Debra's pov
The last torch died with a soft, final hiss. I didn’t move at first. The yard had gone completely dark, so cleanly that it felt deliberate. Someone had pinched the flames out one by one.
Then the voice came.
“Debra.”
My real name.
Not the one on my forged admission papers, and not the one the whole academy knew me by.The one i had buried under cut hair, bound cloth against my chest and a lowered voice.
Here, I was a boy.
A soft scrape sounded above the armoury roof. Xander caught my arm and shoved me toward the east corridor. “Run.”
I ripped free.“I’m not running.”
Of course I wasn’t. Running was never an option. It meant letting someone else decide the shape of the night and I had spent too many years refusing that.
Then the drop.
A male figure landed in the yard with almost no sound. He was masked, clothed in black, and wielded an unsheathed silver blade that caught what little light remained from the distant corridor.
Xander drew his sword.
I watched the blade slide free.
Steel. Not wood.
At the academy, every sword we carried was wooden even during combat drills. Real blades were locked at the armoury unless an instructor specifically called for them.
So why did Xander have one? And why tonight?
I studied the sword, then him. He hadn't hesitated, he hadn't even looked surprised when the masked man appeared.Which meant he had either expected trouble or he was prepared for it.
I looked at the sheath, then at the blade again.
Maybe the academy allowed exceptions,maybe they didn't, but either way, it was a detail worth remembering.
Xander moved before I did.
He met the first cut cleanly.
I stayed where I was and watched. For once, I had a chance to really watch him fight.
This was not the Xander I usually fought in the practice yard. He was normally all lazy, redirects my attacks, annoying half smiles, and deliberate teasing, always holding something back just to get under my skin. But there was none of that now.
No laziness. No playing around.
His whole body had gone sharp, every step calculated. The masked man was fast, displayed shorter movements, no wasted breath, the kind of efficiency that did not come from academy drills.
I tracked the line of his shoulders, the way he favoured a reverse grip when he pressed, the half second he left open after each high cut.
I counted it once.
Then I moved.
I didn’t reach for the practice sword. My hand went straight to my boot, the dagger came free clean.
No fumbling, no adjustment. Just clean, practised motion. I didn’t rush him head on. I cut the angle, low and fast, the way I had done when i ended fights in tighter spaces than this.
I could feel Xander's eyes on me. Apparently, he wasn't the only one hiding a skill.
The man was fast, too fast for a random killer but I was better with a short blade than he expected. Assassins always were.
I opened his forearm. Blood spilled. I went for his side next without break.
He made a sound, caught my wrist on the next pass, and wrenched hard, the dagger stayed in my grip, but the force of the throw sent me hard into the packed earth. I rolled, came up on one knee, already shifting my hold on the blade, eyes sharp and ready to go again.
Xander slammed into him before I could move.
They hit the dirt hard, rolled until Xander came up on top. His hand closed around the stranger's throat, forcing his head back.
For one second, everything went still.
Then white smoke exploded between them.
I stumbled back.
My eyes burned instantly. I covered my face, but the smoke had already swallowed everything, the ground, Xander, the stranger.
The heated sensation choked my whole face, and by the time my vision cleared, blinking through the sting, the figure was gone.
He went over the roof and vanished.
Xander pushed himself upright, blood ran down from the cut beneath one arm, staining his shirt.
He looked at me.Not with relief or even with anger.
It was something in between, like he was still deciding which one i deserved.
“Return to your dorm and lock the door,” he said. His voice was low.
The usual mockery was gone. No lazy smile or irritating little comment waiting behind his words.
“Don't open it for anyone but me until morning. Clear?”
I peeered at his face, but I didn't move immediately.
Neither did he.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other,
then i turned and walked away.
I didn't sleep.
Every time i closed my eyes, i heard my own name in that stranger's mouth.
Not debran.
It stayed with me long after i had shut the door. Michael was long asleep.
The room was split black and i lay on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling while the darkness slowly changed around me. The room was quiet, but it didn't feel empty. Every small sound from the corridor made my eyes open.
By the time the sky started to pale, i had already sorted the night into pieces.
Someone had paid for that attack, someone knew i was alive.
The stranger's movements bothered me more.
There had been opportunities. Several. He had been close enough. Fast enough.
And yet there had been no attempt to close the distance when he had the advantage. Even when he had the chance, his blade never went for anything fatal.
He hadn't come here to kill me.
He had come to see me.
Xander had moved like a man who was not surprised enough. That part sat wrong.
I lay on the thin mattress and let the earlier memory surface, because the present only made sense if i admitted how the debt had started.
