The morning after the video leak, Queen's Crest was a different place. Not quieter, no, the noise simply changed pitch. The giggles turned to whispers, the stares lingered longer, and even the silence had weight.
By breakfast, the cafeteria had divided itself into invisible factions. Those who supported Adrian sat in the east wing, backs straight and brows furrowed. Those who whispered in defense of the school, or the Headmistress, sat near the fountain wall. Amara sat at neither.
She took her tea in her room. Alone.
A folded letter had been slid under her door sometime around dawn. No name, no seal. Just one line written in blocky pen:
"Come to the archives. Bring no one. Burn this note."
Amara had read it. Then reread it. Then she burned it in the small sink beside her study desk. The ashes washed away like they'd never existed.
She left five minutes later, dressed in a plain white shirt and grey trousers. Nothing to indicate power or legacy. She wasn't Amara of the Okonkwo name this morning. She was just a girl following shadows.
---
The archives were technically off-limits to students without written permission, but Amara knew the way. Past the art wing, behind the old library, through a rusted door that screamed every time it opened. The staircase spiraled into darkness. The kind that didn't care if you were royalty or rebel.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and secrets. Old files lined metal shelves, tagged with years that went back to 1965. Memos, incident reports, class registers. They were all arranged in cold silence.
Someone was already waiting.
It wasn't a teacher nor Adrian.
It was Toni's cousin. Ralene.
She wore a green hoodie and held a flashlight. Her face was pale, lips chapped, but her eyes were alive with something dangerous. Purpose.
"You came," Ralene said, voice hollow.
"I burned the note," Amara replied. "Speak."
Ralene didn't hesitate. She handed Amara a photograph. Grainy, old, black and white. Two girls in Queen's Crest uniforms standing beside a man with a jagged scar across his forehead.
Amara's fingers trembled. "This is from 2009."
"Look closer."
She did.
One of the girls wasn't smiling. She was staring directly at the camera. Her badge was upside down. The date scribbled on the back read: "October 2, 2009.
One hour before the fire."
Amara felt the chill crawl into her chest.
Ralene nodded. "My cousin found this in her mother's drawer six months before she died."
"Why show me now?"
"Because they'll come for you next, Amara. They think you're getting too close. Too brave."
Amara tucked the photo into her notebook. "I'm not brave. I'm prepared."
---
Meanwhile, Adrian sat on the edge of the school's outdoor amphitheater. A place once used for gala nights and dramatic plays. Now, it was deserted.
His phone vibrated. Again.
His father had called thirteen times.
He let it ring.
A figure approached behind him.
"You look like you're about to jump," said a voice.
Adrian turned slowly. It was Headmistress Nwachukwu.
Her posture betrayed nothing. Neither guilt nor pride.
"Is that why you came? To push me?"
"No," she said. "To ask you to stop."
Adrian laughed bitterly. "You're about twenty years late."
She sat beside him. Not close, but not far.
"What you're trying to expose… it won't change anything."
"It might change someone's future."
"And doom yours."
He looked at her now. Really looked.
"You were one of them, weren't you?"
She didn't deny it.
"I survived them. That's different."
Adrian stood. "Well, I won't just survive. I'll destroy it."
"Be careful," she whispered. "You don't want to become them."
---
By sunset, another email hit every Queen's Crest inbox.
A document titled: Project Providence.
It was seventy-nine pages long.
Coded. Redacted. But inside were enough clues to piece together a terrifying puzzle:
A program for selecting specific girls from elite schools.
Data on personality, family wealth, mental health.
Trials. Psychological testing. Emotional manipulation.
And one terrifying line in bold:
"Only the strong are allowed to lead. The rest shall obey or disappear."
Girls screamed.
Others packed.
A few fainted.
One girl, Ina, from Year 12, ran to the chapel and set fire to the statue of Saint Lysandra. The fire was put out. Ina was suspended. But the message remained.
This wasn't just a school anymore.
It was a battlefield.
And not all soldiers wore uniforms.
---
End of Chapter Nineteen.