Pain is. Funny thing. The body forgets most of it with time, like it's trying to protect you. But I remember the pain from that night—how it split my shoulder open, how the glass sliced my skin, how my own blood felt warm and sticky against my ribs.
But none of it compared to what came after.
The grief. The silence. The unbearable knowing.
When I woke up after the attack, Genevieve was there, watching me like I was both miracle and weapon. Her green eyes held no softness, only questions.
"How much do you remember?" she asked.
"Everything," I whispered.
She nodded slowly. "Good. Don't ever forget it."
That was the beginning.
For months, I couldn't sleep without seeing their faces. Not my parents—the murderers. I memorized every smile they wore that night, every toast, every bullet. Genevieve never pushed me to cry. She didn't want me to heal.
She wanted me to transform.
"They killed your parents for greed. But they did it because they thought no one would come for them," she said once. "They were wrong."
Training began before my shoulder even healed. Physical therapy turned into martial arts. Language lessons shifted into code breaking. Etiquette classes became sessions on deception, manipulation, seduction. Genevieve had spent her entire life perfecting the art of assassination.
Now, she was passing it to me.
And I swallowed it all like poison meant for someone else.
I was twelve when she burned my old identity.
She tossed everything into the fire: Ayla Everett's birth certificate, photos, even my stuffed rabbit. I didn't cry. Not because it didn't hurt, but because by then, I had learned that tears were currency. And weakness was expensive.
She handed me a sleek black envelope.
"Your new life," she said.
Inside was a full identity kit: school records, social security info, a passport, a backstory so deep it would take months to memorize. My new name was printed in delicate gold letters.
Ava Monroe.
"From now on," Genevieve said, "you are Ava. You are brilliant, composed, untouchable. Ava doesn't break. Ava doesn't hesitate."
"And Ayla?" I asked.
She looked at the fire. "She died the night your parents did."
I nodded. "Then let her burn."
Over the next few years, Genevieve turned me into a myth.
We moved constantly. She trained me in every major city under different names. In Prague, I learned how to disappear. In Tokyo, how to kill silently. In Russia, how to withstand interrogation. In Morocco, how to seduce and lie. She had contacts everywhere—people who owed her, feared her, or wanted me dead.
And through it all, she reminded me: the mission was sacred.
Eight people. Eight targets. All thriving. All forgotten by justice.
But I hadn't forgotten. And I never would.
At sixteen, Genevieve said the words I'd been waiting for.
"It's time."
We were in Vienna. The air was cold, and I could see my breath curl around her words.
"You're ready," she said. "Vanguard Academy has accepted your application. All eight families have children enrolled. You have the background, the skills, the perfect academic record."
I felt my chest tighten.
It was happening.
"You know the plan?"
"Infiltrate. Integrate. Eliminate."
She smiled. "That's my girl."
The next morning, we boarded a private jet. And somewhere between the clouds and the stars, Ava Monroe took her first breath.
Vanguard Academy looked like a castle.
Perched on a cliffside in Switzerland, its gothic towers and spiked iron gates screamed wealth and secrecy. The kind of place where children of billionaires, politicians, and warlords were groomed to rule the world.
I arrived in a black town car, wearing a dark green coat, a silk blouse, and polished boots. My hair was in a sleek ponytail, my eyes hidden behind round designer shades. I looked like money. I was money.
At least, they believed I was.
A woman in a blazer greeted me. "Miss Monroe?"
"Yes."
"We're so glad to welcome you to Vanguard."
I smiled politely. "The pleasure is mine."
Inside, I was buzzing.
I had memorized the list. I knew which dorms they lived in. I knew their class schedules, their hobbies, their secrets.
The children of the eight.
And soon, they'd be calling me friend.
I wasn't nervous. I wasn't scared.
I was ready.
They took everything from me.
And now, I'd return the favor.
One family at a time.
Starting with the Vales.