The next morning dawned quietly, with the soft golden light of the early sun spilling over the skyline, casting long shadows across the streets of Zodiac. The sun had only just crept above the horizon, its rays painting the marble structures in hues of orange and pink. It was a peaceful beginning to the day, the calmness of the city mirroring the quiet serenity of the morning. Downtown Zodiac was slower to wake than the rest of the islands; its mornings seemed to belong to the upper class, to the wealthy and powerful, their routines unhurried and refined, the world around them moving at a pace entirely their own. There was no rush here, no urgency. The city stretched lazily beneath the rising sun, as if savoring every moment of its early hours.
Seventeen stood by the window of her temporary apartment, her gaze sweeping over the city below. She looked out at the marble streets and pristine structures, taking in the sharp angles of the towering buildings, the perfectly manicured gardens, and the quiet streets that glistened in the soft morning light. The architecture was flawless, every corner precisely designed, every surface meticulously polished. It was all so... perfect. Like a stage set, waiting for its actors to make their entrance. A place where appearances were everything, and nothing was ever truly as it seemed. She could feel the weight of the city's beauty, its façade of perfection, pressing down on her. But she also knew the cracks in the surface existed, hidden just beneath the shine, and she would find them—one way or another.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she took a sip of her tea, the warm liquid soothing against her senses. The tea was Airborne Delight, a rich specialty from Twinscott, the land of Gemini. It was a brew she couldn't help but savor every time she had the chance, even though it was an expensive indulgence. The blend of hibiscus and lemon thyme was unlike any other she had tasted, the delicate balance of flavors lifting her spirits with every sip. It was a luxury, a rarity, and one she appreciated in full. Unfortunately, it was only produced in Twinscott and found in the markets of Downtown Zodiac, which made it an expensive treat. But it was worth every coin. To her, there was no better way to start the day, no better brew to clear her mind and set her focus.
As she set the cup down on the windowsill, her eyes wandered back to the streets below, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere. The night before had been a success—though not flawless, it had been close enough. She had slipped into the group with ease, like a shadow blending into the background, planting herself among them as though she had always belonged there. She had done what she needed to do, set the stage for what was to come. But that was only the first step. Now came the waiting game. She had to bide her time, let the group settle into a false sense of security, and watch for their defenses to lower, one by one. That was the key. She wasn't in a rush. Patience was her ally.
Her mind returned to Draco, and the memory of his icy stare flashed in her thoughts. She remembered how it had lingered just a moment too long when their eyes met. His suspicion had been evident, the wariness in his gaze unmistakable. But that was exactly what she had expected. He wouldn't trust her, not yet—maybe not ever. But trust wasn't what she was after. Not yet, anyway. What she wanted, what she needed, was influence. And influence, she knew, could be cultivated in time. It didn't matter that Draco wasn't easily swayed or that he had doubts about her. She would wear him down, piece by piece. She would make him see only what she wanted him to see.
["Let him watch all he wants,"] she thought, her lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. ["I'll make sure he sees only what I want him to."] That was the game. Let him observe, let him speculate. But the reality would always be in her control. It had to be.
Seventeen's fingers lingered on the edge of her teacup as she stared out at the city, the golden light growing brighter as the sun continued its ascent into the sky. There was much to be done. The group would reveal their vulnerabilities in time, just as she would reveal hers—slowly, carefully, with precision. She was playing a long game, and she knew that every move counted. Each conversation, each interaction, each look—it was all a part of the strategy. And she was prepared to wait as long as it took to get what she wanted. She wasn't in a hurry. The city might be waking slowly, but she was already several steps ahead, her plans already set in motion.
The first move had been made. Now, all that was left was to watch them all fall into place.
※※※
Draco de Lavissaye was many things, but slow to act was most certainly not one of them. The moment Serena had left the gala the night before, his instincts had flared to life with an urgency he couldn't ignore. Something wasn't right, not at all. He could feel it in the air, in the way she'd slipped so effortlessly into their midst. It was too smooth, too easy. Her presence had been too perfectly timed, her demeanor too polished, her every move calculated and deliberate. She had made herself fit into their world as if she belonged, and Draco knew better than to let that pass by unnoticed. It was as if she had been crafted for the exact moment she'd appeared, her every action seemingly choreographed to ensure she would gain their trust. And yet, something about her didn't sit right with him. She was a puzzle, and Draco hated puzzles. They were things that had to be solved, but they never quite gave themselves away easily. This one, however, he couldn't afford to let linger unresolved.
Now, standing on the balcony of his family's villa in Whiteland, the cool morning breeze stirring his dark hair, Draco stared out over the sprawling marble city. His gaze swept across the meticulously laid streets, the pristine buildings, the statuesque gardens, all bathed in the soft golden light of the early morning sun. The city was as calm as the thoughts swirling inside his head, but his mind was anything but tranquil. His thoughts kept returning to the events of the previous night, replaying them over and over again in his head. There had been something about her, something that didn't align with everything she had presented. He watched as the others seemed to accept her without question, without hesitation, especially Claus. The young Leo had practically fallen over himself to welcome her into the fold, eager to make her a part of their circle. Draco couldn't help but sneer at the memory, the image of Claus's wide, trusting eyes standing in stark contrast to his own more cynical gaze.
["Fool,"] Draco thought bitterly, his lips curling in disdain. Claus was too trusting, too eager to see the good in everyone. It was his greatest flaw, his greatest weakness. He was too quick to believe, too quick to give his loyalty away. If he wasn't careful, that weakness would be his downfall. And Draco couldn't afford to let that happen—not now, not with everything on the line. The prophecy that had bound the six of them together was far too important, far too precarious, to allow anyone, especially someone like Serena, to slip through unnoticed. There was more to her, and he intended to find out exactly what that was.
Draco's grip tightened around the railing as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he thought over the possibilities. No one—no one—just strolled into their lives, into the tightly-knit group they had become, without a reason. It wasn't possible. They had all been chosen for this mission, bound together by a prophecy that had been set into motion long before they were born. They had been prepared for this moment, trained and molded for a singular purpose. And no outsider was going to simply waltz in and take their place. But Serena—she was different. She had managed to weave herself into their lives with such ease, and Draco couldn't help but wonder how much of that was by design. What was she really after? Why had she come? He didn't know yet, but he intended to find out. He wasn't going to let her mystery go unsolved.
The silence of the early morning was suddenly broken by a voice—one he recognized all too well.
"I don't like her," Light said from behind him, her voice cutting through the stillness of the moment. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact, and it made Draco turn slightly, even though he didn't shift his position. He already knew who it was without needing to look. Light's presence was as unmistakable as her blunt honesty. "Serena," she added, her words hanging in the air like an accusation.
Draco didn't turn to face her right away. He kept his eyes on the horizon, his gaze fixed on the marble city below, still lost in his own thoughts. "I didn't think you would," he replied coolly, his voice a little rough, the weight of his own suspicions making the words feel heavier than they should.
Light didn't wait for a response. She moved toward the railing beside him and leaned against it, her boots making a sharp sound as they hit the marble floor. Her posture was casual, but the tension in her body was evident. She wasn't one to hide her feelings, and right now, her discomfort was palpable. "She's too... something," Light said, her arms crossing in front of her as she looked out over the city, her expression tight with uncertainty. "I can't put my finger on it yet, but something's off. You feel it too."
It wasn't a question. Draco had known Light long enough to recognize the certainty in her voice. She didn't speak unless she was sure of something, and right now, her instincts were in alignment with his own. He didn't need to hear more; they were on the same page.
"She's hiding something," Draco muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper, but sharp with the intensity of his conviction. His gaze remained fixed on the city below, but his mind was far from the view. "No one that polished is ever genuine. People like her don't just walk into lives like ours without a purpose. And her purpose? I'm not sure yet, but I'll find out."
Light snorted, the sound breaking the tension in the air with a brief moment of levity. "Tell that to Claus," she said with a dry chuckle. "He's already planning her invitation to the next royal ball. Probably has a whole speech planned for her." Her voice was laced with sarcasm, a tone that betrayed her frustration with the situation. Draco could see it—Claus's infatuation with Serena, his blind trust. It was maddening.
Draco's eyes narrowed further, his jaw tightening. "Claus will do what Claus does," he said, his tone now harder, more resolved. "We need to stay focused. We don't have time to entertain whatever fantasy he's concocted. She's here for a reason. I don't know what it is yet, but I know it's not by accident. Nothing with her is accidental. And until I know what she's really after, I'm not letting my guard down."
Light leaned in closer, her voice dropping a fraction of a pitch as she spoke again. "Do you think she knows about...?" She let the words trail off, knowing that Draco would understand exactly what she meant. Did Serena know about the prophecy? About the mission that tied them all together, about the burden they carried? Did she know the stakes? Or was she completely oblivious, just another pawn in a much larger game?
"I don't know," Draco admitted, his voice uncharacteristically low, almost a growl as the words left his lips. The uncertainty was uncomfortable for him. He hated not knowing, not being in control. "But I intend to find out. And if she does know... well, then that changes things."
The silence stretched between them again, both of them lost in their own thoughts. But Draco wasn't about to let the mystery of Serena slide by. No, he was going to dig until he uncovered every secret she was keeping—and then, only then, would he decide what to do with her.
※※※
Meanwhile, Seventeen—now fully Serena—was on her way to the hospital, a place where she would continue to play her role, carefully constructed for maximum effect. The streets of the city were now alive with activity, bustling with the energy of the midday crowd. The air was thick with the sounds of chatter, the clatter of carts, the distant hum of machines, and the occasional call of street vendors selling their wares. Despite the noise and movement all around her, Serena moved through the crowd with a light, almost graceful step, effortlessly blending in with the rhythm of the city. No one spared her a second glance, and that was exactly how she wanted it. She didn't want attention, not yet. She needed to remain unnoticed, to stay in the background while she carried out her mission.
Her destination was a large white building at the heart of Downtown Zodiac, towering above the other structures around it like a pillar of cleanliness and order. It was an impressive sight—a sleek, modern structure that seemed to hum with a quiet energy of its own. The building served as both a hospital and a cutting-edge research center for those with medical gifts. It was the perfect cover for someone like her. As a skilled healer, Serena had been able to easily gain a position here, slipping in among the staff with minimal effort. After all, who wouldn't want someone with her talents? Her powers were a rare gift, and she knew how to make herself indispensable to those around her. She had woven the perfect persona—a kind, gentle woman from a distant district, eager to help, to heal, and to fit in. And no one questioned her. Not yet, anyway.
As Serena stepped inside the hospital, the familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic filled her senses, instantly grounding her in the reality of the situation. The air was crisp, cool, and clean, the fluorescent lights above casting a soft glow on the white tile floors. The steady hum of voices echoed through the hallways as nurses and doctors moved from room to room, carrying out their duties with efficiency. The sounds of quiet conversations, the rustling of papers, and the occasional beeping of machines were all part of the hospital's constant, comforting rhythm. For a moment, Serena let herself feel the weight of the place, the lives she would affect, the roles she would play, and the people she would need to deceive.
But even as she moved deeper into the hospital, her thoughts remained focused on the group from the night before. Her interactions with them had gone according to plan—she had played her role well, skillfully slipping into the position of someone who belonged, someone who could be trusted. But the true test was still ahead. The moment when she would need to truly prove herself, to find her place among them without revealing too much of herself. She had to be careful. She had to remain distant emotionally, keeping her true thoughts and intentions hidden behind the carefully constructed mask she had worn for so long. It was a delicate balance, and she couldn't afford to make a mistake. Every step, every action, every word would need to be calculated. The mission came first, above all else.
As she walked down the quiet hallway, her mind still racing through the possibilities of how to secure her place with the others, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. A nurse, clipboard in hand, stepped into view, her expression polite but slightly distracted as she glanced down at the papers in her hand.
"Miss D'Angelo," the nurse said, her voice smooth and professional, "Dr. Estelle would like to see you in her office. She's expecting you."
Serena didn't flinch or show any sign of hesitation. She had prepared for moments like this—moments where her role required her to shift gears quickly, to adapt on the fly without missing a beat. She had learned long ago how to slip seamlessly into the identity of Serena D'Angelo, the skilled and dedicated healer. Without a second thought, she smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with warmth and friendliness as she responded in a voice that was soft yet firm, filled with that same kindness she had perfected.
"Of course!" she replied cheerfully, her tone never betraying the slightest hint of discomfort. "I'll be right there. Thank you."
The nurse gave a small nod, offering a quick smile before turning back down the hall, and Serena watched her leave before turning in the opposite direction. She didn't rush, taking her time as she walked down the hallway with an air of casual confidence. She didn't need to hurry; there was no need to rush into any situation. Everything was unfolding according to plan, and she was still in control. As she walked, she allowed her mind to wander for a moment, thinking of the challenges that lay ahead. The others—especially Draco—wouldn't trust her easily. She knew that much. But she would gain their trust, little by little, just as she had done with everyone else who had ever crossed her path. It was only a matter of time. She had the patience for it. And she had the skills to make it happen.
When she finally reached Dr. Estelle's office, she paused just outside the door, taking a moment to center herself before knocking lightly. She knew that the next part of her day, the next piece of her performance, would be just as important as everything that had come before it. And she would play her part flawlessly, as always. Because in the end, no one would be able to see her for what she truly was. Not unless she allowed it. And right now, she wasn't about to let anyone see past the carefully crafted illusion she had built.
※※※
Draco had never been one for social calls. He preferred to keep to himself, moving quietly through life with a sharp eye for danger and a mind constantly analyzing every person and situation. But today, he made an exception. There was something about Serena D'Angelo—something that didn't sit right with him. After leaving Whiteland, he had decided to make his way to Downtown Zodiac, to the very hospital where Serena had claimed to work. His steps were purposeful, deliberate, his mind sharp with suspicion. He wasn't about to sit idly by while a potential threat moved unchecked in his city. The stakes were too high.
He couldn't afford to risk his safety, nor could he risk the safety of his friends. Draco had lost one of his closest friends when they were kids, a loss that had left a mark on his heart that had never fully healed. That pain was a constant companion, never far from the surface. It was a scar that would remain with him forever, a reminder of how fragile life could be, how easily someone you loved could be taken from you.
The pain of that loss still lingered deep within him, gnawing away at him, side-by-side with the recent, unbearable loss of his sister. He wasn't about to let that happen again—not to anyone he cared about. That was why he was here now, walking through the sterile halls of the hospital, his senses prickling with unease.
As he stepped into the building, the cold sterility of the place hit him almost immediately. The harsh brightness of the lights, the sharp smell of antiseptic—it all made his skin crawl. He had always hated places like this. Hospitals, clinics, any place that felt too clean, too controlled. The atmosphere was stifling, suffocating. It wasn't natural, and he didn't trust it. His presence drew a few curious glances from the staff and patients in the hall, but no one stopped him.
His family name carried enough weight to silence any questions, to make people think twice before approaching him. He was Draco de Lavissaye, and his name alone commanded respect. No one dared to ask why he was here, not with his reputation following close behind him. Even his cousin Claus, the Crowned Prince, was often overshadowed by the power and influence the de Lavissaye name carried. But in the Zodiac Kingdom, all heirs held the same weight, the same power, regardless of whether they bore the official title of Prince or Princess. Their overbearing parents had seen to that. Draco wasn't the Crowned Prince, but he was as close as one could get—his mother and Claus's mother were sisters, after all, for better or worse. And that connection, that blood tie, granted him certain privileges that others didn't have.
It didn't take long to find Serena. She was in one of the patient wards, speaking softly to an older man who appeared to be in his sixties. Draco lingered in the shadows just outside the room, his eyes trained on her every move. He was careful to keep his distance, watching her with sharp attention, trying to read her body language, trying to understand her better. From where he stood, she seemed to move with such practiced ease. Her hands were gentle as she tended to the man's wound, her touch precise, methodical. Her smile was warm, genuine, and for a brief moment, Draco almost believed it. Almost.
But then, just as quickly, she glanced up. And their eyes met.
There was no surprise in her gaze, no flicker of hesitation, no acknowledgment of the unexpectedness of the situation. It was as if she'd been expecting him all along, as if his presence had been anticipated. She merely smiled, her expression calm and collected, betraying nothing.
"Draco," she said, her voice smooth and warm, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "This is a surprise. Are you feeling alright? You don't look like the kind of man who visits hospitals often."
Her tone was light, teasing even, but Draco didn't miss the subtle flicker of something darker in her eyes. It was brief, but it was there—an unreadable emotion that made his instincts flare. ["She is good. Too good."] He could sense the careful control in her demeanor, the way she seemed to have already assessed him and his presence, the way she was testing him, trying to gauge his response. It was unsettling, and it only confirmed the suspicions that had been building in his mind.
"I'm fine," Draco replied, his voice flat, his tone cold. He didn't intend to make this easy for her. "Just thought I'd stop by."
Her smile widened, a flash of something that could almost be mistaken for relief crossing her face. But Draco noticed the slight tension in her posture, the subtle shift in her body language. She wasn't rattled, but she was wary. [Good. She should be.] He wasn't about to let her think she could manipulate him that easily.
"Well, I'm glad you did," she said, brushing a loose golden curl behind her ear, her movements graceful, fluid, almost deliberate. "I was hoping to get to know you better. We didn't have much time to talk last night."
Draco's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion running deeper in his veins. She was pushing now, trying to lure him in, trying to make him feel at ease. But he wasn't going to fall for it. He'd been around long enough to recognize when someone was playing a game, and he wasn't about to play along.
"You've been busy," he said, his voice still flat, uninterested. He wasn't giving her an inch.
Serena tilted her head slightly, her eyes studying him as though she was trying to decode something hidden in his expression. Her gaze seemed to weigh him carefully, as if considering her next move.
"I suppose I have," she said, her voice softening, almost coaxing. "But we'll have plenty of time, won't we? After all, we're all in this together now."
The way she said it, so casually, with that smile still on her face, sent a chill down Draco's spine. There was something wrong in the way she phrased it, something too knowing, too confident. It made his skin crawl, and he felt a sudden surge of distrust. She knew more than she was letting on. And he could feel it. ["She knows. She knows more than she's saying."]
Before he could respond, a nurse approached, breaking the tension. She apologized for the interruption, her voice polite but rushed.
"Miss D'Angelo, your next patient is ready," she said, stepping into the conversation with practiced ease.
Serena's smile never faltered as she nodded, acknowledging the nurse's presence without missing a beat. "Of course," she replied, her voice smooth, composed. "Duty calls."
Draco didn't move as she turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hall, a rhythmic sound that seemed to reverberate in the stillness. He watched her go, his mind racing, turning over the encounter, the subtle clues she had left behind, trying to piece together what he had just witnessed. She was dangerous. Of that, he was certain. But the question remained: what was her endgame? What was she really after?
As he left the hospital, Draco made a silent vow to himself. He would unravel Serena D'Angelo's secrets, no matter how deeply they were buried, no matter how long it took. And when he finally did, when he knew everything there was to know about her, she would wish she had never crossed into his world. He would make sure of that.
※※※
Back at the hospital, Seventeen allowed herself a brief moment of quiet reflection as she continued to care for her patient. The steady rhythm of her hands as she worked was a comfort—there was something about the calmness of healing that helped her collect her thoughts, especially when those thoughts were as dark and tangled as they had become.
Draco was watching her more closely now, she could feel it. Every subtle glance, every shift in his posture, his eyes following her every movement. He was careful, always calculating, always thinking two steps ahead. He had noticed her, and now he was trying to figure her out. She had expected that. She had known from the moment they had met that he would be a problem. But then, she thought with a small smirk, maybe that was the point.
She had to be careful. It wasn't her first mission, after all, but it was the most important one. She had faced worse scrutiny before, even more dangerous people who thought they could see right through her. She had made a career of blending into the background, of becoming the last person anyone would ever suspect of being a threat. Now, with Draco circling her like a hawk, she was reminded of the delicate balance she had to maintain. He couldn't know too much, not yet. He wasn't ready.
She focused on her patient, a man in his sixties whose arm had been scratched in a minor accident. As she gently pressed her glowing hands against the wound, she allowed her thoughts to drift. There was no rush here. She knew how to take her time. The people around her, the ones who assumed they could control everything with their suspicion and power—they didn't know the game she was playing. They didn't know how to move the pieces on the board with the same precision, with the same patience. Draco might think he was in control, but she was the one pulling the strings. She always was.
["Let him come closer,"] she thought, her fingers glowing brighter as the last of the wound healed under her touch. ["The closer he gets, the easier it'll be to pull him apart."]
The idea of pulling him apart, slowly and deliberately, was almost too appealing. She knew how to do it, how to twist a person until they no longer knew which way was up. It was a talent, one she had honed over years of playing this game with people far more dangerous than Draco. The key was to make them think they were in charge, that they were the ones holding the cards. And then, when they least expected it, you took them all away.
A smile played on her lips as she finished her work, stepping back to admire her handiwork. The wound was gone, the skin whole once more, and the man was none the wiser to the thoughts running through her head.
Seventeen wasn't in a rush. She had time, and she was nothing if not patient. She could wait for Draco to make the next move, could wait for him to try and get closer. He would. She knew that. But by then, it would be too late. The threads were already beginning to unravel, and soon enough, she would be the one holding them all, manipulating the world around her, just as she had done for so many years.
She didn't need to rush things. She knew how this story would play out, and it would be just as satisfying as all the others.