Eastwood High had gone quieter.
Not in sound, but in atmosphere—as if the very air held its breath. Devin Trask's suspension was official now. Rumors ran wild: sexual misconduct, harassment, leaked messages. No one said it out loud, but everyone knew.
And everyone looked over their shoulder more often now.
Even Reese.
He was still holding court at the usual bench near the courtyard, flanked by Cole and Max, but the group was thinner now. Less laughter. More tension.
Reese wore his usual smirk, but his eyes flicked to every corner like a man preparing for a war he didn't understand.
He hadn't spoken to me.
Not since Kellan vanished.
But I knew he felt it.
That chill on his neck.
That whisper in the walls.
I'm coming.
I watched them during lunch.
From a distance.
Max was the next crack. Loud. Careless. Bragging constantly, even now, like nothing had changed.
But I'd seen the way he twitched when someone brought up "that video." The way he checked his phone every few minutes. The way he snapped at a freshman who bumped into him in the hallway and then immediately apologized—too quickly.
Guilt makes people sloppy.
Max was perfect.
"Targeting him next?" a voice said behind me.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Elian Vale.
He stood next to the vending machine, a bottle of water in his hand, his uniform as crisp as his posture.
"You've been watching that table for fifteen minutes," he said. "The only people who do that are plotting, or suicidal."
"Sometimes both," I said, taking a sip from my thermos.
He studied me with the same calm curiosity he wore in the cage.
"I didn't know you fought," he said. "Not like that."
"You didn't ask."
He tilted his head, a trace of amusement on his lips.
"You're not just some angry kid, are you?"
I met his gaze. "No. I'm something else."
"I figured." He looked over at Reese. "You planning to take them all down?"
I didn't answer.
But I didn't deny it.
"Let me guess," he said, voice quiet. "One by one. Surgical. Precise."
"I don't like messes."
"No," he said, "but you don't mind blood."
He started walking away, then paused.
"I'll be watching," he said. "From the inside."
And just like that, he disappeared into the hall crowd.
From the inside.
The phrase sat with me all afternoon.
He wasn't just curious.
He knew something.
Maybe he'd been a victim once, too.
Or maybe he was still deciding whether to help or stand in my way.
I spent the last class of the day mapping Max's schedule. His routines. His tells.
He was all noise. All performance.
But performances always had stage lights—and those lights hid a lot of shadow.
That's where I lived now.
In the shadows they thought were safe.
When the bell rang, I passed by Mira at her locker.
She looked up, brow furrowed.
"You look… focused."
"I am."
"Who's next?"
I looked past her shoulder, toward Max laughing with two juniors like he still ran the place.
"Someone overdue."
That night, I didn't go to the gym.
Didn't go to the arena.
I just sat on my bedroom floor, surrounded by scraps of printed text messages, attendance records, and screenshots I'd quietly siphoned from school servers.
Max's life was a loud song.
But I had the lyrics now.
It wouldn't be long before the whole school sang along.