Page 67 of The Kiss Of Death
“Like yin and yang,” Yasmine mumbled, her eyes closing slowly. “If I fall asleep, leave me here. I’ll eventually wake up on my own in an hour. This floor is so comfy.”
With a soft chuckle, I settled beside her on the floor. Baron jumped on my stomach, purring, and spit out a crumpled-up Post-it on my chest. I reopened the paper of the binary counts of four beats. With binary, Levi had been able to see that the recurrence of seven in the violin score translated to 0111—which was Levi’s date of birth.
When analyzing the other numbers, I realized that the mirror date of his birthday was 1101, which was associated with the number thirteen in binary.
“The number thirteen is the mirror of seven,” I whispered. “Baron, Yasmine, you are geniuses.”
Yasmine hummed, and I embraced Baron a tad too tightly since he darted to the other end of the room. Immediately after, he engaged in a meticulous grooming session, as if cleansing himself from the dirty inferior human trying to pet him.
Like yin and yang.
I pulled the blanket off Yasmine’s bed and wrapped her under it.
The two scores had to be played together. They were linked. The two together formed a new melody.
“She created a duet.”
Now the question was, why?
“Are you ready?” Yasmine asked, mid-yawn.
I nodded firmly, standing at the base of the amphitheater where the massive screen showed the mission details. It flashed: “Master the university’s history and legacy for the golden trophy.” Four buzzers, decorated with our house crests, waited for us to begin.
“Good luck, Dalia,” Sylas said, his hand squeezing my shoulder before he settled into the front row. “We need those points.”
That was a good reminder that we were third in the House Cup competition despite Yasmine’s victory in the essay contest.
The Tactician’s contender strolled in—a petite platinum-blond woman who looked weirdly similar to me—accompanied by none other than Levi, the Tactician leader. She laughed, and he—Levi, who never smiled apart from that condescending smirk of his—genuinely smiled at her, pretending to be her knight in shining armor. I swallowed, feigning indifference. I knew the truth beneath his flawless facade.
“Don’t let him distract you,” Yasmine coached me. “We’ll be cheering you on.”
I squinted at both of them. “I’m going to win.”
The Tactician girl’s hand rested on Levi’s forearm, and he chuckled along with her, pretending he was capable of a warm human connection. But any empathy Levi displayed was icy, cold, and reminiscent of a psychopath’s.
The bell marked the start, and we entered the stage—three girls and one boy. We exchanged polite smiles, shaking hands before I adjusted my green bow tie and smoothed the lace sleeves of my white blouse, neatly tucked into the high-waisted skirt of my uniform.
Mr. Morgan appeared on stage. “Dear students, you’ll be representing your houses today. Let’s wrap this up quickly because let’s face it, no one wants to be here.”
A feeble applause rippled through the almost empty auditorium. Most students were likely engrossed in the football game on the field. Levi lounged casually in the front row, on the opposite side from Yasmine and Sylas. I clicked my loafers together.
Mr. Morgan cleared his throat. “In which year was Pantheon founded?”
I rang my buzzer. “1804, by the four official members of each house, the Hungway brothers and their sister.”
“One point for the Unifiers,” Mr. Morgan acknowledged. “Next question. What’s the oldest building in…”
“The quad,” the Tactician girl beat me to it before sharing a satisfied grin with Levi.
What was he doing here anyway? He didn’t care about these events.
“Correct. What symbols are on each pike of the towers?”
“An eagle, like the Tactician’s emblem, because they belong to the air element,” I answered quickly, remembering the book I’d studied the first day I arrived.
“Which piece was playing the night of the terrorist attack on Pantheon ten years ago?”
A chill ran through my spine while the other students scrambled to answer. The memories of that horrific night flooded back. I parted my lips, struggling to form the words. Levi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dissectinggaze sharpening on me. Blinking, I refocused and pressed the buzzer.
