Page 16 of Creeping Lily

TITAN

I ’ve always had eyes everywhere.

In another life, maybe I would’ve been a hawk—perched high, scanning the ground below for the slightest movement. When I can’t watch, I have others who do it for me. But today, I’m on the job myself.

This isn’t about paranoia. It’s procedure.

A routine check to make sure our newest recruit is toeing the line.

In this business, you don’t wait for problems to land in your lap—you see them coming from a mile away and cut them off before they have teeth.

Recruits are our moles, our decoys. Their job is to blend in, smooth over trouble, and make sure any threat is handled before it reaches my doorstep.

Right now, my vantage point is perfect—perched on the crest of a sand dune, high enough to watch without being seen.

The hood of my sweatshirt hangs low over a black baseball cap, the brim throwing a shadow across my face.

Dark sunglasses seal the disguise, leaving only enough for people to wonder.

Those who wander too close might catch a flash of my eyes—but they’ll never recognize me.

Below, the beach hums with the kind of joy I’ll never belong to.

Four carloads of college kids have staked out a patch of sand, their laughter riding the wind, mixing with the crash of waves.

They pass around greasy pizza slices dusted with grit, splashing each other in the shallows, blissfully unaware that the world is darker than this.

To them, it’s all sunlight and noise—carefree.

I lower my glasses just enough to track them—Lily Snow and Justin Collins—breaking away from the group.

They walk side by side but not too close, like there’s an invisible fence between them.

That space hums with something electric.

You can feel it even from up here, the way their strides almost, but not quite, match.

I’ve seen this before. Earlier, Collins had been sitting in the sand, knees drawn up, hands buried in his pockets like he was trying to disappear. The chatter around him rolled on, but he wasn’t part of it. He was somewhere else entirely—until Lily arrived.

The change in him was instant. The second she stepped into his line of sight, his whole posture loosened.

He stood, swept her off her feet, spun her around like they were the only two people on the shore.

She laughed—a sound that rang clear and unforced.

The rest of the group noticed, sure, but it was obvious where her attention landed.

That wasn’t just friendship.

That was the spark that turns into a fire.

I’ve seen what happens when fire runs unchecked.

First, it’s harmless—a glance too long, a hand that lingers.

Then it becomes something heavier, hungrier.

Something that can wreck everything. If Collins isn’t careful, that pull toward her will turn into something dangerous.

And if that happens, it won’t just burn him—it’ll burn us all.

From where I’m standing, it’s obvious—he’s already leaning toward the flame.

The way his eyes follow her, the unconscious shift of his shoulders when she’s near…

he’s not immune. No ma n is. Lily’s charm isn’t loud or flashy; it’s quiet, steady—like a current under the surface.

She doesn’t even know she has it, which makes it worse.

You can’t defend against something you don’t realize you’re wielding.

And if Collins crosses the line from watchman to worshipper, I’ll be the one who has to put him back in his place.

Maybe permanently. The thought sits in my chest like a stone.

I huff out a breath, reminding myself that killing him isn’t an option.

He’s valuable now. An asset. You don’t take a swing at a man like Massery Collins’ blood without expecting the blowback.

Lily and Collins drift back toward the others, the tension between them still humming like a live wire.

I keep my distance, close enough to read every look, every micro-expression, but far enough to stay invisible.

Their faces are already burned into my mind—like every other student here.

In my office, their photos are pinned to a corkboard in neat lines, a network of who’s connected to who, who belongs, and who’s just passing through.

Every year there’s a standout—a wildcard who forces you to pay closer attention. This year, the balance feels different. Lily Snow has no idea what kind of power she carries or how many eyes are on her. That makes her dangerous in a way she doesn’t understand.

And then there’s Wendolyn.

This year’s real problem.

She’s a storm in designer clothes, rage wrapped in perfume. I’ve watched the way her gaze pins Lily—sharp, unblinking, like a predator stalking from the shadows. It’s not about Lily herself. It’s about Patrick McCordy—the boy Wendolyn wants but can’t have, because his attention belongs to Lily.

Wendolyn’s tried everything to get him to notice her. New looks, louder laughs, sharper digs at Lily when she thinks no one’s listening. None of it works. Patrick’s eyes always drift back to Lily, whether Lily wants them to or not .

Lily’s noticed the tension. She’s uncomfortable around them, but she’s not the kind to pick a fight. In her head, she’s probably figuring out ways to help Wendolyn get Patrick, blind to the fact that he’ll never look at her the same way he looks at Lily.

That’s what I respect about her—she’s not territorial. But that’s also what puts her in the crosshairs.

Because Wendolyn isn’t just jealous. She’s furious. And fury like that doesn’t stay bottled for long. It builds. It festers. Until one day, it explodes.

And when it does, it won’t be Patrick McCordy who pays the price.

It’ll be Lily Snow.