchen duty had turned out to be fortunate in more ways than one.

I heard the buckle of his belt unclasp, the soft whisper of leather as he approached. My heartbeat slowed, and my senses heightened. As soon as he pulled the covers back, exposing me to the darkness, I moved—swift and silent. I drove the blade into his throat, watching the shock widen his eyes. He struggled, grabbing at the knife, but I only pressed harder, twisting it deeper as his blood seeped down his neck, staining the pale skin beneath his goatee. His gasps filled the room, and I couldn't help but smirk.

When his body finally fell limp, collapsing onto the floor with a sickening thud, I didn't stop. I plunged the knife into his chest, feeling it carve into his heart. The floor beneath him pooled with deep crimson, but I took comfort in knowing this wasn't my room. It was Cheryl's, the woman who was supposed to take care of us.

The adrenaline left me buzzing—fueled by a rush of power, release, and, perhaps for the first time in my life, a flicker of happiness. When the police arrived, they arrested Cheryl. She screamed her innocence, pleading with them that it wasn't her. But I just played the part—an innocent orphan girl who couldn't believe her caretaker could do such a thing.

When the officers told us to pack our bags to move to another location, I stood on the porch, waiting for them to turn their backs. Then, for the first time, I smiled. I smiled because I had gotten away with it. I smiled because I had the power to stop him.

I smiled because no one else could hurt me.

But the moment shattered when I saw him—a tall figure stepping out of the shadows, watching me from the bushes. Little did I know that this man, the one who had been silently observing me, would become my adoptive father—and that his arrival would mark the beginning of my new life, a life as a killer for hire.

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"Artemis!" Michael's voice boomed up the stairs, yanking me out of my memories. I groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over my head.

"Art!" he shouted again, louder this time. I shoved the blankets aside, my navy-blue curls spilling in every direction as I sat up, staring at the posters plastered on my black walls—serial killers and crime scenes that others might find disturbing, but for me, they were inspirations.

"WHAT?" I finally shouted back.

Michael's footsteps pounded up the stairs, and he burst into my room, apron-clad and spatula in hand. His dark skin glistened under the dim light, his beard showing signs of grey, but his expression? Confused.

He looks every bit the assassin he is—tall, muscular, with dark skin and sharp eyes that miss nothing. His presence alone commands fear, his silence more threatening than words. To most, he's a killer, a man to avoid. But to me, he's the one who raised me, trained me, and taught me everything I know. His hands may be calloused, but they've always been steady and sure. Despite his brutal nature, there's a quiet warmth in him—a protector hidden beneath the deadly skillset he's passed on to me.

"How do you flip pancakes?" he asked as though it were the most pressing issue in the world.

"You woke me up because you can't flip pancakes?" I glared at him, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. He shrugged, clearly unfazed by my frustration. "Yeah, I tried, and—"

He ducked just in time as I flung a small dagger from under my pillow. It lodged itself into the bannister outside my room.

"Cheap shot," he smirked, "but you missed."

"Did I? Or did you just move?" I shot back, amused.
Shaking his head, Michael crossed his arms. "Your classes start today"

I groaned. "You're telling me now?"

"I thought you knew," he chuckled.

"Well, I've been a little preoccupied, Mike," I said, shooting him a sharp look with my deep blue eyes.

"What time did you get back last night?" he asked, though he probably already knew the answer.

"Three a.m.," I sighed, pulling clothes out of my closet. "She wouldn't stay still, so I had to improvise. Ended up delivering a 'package,' shot her with the silencer, and had Peter and Leon stage the body. The cleanup crew did their job."

Michael nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Good work."

"Thanks," I grinned, grabbing a sweater and shorts.

"Now about those pancakes..."

"Cereal," I interrupted, rolling my eyes as I slammed the door to change.

By the time I left for St. Junes, the sun was already casting long shadows over the elite campus. Top-tier, prestigious, and the perfect cover for someone like me. By day, I was Rose Ivory, an ordinary student studying politics. By night, I was something far more dangerous. The irony wasn't lost on me.
In the courtyard, I spotted Leon—his ombré hair making him stand out like a beacon. Annoyed, I grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed."The union," he stammered. "They sent me to watch you."

"Watch me? Why?" My grip tightened, my voice low.
"There's a threat from someone at St. Junes," he said, speaking in our coded language.

"Who?"

"We don't know yet. But we traced an encrypted message from a computer on campus."

I glanced around, suddenly feeling eyes on me.
"Anyone could've sent that," I muttered, my thoughts racing"

Leon winced as I let go, rubbing the back of his head. "Do you think they know who you are?"

I punched him in the arm, shaking my head with a smirk. "Stop asking stupid questions."

Just as I was about to head to class, a chorus of girlish squeals echoed across the courtyard. I sighed. Of course. He had arrived.

He's everywhere. That perfect, smug smile, the annoyingly sharp jawline, and that infuriating tousled hair that makes every girl on campus melt like idiots. Of course, he's the face on every damn college brochure, the golden boy everyone loves to fawn over. Six-foot-two of sheer arrogance, always with that self-satisfied grin like he's God's gift to this place.

And I can't stand him.

Why?

Because while the world kisses his feet, I'm out here doing the real work—staying sharp, staying hidden, taking lives without anyone ever knowing. I'm an assassin, not some starstruck groupie. Yet, somehow, this guy—the poster boy for mediocrity wrapped in good looks—gets all the attention. Meanwhile, I'm just trying not to roll my eyes every time his perfect face shows up.

I turn to Leon, trying not to gag as the squealing girls crowd around Kai, shoving phones in his face like he's some untouchable celebrity. He basks in it, signing autographs with that smug, perfect smile that makes my skin crawl. Oh, what I would do to kill him right now. I clench my jaw, every muscle itching to just walk away, but instead, I force my voice to stay calm, dripping with thinly veiled irritation.

"Let's go, Leon. I have a class to attend."

Leon smirks, but I'm already turning on my heel, leaving Kai to soak in his pathetic fame.