The air around Shiz University felt colder that day, thick with tension, as a convoy of black vans rolled through the gates. Students who were out in the courtyard stopped in their tracks, whispering, pointing. Then they saw him.

He was escorted off the van in chains, his every movement sharp, calculated, as if his body was trained to anticipate resistance. His eyes—cold, unfeeling, like a predator studying its surroundings—were trained ahead, not on the gawking students, not on the whispers and stares. No, he was above them, in his own world, completely unfazed by the spectacle he created. The black van’s doors slammed shut behind him with finality, like the closing of a cage, yet he stood there, unfazed, his posture rigid, like a weapon on display.

Glinda, standing by the courtyard’s marble fountain, felt a chill creep up her spine as she watched. The students’ murmurs grew louder, some mocking, others fearful, but none daring to speak too loudly. He didn’t belong here. He was an outsider, a weapon, and everyone in Shiz knew it.

“Hydra’s finest,” someone whispered in the crowd. “He’s here for the mission. Not to make friends.”

Glinda couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. There was something so different about him, something unsettling, yet undeniably magnetic. He didn’t flinch, didn’t glance around. He only looked forward as the Hydra officers ushered him inside, their silent presence a sharp contrast to the students’ curious, fearful stares.

Weeks passed, and he remained an enigma at Shiz University, his presence like a shadow that never truly left. He was a ghost among them. He never participated in the bustling chaos of student life. He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, and never engaged in the usual petty drama that filled the halls. But then, one evening, at a formal event—an event Glinda had no choice but to attend—he was there.

A Hydra boss stood beside him, his hand firmly gripping his arm, guiding him through the crowd with the same clinical detachment that marked everything Hydra did. “Don’t make a scene,” the officer muttered under his breath, his voice low but sharp. He didn’t respond, his gaze flicking across the room, as though nothing around him mattered.

Glinda, in her usual pastel gown with delicate embellishments, stood near the grand staircase, watching the scene unfold. She had never expected to see him here—at this kind of event. It wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t about studying. It wasn’t about plans or missions or Hydra’s orders. It was... life. Or at least, what life should be. Music floated through the air, laughter and conversation filling the space, but in the midst of it all, he was a cold anchor.

When he locked eyes with her, she froze for a brief moment. It wasn’t an inviting look. It wasn’t curiosity, or longing, or even interest. It was simply cold. He regarded her as he did everyone else: a shadow in his peripheral. Yet, for the first time, she felt an inexplicable pull.

She forced herself to look away, her heart pounding a little faster than usual.

Her friends were busy in the corner, gossiping about Elphaba, but her attention remained fixed on him. Something was different tonight. The way he stood there—unmoved, unmoving—almost like a piece of sculpture, but with the unmistakable sense of danger around him.

Her curiosity, her urge to understand him, was growing. It didn’t make sense. He was dangerous. A weapon. She had no reason to feel anything for him, let alone care. But yet... here she was, caught in the pull of his silence.