If daytime was dangerous, nighttime at Crimson University was pure madness.
You know, the kind where "curfew" means "kill anyone who looks suspicious" and shadows move even when there's no wind?
Yeah.
That kind of madness.
---
11:45 PM — Dormitory Corridor
I crept down the dark hallway, hoodie pulled low over my face.
Tonight was important.
Mission:
Sneak into the Restricted Archives.
Retrieve one "Top Secret" file about Mikhail.
Escape without getting murdered.
Simple, right?
Wrong.
So wrong.
The moment I turned the corner — I ran straight into a hard body.
Again.
Because apparently, the gods had cursed me to constantly smash into hot, dangerous men.
"Where do you think you're sneaking off to, Pretty Boy?"
A low voice purred into my ear.
I stiffened.
Ace.
Wearing black sweats and a lazy grin that spelled trouble.
---
I backed up a step, thinking fast.
"Bathroom," I lied.
Ace smirked.
"Bathroom's the other way."
Crap.
"Uh. Special bathroom?"
He raised a brow, clearly not buying it.
"You're a terrible liar, Sunshine."
He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek.
"Need company?"
My heart jackhammered against my ribs.
"No!" I squeaked.
"I mean— no thanks! I prefer to... poop alone!"
Ace burst out laughing.
Like loudly.
Like wake-the-dead laughing.
I slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Shhh! You'll get us caught!"
He licked my palm.
"EW!"
I jerked back, wiping my hand on my hoodie.
"You're disgusting!"
He winked.
"You like it."
I did not.
Maybe.
Shut up.
---
11:50 PM — Rooftop
Somehow, after escaping Ace, I found myself on the rooftop, scanning the campus grounds.
Moonlight bathed the scene in silver.
Somewhere out there, the Restricted Archives waited.
Waiting for me to break in.
Waiting for me to prove that I wasn't just some Pretty Boy.
I was a spy.
A professional.
Deadly.
Badass.
And completely screwed.
Because standing at the edge of the rooftop, arms folded, black coat flapping like a villain in an anime—
Mikhail.
Again.
Seriously, universe?
Give me a break.
---
His golden eyes caught the moonlight, gleaming.
"Following me, Pretty Boy?"
I snorted, trying to act cool.
"Pfft. As if. I go wherever I want."
"Hmph."
He stalked closer, boots silent on the concrete.
Each step made my brain short-circuit.
He stopped inches from me, towering, radiating danger and heat.
"You shouldn't be out this late," he said, voice low and dangerous.
"Neither should you," I retorted, crossing my arms.
Mistake.
Because that action pulled the hoodie tighter over my chest and—
Mikhail's gaze dipped.
Paused.
Lingering for a half second too long.
My blood ran cold.
Did he notice?
Did he suspect?
He reached out.
I flinched instinctively.
Instead of grabbing me, he plucked a leaf off my hoodie.
"You're careless," he murmured.
"In this world, one mistake... and you die."
I swallowed.
Hard.
"I'll be careful."
His lips quirked.
"You better be."
And with that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Leaving my heart racing and my legs jelly.
---
12:00 AM — Archive Entrance
I crouched behind a statue of a half-naked demon (because of course) and surveyed the heavily locked double doors.
Time to work.
Pulling out my lockpicking kit, I worked quickly.
Tension in the air.
Every second ticking down like a countdown to disaster.
Click.
First lock down.
Clack.
Second lock down.
CREAK.
The door swung open.
I slipped inside, heart hammering.
---
12:10 AM — Inside Archives
Rows of dusty shelves.
Files labeled with things like "Explosives Mastery," "Art of Torture," "Poison Synthesis."
My target: Mikhail Volkov.
I found it.
A slim black file, locked inside a steel drawer.
I picked it open, fingers trembling.
Inside:
Birth records (?? classified)
Mafia hierarchy charts
Psychological evaluations
And then —
A photo.
Young Mikhail.
Barefoot, bloodstained, surrounded by corpses.
Eyes cold.
Smile wide.
A chill raced down my spine.
This man…
Wasn't just dangerous.
He was a monster.
And somehow...
A part of me still didn't want to run.
What the hell was wrong with me?
---
12:20 AM — Exiting
Just as I stuffed the file into my hoodie pocket—
Footsteps.
Loud.
Heavy.
Getting closer.
Panic shot through me.
No time to hide.
I ducked behind a cabinet, holding my breath.
A figure entered.
Not Ace.
Not Mikhail.
Someone else.
I could only make out the shadow — tall, broad-shouldered, moving with silent grace.
Who was it?
Before I could process—
The figure paused.
Turned.
And for one terrifying second, I felt their gaze land directly on my hiding spot.
---
End of Chapter 6.
---