Thread 4 – The Quiet Before the Storm. [0.5. Red Thread of Fate]
On November 26, 2024 By Fang Dokja In Arc 0.5. Red Thread of Fate
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Content and Trigger Warning:
This story contains themes of intense academic pressure, manipulation, and exploitation, which may be distressing for some readers. The narrative involves a highly competitive academic environment, with a focus on intellectual superiority, and the consequences of such an atmosphere on students. The story also delves into the emotional toll of living with extreme isolation and the psychological effects of constant academic and social rejection. Additionally, there are moments of physical exhaustion, mental strain, and moments where characters display unhealthy relationships with power and authority.
Specific trigger warnings for this story include:
* Bullying and social isolation: There is a recurring theme of alienation, judgment, and verbal mistreatment of a character by their peers. This includes mockery based on appearance, health, and behavior.
* Harsh academic pressure: The narrative features high levels of academic stress, including the intense atmosphere of exams and the dehumanizing nature of some educational practices, which may be overwhelming to some readers.
* Emotional distress and neglect: A character’s indifference and detachment from the world around them are explored, potentially reflecting themes of depression or emotional numbness.
* Professorial abuse of power: The professor’s authoritarian behavior and demeaning attitude toward students create an oppressive atmosphere that may be unsettling for some readers.
* Violence and aggression: While not graphically violent, the text contains moments where characters experience severe verbal aggression and implied intimidation, especially in academic settings.
* Dark humor and cynicism: The tone contains sarcasm, cynicism, and dark humor, which may be uncomfortable for some due to the bleak portrayal of school life.
* Psychological Manipulation: There are instances of power dynamics in which characters, particularly a professor, try to exert control over students through intellectual and emotional coercion.
* Exploitation: The protagonist experiences moments of being treated as an object of intellectual property, leading to themes of exploitation.
* Emotional Isolation: The main character faces deep emotional detachment, which can be triggering for those sensitive to themes of loneliness and alienation.
* Physical Exhaustion: The main character experiences signs of extreme physical and mental fatigue, including trembling hands and slumped posture, due to the pressure of academic expectations.
* Implied Emotional and Mental Distress: There are moments where characters’ mental health is a subtle yet important part of the narrative, portraying how unaddressed academic stress can manifest in unhealthy ways.
* Verbal Abuse/Degradation: While there is no explicit foul language, there is a pervasive tone of verbal condescension and a lack of empathy that may be unsettling.
* Intellectual Superiority and Hierarchy: The story emphasizes a dynamic where one character is seen as superior to the rest, creating feelings of inferiority and resentment.
* Mental Health and Emotional Distress: The story contains themes of dissociation, emotional detachment, and a character’s apparent lack of emotional response to traumatic or stressful situations. These aspects may be unsettling for some readers.
* Manipulation and Coercion: A power dynamic between characters, with themes of manipulation, control, and subtle coercion, especially in the context of a professional relationship. The characters face situations where authority figures attempt to exert power over others.
* Mild Violence and Threats: There are references to potential physical or psychological consequences of defiance and non-compliance, as well as vague but chilling threats of punishment and control.
* Isolation and Loneliness: The character is depicted as emotionally isolated and detached from others, creating a sense of loneliness and alienation that may be triggering for some readers.
* Toxic competition and rivalry: The narrative explores the dangerous consequences of unhealthy, obsessive competition, with a focus on the darker side of personal vendettas.
* Unsettling power dynamics: The story delves into the disturbing interactions between characters where power imbalances play a significant role in the narrative.
* Manipulation of reputation: There are instances of characters spreading damaging rumors about others in order to ruin their credibility and standing.
* Toxic masculinity: Certain characters display traits of entitlement, control, and an unhealthy need for dominance over others.
* Disturbing obsession: One character’s obsession with another becomes increasingly toxic, creating an atmosphere of discomfort and menace.
* Self-Destructive Thoughts – The protagonist shows signs of struggling with self-worth and emotional control, which could be upsetting for readers sensitive to themes of self-destructive behavior or self-harm.
* Mild Swearing – There is the occasional use of foul language as characters express frustration, anger, or sarcasm.
Please proceed with caution if any of these themes may be difficult to read.
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Status: Draft #1
Last Edited: November 26, 2024
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The classroom was a tomb. No one dared breathe too loudly, shift too aggressively in their chairs, or even glance out the window for fear of catching Professor Salvatore Blacklock’s eye. The man was an apex predator, sharp-suited and colder than the cadavers some of them would one day have to dissect. His presence dominated the room like a storm cloud—silent, ominous, and ready to unleash at the first sign of rebellion.
“Good afternoon,” Professor Blacklock announced as he entered, his deep, gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and analytical, lingering just long enough on each student to make them squirm.
The groan that wanted to erupt from the class was collective and immediate, but no one dared let it out. They all knew better. A groan could mean expulsion from the lecture hall and possibly being saddled with a detention that was rumored to involve rewriting entire medical textbooks by hand.
“Another exam, Professor?” someone had dared to whisper last week. The result? That student was gone, vanished like they’d been part of a witness protection program. Rumor had it, they were spotted leaving the principal’s office with a suitcase, tear stains streaked across their face.
Professor Blacklock reached the podium, his imposing figure practically radiating authority. “As you are all painfully aware,” he began, “medicine does not wait for the weak. It does not coddle. And in this course, neither will I.”
The collective tension in the room was so thick it could have been bottled and sold as an anesthetic.
“Today’s exam,” he said, pulling out a neat stack of papers bound in stapled perfection, “will assess everything you should have learned last week. For those of you who are still too lazy to open a textbook, consider this your funeral.”
The sound of shuffling and suppressed panic filled the room.
Deon sat in her usual spot at the front, her presence quiet but not unnoticed. There was a collective spite aimed at her pale, malnourished frame, and her zoned-out demeanor wasn’t helping matters. She looked like she could barely stay alive, let alone function, but her grades—or so rumors suggested—said otherwise. It was infuriating.
“And you.” Blacklock’s sharp tone sliced through the silence, making a few students flinch. His hawk-like gaze fixed on Deon. “Miss… Deon,” he said, as though her very name left a bad taste in his mouth. “Since you only graced us with your presence a week late, I trust you understand there will be no makeup work. You start where you are, or you fail. Understood?”
Deon merely nodded, her eyes as dull and lifeless as ever, as though she were already halfway to the grave and didn’t particularly mind the journey.
Blacklock’s lip curled faintly in disdain. “Excellent.”
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When the exams were finally passed out, there was a palpable shift in the room. Everyone sat rigid, staring at the papers in front of them as though they might suddenly leap up and attack. Noah glanced at the questions, his usually calm demeanor breaking into a cold sweat.
“Okay,” Noah whispered to himself, the quiet murmur blending with the collective internal screaming of the class. “I can do this. Just breathe.”
Reine, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, giving the paper a brief glance before smirking to himself. Typical. The golden boy had no doubts he would ace it—probably while half-asleep.
But the real horror began the moment pens hit paper.
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It was as though Professor Blacklock had sat down with Satan himself to draft this monstrosity. The questions weren’t just difficult; they were cruelly intricate, designed to not only test knowledge but obliterate self-esteem.
One question read:
“In a patient presenting with symptoms A, B, and C, who has a family history of D, but no known exposure to E, outline the full diagnostic pathway, including possible ethical considerations for treatment in regions with limited medical resources.”
Oh, and it was worth three points.
Another?
“Explain the biochemical pathways of glycolysis, gluconeogenesis, and the Krebs cycle, highlighting all enzymatic reactions, including regulation and clinical relevance. Diagrams mandatory.”
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Noah was scribbling furiously, his neat handwriting deteriorating into barely legible scratches. Sweat trickled down his temple, but he pushed forward, determined. Think like Salvatore Blacklock, he told himself. What would he want? Misery? Okay, then give him misery, but well-written misery.
At the back of the room, Reine stifled a yawn. He was breezing through the questions, though the essay sections were annoying. The bonus questions? Not a chance. Why bother? He was already set to top the class anyway.
But up front, something unexpected was happening. Deon, that sickly, dead-inside ghost of a student, was… calm. Relaxed, even. Her pen moved with a steady rhythm, her answers flowing like she was completing a crossword puzzle in a waiting room. She even paused halfway through to stretch her wrists, earning side-eyes from her peers who were currently on the brink of an aneurysm.
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Professor Blacklock prowled the room like a predator, his sharp eyes scanning papers as students frantically scribbled. Occasionally, he’d stop, lean over, and let out a sharp tsk, causing the unfortunate victim to break out in cold sweats.
When he reached Deon’s desk, he lingered.
For a moment, his expression shifted—not to approval, but something close to intrigue. His sharp eyes narrowed as he scanned her answers. He flipped through the pages slowly, carefully, his brow furrowing deeper with each one. The rest of the class noticed, their anxiety skyrocketing.
Why is he staring at her exam for so long?
Finally, he stepped away, his face returning to its usual neutral scowl. The hawk resumed its rounds, landing on other desks to click his tongue in disapproval, but his unusual interest in Deon had set the room abuzz with unspoken tension.
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As the hour crawled to an end, the sound of pens slamming down and muffled groans of relief filled the room. The students slumped in their seats, utterly drained.
Deon? She stretched again, her face as blank as ever, before calmly stacking her papers and placing them on the Professor’s desk.
Noah, still trying to process how she wasn’t a trembling wreck like the rest of them, turned to Reine as they exited the room.
“Okay,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “There’s definitely something off about her.”
Reine scoffed, running a hand through his thick, curly black hair. “Off? She’s a freak. That’s what’s off. And you seriously want to waste time analyzing her? She’s not even worth it.” He smirked, flashing his signature playboy grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better things to do.”
As Reine strutted off, already surrounded by a small crowd of admiring girls, Noah lingered in the hallway, his curiosity about Deon only growing.
Behind him, the sound of Professor Blacklock’s sharp voice echoed, announcing that they’d be reviewing the exams next class.
The collective groan was internal this time. No one dared to utter it aloud.
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The clock struck the hour, and like prisoners dragging themselves to the gallows, the students shuffled to the front to turn in their exams. There was no relief in this act—only the grim realization that judgment was coming. Papers were stacked on Professor Salvatore Blacklock’s desk like offerings to a vengeful god.
Salvatore adjusted his glasses with the slow, deliberate precision of a surgeon about to make the first incision. “Sit down,” he barked, his tone sharp enough to cut steel. The students obeyed, retreating to their seats with the desperation of inmates awaiting their verdict.
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The first five minutes passed in tense silence.
Professor Blacklock, known for his near-superhuman speed in grading, tore through the first few papers like a machine. His pen scratched violently across the page, and every time it stopped to mark an error, it felt like the universe collectively winced. Students exchanged nervous glances, silently praying their papers weren’t the ones that caused him to pause, scowl, or worse—sigh.
But then… something strange happened.
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At precisely the ten-minute mark, Salvatore paused. His pen, which had been ruthlessly dissecting some poor soul’s essay, froze mid-air. He picked up another paper—stacked somewhere in the middle of the pile—and his expression shifted. Subtly.
He flipped the first page. Then the second. His movements slowed.
For the first time in ever, Professor Salvatore Blacklock looked… relaxed. His scowl softened into something that could almost, almost, be mistaken for curiosity.
The room noticed immediately.
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“Is that… normal?” whispered a girl two rows behind Reine, her voice barely audible.
“Did he—did he just smile?” hissed another. “No, that can’t be right. Maybe it’s a muscle spasm.”
Reine, lounging casually with his chair tilted back, rolled his eyes. “Please. That’s obviously my paper he’s looking at. Man’s probably trying to figure out how I keep acing his exams without trying.”
“Yeah, that’s gotta be it,” said another student. “I mean, who else could get that kind of reaction? Reine’s the only one who—”
But their words faltered when Salvatore turned the page again. His lips twitched—subtly, yes, but undeniably upward. The professor leaned back slightly, tapping the pen against his desk as though contemplating something interesting. He even muttered a low, approving “Hm.”
The class froze.
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Noah leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “That’s… definitely not Reine’s paper.”
Reine shot him a sideways glare. “Oh? And how would you know that, Dr. Freud?”
“Because,” Noah said, his tone infuriatingly calm, “he only spends that long on papers he’s actually reading. Your answers don’t need reading—they’re just right or wrong.” He smirked. “You’re the Scantron of human beings.”
Reine glared but said nothing, choosing instead to wink at a girl across the room who immediately swooned.
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By the fifteen-minute mark, Salvatore was still on the same paper.
“Okay, seriously,” someone whispered loudly, breaking the silence. “Whose paper is that? Did he forget he’s supposed to hate us?”
“Maybe it’s his own,” someone muttered bitterly. “Bet he’s grading himself for fun.”
Salvatore finally set the paper down, his movements deliberate. The room tensed as he adjusted his glasses and picked up his pen—but instead of attacking the page with his usual fervor, he made a single mark, neat and precise.
Then, he looked up. “Who is Deon?”
The air evaporated.
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Every pair of eyes shot toward the front row, where Deon sat, as silent and lifeless as ever. She didn’t react—didn’t flinch, blink, or even bother acknowledging that her name had been spoken. She continued staring blankly ahead as though the world around her didn’t exist.
“Deon.” Salvatore’s voice was sharper now, like a command.
Slowly, she raised her hand—not out of acknowledgment, but more like a reflex, as though she were a puppet on strings. Her pale, bony fingers barely moved above her desk.
Salvatore squinted at her for a long moment. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe just confusion.
“You,” he said, his tone flat. “Stay after class.”
The room collectively gasped. Some of the girls shot Deon daggers with their eyes, clearly outraged that she of all people had warranted special attention from Salvatore Blacklock.
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Reine, leaning back in his chair, let out a low whistle. “Wow,” he said, smirking at Noah. “Looks like your little freak of nature is full of surprises.”
Noah didn’t respond. He was too busy watching Deon, who remained utterly indifferent to the chaos her paper had just caused. If anything, she looked… bored.
“Unbelievable,” one girl muttered. “What did she even write? A suicide note?”
“No,” Noah murmured, almost to himself. “It’s not that. It’s…” He trailed off, his green eyes narrowing as he studied Deon’s eerily calm demeanor.
“It’s what?” Reine prompted, clearly more amused than invested.
“It’s… perfect,” Noah said, his voice quiet. “Whatever she wrote, it was perfect.”
Reine snorted. “Sure, and I’m Mother Teresa.” He leaned back, flashing another cocky grin. “Trust me, there’s no way that little corpse pulled off something I couldn’t.”
But even as he said it, a flicker of doubt crossed his features.
And for the first time in a long while, Reine Albertine felt something he didn’t often feel in academic settings: competition.
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The bell rang, marking the end of class, and the collective sigh of relief nearly shook the building. Students scrambled out of the room, clutching their bags and shattered dignity.
But not before everyone shot one last glare at Deon.
No one said anything aloud—Professor Salvatore’s withering gaze guaranteed that—but the looks were daggers, dripping with silent disdain. How dare she, the creepy freak of nature, garner even a shred of attention from him? If Salvatore Blacklock, the terror of the university, was giving her special treatment, she must’ve done something unnatural. A deal with the devil, perhaps.
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Reine, predictably, didn’t care.
“Come on, Noah. Forget the walking corpse,” he said, tossing an arm casually around Noah’s shoulder as they left the room. “Let’s grab something to eat. The ladies are probably still reeling from how effortlessly I aced that exam. Can’t keep them waiting.”
Noah cast a curious glance back at Deon, who sat motionless in her seat as the room emptied. She didn’t so much as lift her head.
“She’s not going to move?” Noah muttered.
“Who cares?” Reine shrugged, steering Noah toward the door. “You think too much. And you’re scaring me a little, honestly. Don’t tell me you’re starting to feel sorry for her.”
“Not sorry,” Noah said quietly, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Just… curious.”
Reine snorted. “Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat. Or in this case, made him sit next to a freak show and ruin his reputation. Come on.”
Noah sighed but allowed himself to be dragged away.
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The air in the classroom had settled into a tense stillness after the last student had hastily left. The buzzing chatter outside the walls was faint, barely a murmur. Professor Salvatore Blacklock didn’t waste a second. As soon as the door clicked shut, he moved swiftly—his sharp eyes darting to the blinds as he yanked them shut, locking the room in an oppressive darkness, illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp.
His gaze returned to the lone student in the room, who was sitting, as usual, eerily still at her desk. Deon. The Freak of Nature, as most of the class called her. Her unsettling presence filled the space like a cold fog.
He couldn’t say he was surprised, though. The moment he laid eyes on her paper, his mind had already begun turning over possibilities. Genius. Pure, unbridled brilliance wrapped in a package that nobody could even begin to fathom.
“Deon,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. “Be my apprentice.”
The words landed with a weight that seemed to hang in the air, and yet, they didn’t faze her. Not one bit.
Her blood-red eyes—lifeless and soulless as ever—didn’t even flicker in his direction. Instead, she continued staring ahead, her gaze distant, as if he wasn’t even there.
“No.”
The answer was soft, but it rang in his ears like a death knell. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just… no.
Salvatore didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed to anticipate it. It was… expected. Her refusal was almost a given. She had no reason to follow anyone. No reason to care about anyone.
But that didn’t mean he was ready to give up. He’d never been one to accept defeat, especially when the stakes were this high.
He placed a piece of paper and a pen in front of her with slow, deliberate movements, watching her from behind the coldness of his glasses. The silence stretched longer.
“Write,” he demanded.
Deon didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t even blink. She stared at the pen, unmoving. It was like the world had slipped away from her, and she was no longer here, in this room, with this professor. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in a place he couldn’t reach.
Salvatore sighed, a small, almost imperceptible sound. He had studied her—no, he had studied everything about her. The selective muteness, the disassociation, the way she seemed to float through life as if it was all an illusion. Her brilliance was undeniable, but there was something off about her. It was as though she was a puzzle missing key pieces.
And yet… there was something intoxicating about it.
He watched her closely, waiting for any sign of reaction. Then, for the briefest of moments, he saw it—her eyes. They flickered. Just a flash of something beneath the surface. A tiny sliver of… emotion?
For the first time, her gaze lifted from the desk, meeting his. There was something strange in the look she gave him—a childlike confusion, almost as if she were trying to understand him, or maybe trying to understand what was happening in her own mind.
Salvatore didn’t move. He let the silence stretch longer, letting her make the decision, her silence practically suffocating the space between them.
Then she looked down at the paper and began to write.
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As she wrote, he observed her carefully, almost like a scientist observing an experiment. Her handwriting was precise, but there was an oddness to it—like her thoughts were disconnected from her hand, and yet they still managed to flow onto the page in perfect order. What was it that made her so… otherworldly?
Deon wrote a few lines, her pen moving with unnerving speed. Finally, she set it down and pushed the paper toward him, still silent.
Salvatore leaned forward, picking it up with a small grunt of interest.
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I’m only here to study and work. Nothing more. I obey my professors, especially the Principal. I do what I must, but nothing else matters.
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He read the words carefully, his fingers tapping the paper thoughtfully. “Interesting,” he murmured. So cold. So distant. So very… practical.
Her reasoning made sense—to her. It was clear that everything she did had a reason, a purpose, even if it didn’t align with what the world around her expected. But he wasn’t interested in her obedience out of mere duty. He didn’t want her to just follow orders. No—he wanted her to care.
He studied her face for a moment, the stillness of her expression almost unnerving. She was like a machine, a perfect, untouched being—unspoiled.
“You’re refusing because you have no interest in being… tied down,” he said, his voice colder now. “But that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve already made a deal with your professors—all of them. Even me. And that includes me.”
Her dead gaze flickered ever so slightly as he spoke, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. He knew how this would go.
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He exhaled slowly. “Tell you what. You can cause as much trouble as you want. Get into as many fights, break as many rules as you like. I’ll protect you, Deon. No one will touch you, not as long as I’m here. But,” he added with a wry smile, “that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences for your actions. You’ll be disciplined. I will discipline you.”
She stared at him, the same empty look still in her eyes. There was a pause. Then she nodded, ever so slightly, before grabbing the pen again.
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I’ll think about it.
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Salvatore smiled. It was small. It was barely noticeable. But it was there. He had her interest now.
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“You can go now,” he said softly. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
Deon didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge him. She simply picked up her bag, stood up with her usual unnerving lack of expression, and walked toward the door. Every step she took felt like an ominous tick of a clock.
Before she left, Salvatore called after her, his voice low. “I’m not done with you, Deon. Not by a long shot.”
She didn’t reply. She didn’t even acknowledge him.
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And as she exited, the door shutting behind her with a soft click, Salvatore sat back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
She was dangerous. But so was he.
And now, he was going to make her his.
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In the hallway, Deon didn’t spare a glance at anyone. She didn’t care. The world around her was an unimportant blur, fading into the background as she made her way back to her dorm. Her mind was already elsewhere, lost in her own world.
She wasn’t sure if she was going to accept Salvatore’s offer. But one thing was certain: she would think about it. And that… was enough for now.
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The morning air was thick with tension as students gathered in the classroom, preparing for yet another merciless exam in Professor Salvatore Blacklock’s class. The heavy, stale smell of dread lingered in the room, like a prelude to the inevitable. Every student shuffled, checking their notes, whispering quietly, adjusting their pens as though it would somehow alter their fate. But none of them could escape what was coming—this was Blacklock’s class, and he’d already marked their fates before the first question was even asked.
The digital board at the front of the room flickered to life, displaying the results of the exam. There was no suspense; no one dared hope for a miracle. Everyone knew how ruthless Blacklock was when it came to grading.
But this—this—was beyond anyone’s expectations.
Rank 1: Deon Fonias
Rank 2: Reine Albertine
The room was deathly silent, the hum of disbelief spreading like a virus. It was as if the entire class had been struck dumb, their minds frozen. Some stared wide-eyed, their jaws slack in astonishment. Deon? The freak of nature who’d barely spoken a word? The scrawny girl who didn’t even seem like she wanted to exist? She’d gotten first?
There was a ripple in the room, a hushed gasp that reverberated through the students like a thunderclap. Reine’s face remained perfectly composed, but the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. His lips curled into a tight smile, the kind of smile that could melt a thousand hearts—but his gaze, his eyes, seethed with something darker. How?
It was impossible. How had she managed to top him—him, the one who’d breezed through this class for months, the one everyone had thought would stay untouchable at the top?
“Well, well, it seems I’ve misjudged my own class,” Professor Salvatore said, his voice like a blade slicing through the tense silence. “Deon Fonias has secured the first rank, with Reine Albertine trailing behind at second.”
He paused, letting the words sink in, letting the weight of them press down on everyone like a collapsing building.
“Both of them got perfect scores,” Salvatore continued, almost matter-of-factly, “But Reine didn’t answer the bonus questions. Deon, however, took the liberty of answering them all—perfectly, I might add.”
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
Salvatore’s eyes shifted to Deon, who was sitting still as ever, like she was already dead inside. “Deon,” he said, his voice colder than usual, “please come to the front and explain your answers.”
The students shifted uncomfortably, some looking away, others watching with rapt attention as Deon stood up and moved to the front. She didn’t seem to care, though. Her body was tiny, almost fragile-looking, but she moved with an eerie sort of precision, like a clockwork doll. Her face was expressionless, her blood-red eyes void of any emotion.
She made her way to the whiteboard, and as she stood before the class, there was a palpable sense of discomfort in the air. No one could understand why she had done it—why she was so perfect, so damn good at this—especially when she barely even talked to anyone.
Deon didn’t bother speaking. She simply picked up the marker and began to write. Each stroke of the pen was deliberate, each answer carefully drawn and written in perfect, precise detail. Even as she started to draw a complex biochemical pathway, her tiny hands moved effortlessly, despite the fact that she seemed so physically weak.
But then, after a few moments, Deon’s hand slowed. She paused, her face blank. She glanced at Professor Blacklock, who was watching her closely, his eyes sharp, his arms crossed in an almost amused posture.
With a barely perceptible sigh, Deon’s hand dropped, and she turned toward the professor with an expression that screamed exhaustion and frustration. Her gaze held for a second, but she didn’t say anything.
Blacklock sighed, a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Keep going, Deon,” he said coldly, his voice leaving no room for refusal. “Don’t stop.”
Deon gave a slight nod and picked the marker up again, drawing the next answer with mechanical precision, though it was clear that she was barely holding it together. Her body was weak, her eyes unfocused. She looked as though she was about to collapse.
“Answer one,” Blacklock said, turning toward the class, holding up Deon’s paper. “Explain this biochemical pathway in full detail. Now.”
The entire class turned toward the whiteboard, eyes glued to Deon as she drew. It was one of the hardest questions in the exam—a diagram of the Krebs cycle, but with multiple variations and the addition of a specific mutation to a gene that had never been tested before.
Deon’s diagram was nothing short of perfect. Every enzyme, every molecule, every step was meticulously placed, her reasoning impeccable.
She had not only answered the question correctly but had added variations and potential solutions to problems that had never even been asked. It was as if she had created an entirely new system from scratch.
“Question two,” Blacklock continued, his voice like velvet over steel. “Now explain the viral mutation response and the cellular adaptations required to avoid complete cellular breakdown. Your thoughts?”
Deon took the marker again, drawing another complex diagram—this one showcasing a cellular breakdown after the mutation, and then the adaptation mechanism. She didn’t speak a word, but her writing was immaculate. As she finished, she glanced at Blacklock once more, as if asking for permission to stop.
He nodded, though there was something dangerous in the way he did it—like a lion letting its prey catch its breath before the final blow.
“Deon, this answer,” Blacklock said, turning toward the class, “this is not something any of you will likely see again. She’s answered this question better than I have ever expected. Perfect. Flawless. We could only dream of coming up with something this groundbreaking in the field.”
The class was silent, except for the low murmur of disbelief.
Deon didn’t react. She just stood there, eyes half-lidded, the definition of a mind that was far too advanced for her small body.
“Let’s move on,” Blacklock said, and the air shifted. There was no more time for niceties. “Deon may not be a model student in your eyes, but this—this—is what brilliance looks like.”
The room remained in stunned silence as Deon, without a word, returned to her seat, her movements slow and deliberate.
Reine, on the other hand, was no longer calm. His teeth ground together in frustration. His gaze flickered back to Deon, to the girl who had bested him. He’d always been the top student. He’d always had it easy. And now… now this freak of nature had shattered that comfort.
He couldn’t let it stand.
But for now, there was nothing he could do.
And that, perhaps, was the most infuriating thing of all.
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Deon sat back in her chair, her body feeling like lead. The room buzzed with whispers, but she paid it no mind. The professor’s praise didn’t matter to her. Nothing mattered. She had answered the questions because they were simple to her. But the way the world saw her—the disdain, the mockery, the rejection—none of that changed.
The answers would never change the way people saw her.
They hated her, and she didn’t care.
It was the only truth she knew.
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The classroom was unusually quiet as the lesson proceeded. Normally, the air was thick with the sounds of pencils scribbling and students trying to decipher what Professor Salvatore Blacklock had to say. His lectures were relentless, filled with complexities and nuances that could drive anyone to madness. Yet today, there was an unusual calm—a strange lull that had settled in, especially after the shocking exam results.
It quickly became clear to everyone that today was different.
Deon, once the outcast, the “freak of nature,” now held a position of strange reverence in Blacklock’s eyes. Gone was the cold indifference from the professor that everyone had come to expect. Instead, there was a subtle gleam in his eyes whenever he looked her way. It wasn’t the kind of gleam that came from pride or admiration—no, it was more like the kind a hunter gives when he’s finally found his prey.
But the students? They were mostly relieved.
No one had been called on to answer the endless questions that Blacklock liked to fire off like a machine gun. No, today was different. It was Deon’s day. She answered every single question, all the impossible, mind-bending questions, and she did it without speaking a word.
She’d write it all down on paper, handing it over to Blacklock, who would then look at the answers with the look of a man who had just uncovered the Holy Grail. He didn’t even need to say anything. It was as if they were having a quiet, private conversation that the rest of the class wasn’t privy to.
One by one, the questions flew by, and Deon answered them like it was nothing, her tiny hands moving as if they had a mind of their own. Her body looked like it was physically drained—pale, slumped over, eyes barely open—but she never stopped. She was like an automaton that only knew how to obey. She barely even acknowledged the professor’s pleased hums when he’d glance over her answers.
It was terrifying how effortless it all seemed for her.
“Correct,” Blacklock would mutter, scanning the paper in front of him before looking at the class. “Though, I’m sure none of you could’ve come up with this… innovative response, could you?”
A few students shifted uncomfortably. Others, especially Reine, looked straight ahead, trying to pretend they were completely unaffected, but their clenched jaws betrayed them.
Deon, of course, was unmoved by the sudden shift in her status. She continued writing, not sparing a single glance to anyone around her. She was as dead inside as ever.
Blacklock, on the other hand, seemed to grow more comfortable as the minutes passed. He continued his lecture, but now, it almost felt less like a professor teaching and more like two intellectuals discussing their latest groundbreaking research.
The words on the board blurred together, but the students couldn’t help but watch the two of them interact, like a macabre performance. Deon would write a complex explanation of something, and then Blacklock would read it, nodding thoughtfully before adding his own insight.
“How do you think this new procedure could affect the treatment of neurodegenerative diseases?” Blacklock asked, his voice smooth as velvet.
Deon, without hesitation, scribbled down her response.
“It could radically improve the prognosis of patients in stage 3 of Alzheimer’s,” she wrote, without any more effort than breathing. “But further research on beta-amyloid plaques is necessary to completely eliminate memory degeneration.”
Blacklock looked at the paper, a small smile curling on his lips. He let the words hang in the air for a moment before answering, “Precisely. It would require an extensive clinical trial, but you’ve touched on something quite pertinent. Fascinating.”
The students were glued to the scene, too bewildered to do anything but watch. It wasn’t even a lecture anymore—it was more like a private session between two geniuses.
But it wasn’t just the content of the answers that had people reeling. It was the way Blacklock was treating Deon.
“Now, for the last question,” Blacklock said, turning toward the whiteboard and pulling up the next complex inquiry. “This one’s a little different. It’s theoretical.”
Deon, without missing a beat, picked up her pen again. She answered quickly, almost lazily, as though it were just another boring task. She wrote down the solution, providing a hypothesis for a novel gene-editing technique that would reduce the risk of cancer in genetically predisposed individuals. Her writing was clean, legible, but more importantly—perfect.
Blacklock glanced over the work, taking a moment longer than usual. His eyes flicked toward the students, who were still trying to understand how this tiny, dead-eyed girl was outclassing them all.
“And there it is. The key to the future of medical science,” Blacklock mused, his tone darkly satisfied. “Deon’s answer here presents a method that could, theoretically, change everything about cancer research. And not just the usual run-of-the-mill ‘we hope this works’ kind of answer. No, this—this is innovative. Revolutionary, even.”
The class sat in stunned silence. No one dared move, not even to breathe. There was an awkward pause before someone—most likely out of pure exasperation—finally whispered, “How does she know all this? She’s… new.”
A low chuckle escaped from Reine’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Who knows? Maybe she’s secretly a mad scientist or something,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t hide the scowl, though, no matter how he tried to mask it. “This is impossible. How does someone so… normal… get these answers?”
Blacklock smirked at Deon before his eyes swept over the class. “Deon, of course, has a unique perspective. You all will get used to it. After all, this is why she’s here, isn’t it?”
Deon didn’t look up. She wasn’t interested in being part of this bizarre, intellectual display. She was tired. Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote, but she didn’t stop. She was used to this by now. It was all she knew how to do.
“And now,” Blacklock continued, his tone shifting, almost darkly playful. “Deon, you have impressed me—more than any student I’ve had the pleasure of teaching. But I think I’ve made my intentions clear. You will be my apprentice. We will make something of you, something beyond this… mundane world.”
The words hung in the air, thick with implication. The class shifted uncomfortably again, the tension almost palpable. Deon’s eyes, though, were hollow. She didn’t even seem to hear him. It was all the same.
And Blacklock? He just looked at her with that gleam in his eyes—the kind of gleam that suggested he was preparing to claim her as his intellectual property. Ruthless. Cold. Calculating. But for some reason, he couldn’t hide the faintest trace of… satisfaction.
“Now,” he said, his voice turning sharp again, “Let’s move on.”
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The rest of the class proceeded with the usual dark energy, but everyone knew one thing for sure: things would never be the same. Deon was no longer just the weird outcast. No, she was something else entirely now. A prodigy. A weapon. And somehow, she had earned her place among the elite.
Whether anyone liked it or not.
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The classroom was utterly silent, save for the occasional scratch of a pen on paper, and the sound of Professor Salvatore Blacklock’s voice slicing through the air. It had been a lecture like no other—Deon answering every question with unnerving precision, the professor treating her with the strange reverence only he seemed capable of. But then came the moment that nobody, not even the most seasoned of Bona Fide Academy’s elite, could have prepared for.
Blacklock, in all his towering coldness, reached into the pocket of his immaculate coat and, to the shock of everyone in the room, pulled out a pack of assorted candies. The colors of the wrappers were bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to the stark, almost menacing atmosphere of the room.
He didn’t even look at the class. His eyes were locked on Deon, who sat motionless at the front of the room.
“Deon,” he said, his voice unusually calm, “Take a break. You’ve been working hard.” He extended the pack of candies toward her, his eyes never leaving her face, as if expecting something.
Deon blinked, her expression unchanging, like she hadn’t even registered the bizarre moment. Her hands remained still, and she stared at the candy like it was some alien object that had been offered to her.
The class was in a state of collective shock.
Did he just… offer her candy?
Professor Blacklock, the cold, calculating man who demanded perfection, who prided himself on his unflinching discipline, was now offering a student—a girl, no less—candy? And not just any candy. It was a random mix, the kind you’d buy in bulk at a convenience store, not the sort of thing you’d expect from someone who controlled every aspect of his life with ruthless precision.
Was it a test? A joke? Or was he… softening?
The murmurs were hushed, but they were there, spreading like a virus. The candy pack dangled from Blacklock’s hand, almost like it didn’t belong in his rigid grasp.
Then, to everyone’s further shock, Blacklock reached down and—for the briefest of moments—touched Deon’s head. His fingers lightly grazed her messy, disheveled snow white hair, his hand lingering there in a gesture that was surprisingly tender.
What. The. Hell.
Deon, who hadn’t so much as flinched in the face of the hardest medical exam on the planet, who had been answering questions with an eerie detachment, looked up at him with those empty eyes.
The class collectively held their breath.
No one could process what they were seeing. This was not the Salvatore Blacklock they knew. He wasn’t supposed to be gentle. He wasn’t supposed to care.
For a second, even Deon seemed to hesitate, staring at him like he had just asked her to solve the world’s most impossible equation. Then, with an effort that seemed more mechanical than natural, she reached out and took the pack from his hand. She stared at it blankly, still processing the act like it was some sort of riddle.
Was this part of the lesson? Was this another weird test they didn’t understand?
“I—” Blacklock started, but his voice softened for the first time in class. “Eat something. You’ve done enough.”
Deon didn’t respond. She didn’t speak, didn’t even acknowledge him with a nod. But she opened the pack, revealing a hodgepodge of brightly colored candy. It was almost comically out of place in the room filled with top-tier intellects and the ghosts of medical textbooks.
The class exchanged glances, their eyes wide.
This wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t some lapse in judgment. It was happening.
The silence was broken only by the sound of a candy wrapper being torn open. But still, Deon didn’t eat. She just stared at the candy in her hand like it was some unfamiliar artifact.
Blacklock, noticing the delay, sighed lightly before he casually picked up a small piece of chocolate from the pack and held it toward her. His tone remained as cold as ever, but there was an odd gentleness now.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he muttered, like it was a simple command that only a child would need to hear.
Deon, as if on cue, reluctantly accepted the piece. Her eyes flickered briefly to his face—no emotion, just that hollow stare—but she ate it. Slowly, like she wasn’t entirely sure why she was doing it.
The room fell even quieter, if possible. The students, though initially shocked by the candy exchange, now found themselves questioning everything they had assumed about their professor.
Deon… eating candy… fed by Blacklock?
“What the hell is going on here?” whispered Noah, who had been silently watching the whole exchange. He wasn’t the only one thinking it. The entire class, now tense with confusion, couldn’t figure out what they were witnessing.
Was Blacklock… softening? Was he showing affection, or was this just another calculated move, part of his twisted game? And what of Deon? She had always been an enigma—cold, mute, distant—but now she looked… normal, if only for a split second.
Deon chewed slowly, mechanically, the tiniest bit of chocolate on her tongue. Her face didn’t change. Her body was slouched, eyes half-lidded. It looked almost like she was playing the part of a child, acting out some routine she’d been taught.
But there was something undeniably vulnerable in the way she accepted the piece of chocolate. She looked like she could collapse any second.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Reine muttered under his breath, eyes still locked on the scene in front of him. The façade of his confidence was slipping, replaced by genuine confusion. He’d never seen Blacklock act so… human. It felt wrong.
For a fleeting moment, Blacklock’s icy demeanor thawed. He gave Deon a short, almost imperceptible nod of approval. “Good,” he said simply. “That’s enough for now.”
It was the most bizarre exchange anyone had ever witnessed. And yet, the professor carried on like it had never happened. He returned to the lecture as if nothing was out of place, still holding Deon’s exam paper, but there was a subtle difference. His voice lacked its usual harshness, his words softer, more deliberate, as though he were attempting to soothe some invisible wound.
Deon, meanwhile, had already turned back to her work. The candy was forgotten now, tucked aside in favor of whatever task lay ahead. She didn’t care. But in a strange way, that very indifference made the whole exchange all the more unsettling. She wasn’t just unaffected. She was empty. A puppet following the professor’s commands, doing what she had to do to survive this twisted game.
Outside the lecture hall, gossip was already circulating like wildfire. The students were shell-shocked, murmuring to each other as they left, casting sideways glances at Deon and Blacklock.
“Did you see that? What was that about?” one of them whispered to a friend.
“I can’t believe it. Blacklock… He patted her head like a—like a kid,” another student stammered, their voice full of disbelief.
“I’m telling you, something’s wrong here. That girl… she’s not like us,” someone else muttered, their voice filled with unease.
And yet, as the students trickled out, the question remained: What was the Professor up to? Was Deon’s genius simply too much for him to resist, or was there something deeper, something far darker at play?
And what, exactly, was the game he was playing with the so-called “freak of nature”?
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Reine Albertine, the star of the class, the top of the top, the one who had worked tirelessly to secure his place as the best, leaned back in his chair, his cocky grin still plastered on his face. On the outside, he was the same old Reine—charming, untouchable, a playboy who always had the upper hand. But underneath that smooth facade, something was brewing. A storm was gathering, one that would change everything.
Deon Fonias had done the unthinkable. She had stolen his number one spot. Not just by a fluke or luck, no. She had outperformed him, and that had been a bitter pill to swallow. But it wasn’t just that. It was her disrespect, her utter lack of fear, her ability to make him feel irrelevant, invisible. She had looked at him with those hollow eyes, as if he was no more than a blip on her radar. And now? Now she was the threat.
He clenched his fists under the table, his fingers curling into tight balls of tension. His perfectly coiffed hair, his tailored suit—everything about him screamed control, but inside, he felt anything but.
“You okay, Reine?” Noah’s voice was low, laced with the same disbelief the rest of the class felt. They had all seen the way Deon had answered every question with unsettling precision, the way she had made even Blacklock hesitate for a fraction of a second. It was a level of genius they couldn’t understand, and it had shaken them all to their core.
“Fine,” Reine responded smoothly, never missing a beat. His voice was calm, cool, too calm. But Noah—Noah knew him better than anyone. He could see the storm in Reine’s eyes. He could feel the weight of the tension in his friend’s every movement.
“You sure? You don’t look fine,” Noah pressed, a hint of concern in his tone. “I mean, she’s really something… right?”
Reine chuckled, but it was hollow. “You don’t get it, do you?” His smile remained, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That girl—she’s not just some freak. She’s a weapon. And I’m not going to let some freak of nature walk all over me.”
Noah raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in Reine’s tone. “You’re not thinking of—”
“Oh, I’m thinking of everything,” Reine interrupted sharply, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “You think she’s just going to get away with this? Stealing my spot? Humiliating me in front of Blacklock? I don’t care how smart she is—she’s nothing.”
He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor as he did. He didn’t care that everyone was still looking at Deon. He didn’t care about the whispers, the shock, the confusion that was still hanging in the air like a thick fog. All he could think about was her. Deon had taken everything from him, and now, it was time to make her pay.
“She’s not just a genius,” Reine muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing in a dark, dangerous glint. “She’s a freak, a freak who thinks she’s better than me. But I’m going to teach her… teach her her place.”
Noah watched, a mixture of concern and curiosity flashing across his face. “Reine, you know Blacklock’s not going to tolerate anything that gets too… out of hand. He’s been watching you.”
“I don’t care,” Reine snapped, his voice low and venomous. “I’ve dealt with Blacklock before. I can handle him. But her?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m going to break her. I’ll make her regret the day she stepped foot in this class. She’s a little lost lamb in a den of wolves… and I’m going to make sure she knows it.”
Noah swallowed, looking away. He knew the extent of Reine’s ability to manipulate and control people. But this? This felt different. Reine’s obsession with Deon had shifted into something darker, something that made his skin crawl.
He had seen Reine play his games, seen him toy with people’s emotions, but this—this felt like a vendetta. Reine wasn’t just planning to make Deon suffer for taking his place—he was planning to destroy her.
“You’ll need to be careful,” Noah warned quietly, his voice tinged with the knowledge that once Reine set his sights on something, it was already over. “She’s not like the others. You know that, right?”
Reine’s smile returned, but this time, it was cold, a twisted grin that made Noah’s stomach turn. “That’s the fun of it, Noah. The more you resist, the sweeter the victory. And I’m going to make sure Deon regrets ever crossing me.”
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The next few days were nothing more than a game in Reine’s mind, a game where every move was calculated, every moment orchestrated to bring Deon to her breaking point. He had his plan. He knew how to make her crumble.
The first move was subtle—an accident, a slip-up that no one would suspect. He planted small rumors in the hallways, whispers of how Deon had been spotted cheating during the exams. Nothing concrete, just enough for people to question her, to doubt her legitimacy. He spread the seeds of doubt, knowing that someone would eventually catch wind of it.
Next, he started using his charm to his advantage. He found out where she ate lunch, what routes she took to class. He made sure to casually cross her path every chance he got, always with a smile, always with that cocky arrogance that made his presence feel like a storm. But beneath the surface, there was something else—a quiet menace, a whisper of malice that lingered just beneath his polished exterior.
“Hey, Deon,” he’d say, his voice dripping with that smooth charm. “How’s the fame treating you? You’ve certainly become a topic of conversation lately. Bet you didn’t expect to be so popular around here.”
He’d watch her, study her reaction. Deon never flinched. She never gave him anything. It was maddening.
And that was when he realized the full extent of his hatred for her. She wasn’t afraid of him. Not like everyone else. Not like anyone else.
It made him feel powerless. And that, more than anything, was the most dangerous thing about her.
“You think you’re better than me,” he muttered to himself as he walked away from her one day, his fingers twitching with barely-contained rage. “You’re not.”
Deon Fonias had come to Bona Fide Academy, and for the first time in Reine Albertine’s life, he was faced with something he couldn’t control. But he would change that. He would make sure she knew exactly who she was messing with.
And when it was all over, when Deon had been broken and humiliated, Reine would be the one standing tall, as always. Deon might have been a genius, but she was nothing compared to him. He would remind her of that. And when it was done, she would have no choice but to bow down.
Because in Reine’s world, only one person could be at the top. And it would always be him.
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The bell had rung, signaling the start of lunch, but Reine Albertine was nowhere to be found in the usual bustling cafeteria. Instead, he sat alone atop the school rooftop, legs casually dangling over the edge, eyes narrowed as he watched the students below, each busy with their own mundane little dramas. From up here, it all seemed so far away, so beneath him.
He wasn’t usually the type to isolate himself like this, but something about today—about her—made him feel like he was suffocating, like there was a weight pressing down on his chest. He had to get away from the crowd, away from the stares, away from the whispers.
The last few days had been chaos, and he hadn’t handled it well. Deon Fonias, that freak of a girl, had turned his entire world upside down.
The mere thought of her—of the way she didn’t flinch when he tried to rile her up, of the way she answered every question like she was the reincarnation of Einstein—made his blood boil. But there was something else in the mix. Something darker. Something that Reine didn’t want to think about. But it was there. It had always been there.
As he leaned back against the railing, rubbing his temples with the heel of his hand, a familiar voice broke through the chaos in his mind.
“You know, you’ve been acting strange lately.”
Reine didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. Noah Noel, his best friend, the only person who had been by his side for the longest time. The one person who could see through his charm, his smiles, his carefully crafted mask.
“Strange? Nah,” Reine replied nonchalantly, without missing a beat, his voice smooth and as confident as ever. “I’m just having a bit of a mental break, y’know? The pressure’s been building up. It’s nothing.”
Noah, as usual, didn’t buy it. He slid into the space next to Reine, leaning against the edge of the rooftop and gazing at the sprawling campus below them. It was quiet for a moment. Too quiet.
“You’ve always been good at brushing stuff off,” Noah finally spoke, his voice low and even. “But this time, it’s different. You’ve been… different. Ever since she came here.”
Reine stiffened, his jaw tightening slightly. He shot a glance at Noah, but his gaze quickly shifted back to the students milling about below, pretending to ignore him. But Noah knew better. His friend wasn’t fooling him.
Reine’s response was quick, but his usual arrogance was tinged with something else, something darker, something he couldn’t quite hide. “What are you talking about? She’s a nobody. She doesn’t even matter. It’s all just… noise.”
Noah raised an eyebrow, not letting Reine off the hook that easily. “Noise, huh?” he said, leaning forward. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re angry. And you’re not angry about the test. Or the way she humiliated you. You’re angry about something else. Something personal.”
Reine’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, like a storm brewing behind his cool facade. He tightened his grip on the railing, and his voice became strained, but he kept it smooth, kept it cocky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s personal? She’s a freak. She’s the one who messed up everything. She’s the one who should be angry.”
Noah sighed, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re not fooling anyone, Reine. Well, maybe you are, but not me.” He leaned back again, crossing his arms. “I know you, man. You don’t get pissed off like this. Not over a freak.” He let the word hang in the air for a moment. “So, what’s it really about?”
Reine clenched his jaw harder, grinding his teeth as he stared at the ground, his thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and confusion. He hated this. He hated the way Noah could always see through him, always read him like an open book. It was too much. It made him feel weak.
“Noah,” he said, his voice hard but tinged with an edge of something that sounded dangerously close to a threat. “Don’t get too comfortable with that little theory of yours. You don’t know anything about me. You never will.”
Noah didn’t flinch. He just stared at Reine with that unwavering, calm gaze, like he could see all the way down into the core of his friend’s being. “Then why do you keep talking about her? Why does she keep popping into your head? You can’t even look at her without getting pissed off. Hell, you can’t even mention her without getting all worked up.”
Reine’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t answer right away. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, his stomach tightening with frustration. Deon. That stupid, stupid girl. She had ruined everything. She had come in here and taken what was rightfully his. And now… now she was in his head, messing with his every thought.
“I don’t care about her,” Reine said through gritted teeth, the lie slipping so easily from his lips. “She’s nothing. She’s just some… genius freak who’s trying to make a name for herself. She doesn’t matter.”
But even as he said the words, they sounded empty. Hollow.
Noah could see right through it. He could see the raw frustration flickering behind Reine’s mask of arrogance. He was used to this by now—Reine’s need to keep up appearances, to maintain control over every situation. But this? This was different. There was something more here. Something Reine wasn’t ready to admit.
“Reine…” Noah said softly, almost like a warning. “What’s the real reason? What’s personal about this?”
The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating, as if they were waiting for Reine to finally crack. He didn’t know how much longer he could pretend, how much longer he could hide behind his smooth-talking, cocky smile.
But Reine wasn’t ready. Not yet.
He stood up abruptly, brushing off the dirt from his pants as he straightened his blazer with one fluid motion. “You’re reading too much into things, Noah,” he said, his voice back to its usual confident pitch. “This is just a little blip on the radar. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve got it under control.”
He turned and walked toward the exit of the rooftop, his usual swagger in place, but Noah could see it—the subtle shake in his hands, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tight.
Noah stayed seated, watching Reine leave, his mind racing. He knew his best friend better than anyone. And right now, Reine was running from something—something deeper than just Deon. Something he wasn’t ready to face.
But Noah wasn’t going to let it go. Not this time.
He had a feeling things were going to get a whole lot messier before they got better.