Pierce's office wasn't exactly how you'd picture a serious headmaster's space. Instead of boring old wood and stuffy portraits, there were colorful tapestries hanging everywhere, almost clashing with the modern furniture. A comfy leather armchair, worn soft from years of use, stood beside a fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves crammed with novels.

Pierce himself looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Usually, his blue eyes sparkled with mischief, but now they were tired, almost shadowed. His hair, normally styled casually, looked messy, like he'd run a hand through it a hundred times. His suit, usually sharp and stylish, was wrinkled, and even his tattoos peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves seemed faded.

He sat stiffly in his chair, surrounded by piles of files. He was practically drowning in paperwork, his usual playful energy replaced with a heavy frown. Even the usual smell of sandalwood incense, usually a comforting scent, felt thick and oppressive in the room.

He wasn't just reading the files; he looked like he was wrestling with them, trying to make sense of a mess that felt impossible.

Each file was a small, cold tombstone. Everleigh Rose, found dead in a puddle of crimson on the faculty parking lot three days after freshmen orientation. Laser gunshot wound. Simple.

Except… it wasn't. Nothing about the evidence made sense. Security footage mysteriously corrupted. No convincing witnesses. Just a trail leading nowhere. Even the supposed killer, Griffin Rhys, had flimsy alibis - flimsy, not impossible. This wasn't how things went at the prestigious University of New Olympus. Established in 2008, the halls had echoed for seventeen years with the laughter and ambition of some of the youngest, brightest superpowers in the New Olympus. And never, EVER, had the campus witnessed so much as a broken bone from a sparring mishap.

Pierce and the teacher's council had handpicked these teenagers, these… superhumans, expecting brilliance and responsibility. Hell, he even expected a pinch of grace with their powers, a little mindful control. Turns out, expectation and reality couldn't be any further apart.

Something about the neatness of her death, how it seemed contrived, gnawed at Pierce’s gut. Rose’s weary face, plastered on a graduation announcement, seemed to mock him from the periphery of his desk. The forced smile, a tired echo of happier times, spoke volumes. Rose had been working tirelessly, juggling her janitorial duties at the university and caring for her younger sister, Belle. Even in death, she seemed trapped, her smile a testament to the burden she carried.

"For fuck's sake," Pierce muttered, running a hand through his hair. His gaze drifted to the crime scene picture displayed on his desk. Rose's vacant eyes stared blankly ahead, forever wide and unseeing. Her head tilted back slightly, a gruesome reminder of the powerful laser blast that ended her life. Officially, it was ruled an accident, a tragic mishap. And deep down, Pierce knew it was the truth. Griffin, in his innocent, confused state, couldn’t have orchestrated this. No, Pierce knew someone else had manipulated the situation, someone who could make innocence look like guilt and use it to their advantage.

A sharp rap on his door jolted him back to reality. He jumped, flinging the file he was reading down on his desk with a dramatic clatter. He quickly attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit and gave his throat a vigorous clear, attempting to project an air of “totally in control, nothing to see here.”

"Come in!" he boomed, his voice cracking slightly, giving away the tremor of nervousness he desperately tried to hide.

The door creaked open, revealing a hesitant boy, standing awkwardly in the doorway. His gaze darted between Pierce’s watchful eyes and the faces of the two other girls hovering just behind him. The boy's usual swagger was out of commission, replaced by the awkward, shuffling gait of a ferret.

The silence stretched, thick and awkward, like chewing gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. The two girls behind the boy were basically frozen, their bodies speaking volumes about the elephant in the room.

The boy took a hesitant step forward, then another, his footfalls echoing in the sudden silence of the room. His eyes flickered nervously between Pierce and his companions, fear gnawing at his composure.

"Jesus guys, you look like you just saw the Joker walk past with two giraffes in a tutu." he said, chuckling softly.

The boy plastered on a strained smile, his brows pulled together in an attempt to appear relaxed. The two girls, on the other hand, stared at Pierce with wide, confused expressions.

"You guys… you guys know what a tutu is?" Pierce asked, his grin faltering slightly as he noticed the glassy-eyed intensity with which the three students were staring back at him.

The boy gave a short, jerky nod, his forced smile twisting into a grimace. The two remained unnervingly silent.

“It's just a stupid joke—don’t worry guys, sit down…” Pierce said, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tension.

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The three kids exchanged nervous glances before hesitantly complying, each slumping into a chair facing Pierce’s desk. The desk itself was a battlefield of paperwork, its surface littered with files and photographs. At the very center, a single crime scene photograph sat nestled amongst the chaos: a stark black and white image of Rose, her face pale and lifeless.

The photo on Pierce's desk was supposed to be cute, a cheesy snapshot of three teenagers laughing like maniacally as teenagers do. But in the wake of, well, things, it just hung there, radiating a weird, almost predatory vibe. The boy, usually the picture of jock cool, looked like he'd just learned his dog ate his homework. His shoulders slumped, his carefully-styled hair was going all floppy, and his eyes— usually lasers of focused intensity— looked like someone had replaced them with two black marbles. One of the two girls, normally the embodiment of sunshine and happiness, looked like she'd just run a marathon on her heels. The color had drained from her face, leaving behind a ghostly sheen, and her usually sparkling green eyes now seemed like they were channeling the void itself.

The other girl, of course, didn’t miss a beat. Her eyebrow remained perfectly arched, a masterpiece of nonchalance. But even she, the queen of "I don't even care", was nervously fidgeting with her skirt, fingers digging in like she was bracing herself for a rollercoaster drop. The girl who prided herself on her impeccably perfect designer wardrobe looked like she'd traded her usual tight jeans for a pair of sweatpants after whispering the N-word in church.

"Alright! Now who wants to start first?" he clapped enthusiastically, beaming at the three teens like a jolly cartoon character.

The trio exchanged awkward glances, their faces a mixture of fear and apprehension. Silence hung heavy in the air.

Pierce sighed, deflating slightly. "Alright, I'll start first then. Well, um… we haven't properly gotten acquainted yet, so why don't you—"

"Mister Pierce, if I may," the boy interjected, clearing his throat.

"Now hold on, Clay… I gave y'all a chance, you didn't say anything, so it's my turn. Alright?" Pierce chuckled, but his smile seemed strained.

The boy just stopped, his gaze dropping to his shoes as if he'd just seen a serpent slither across the floor.

"So, you're Clay Everett, huh? A Cipher, am I right? You know, you strike me as more of an Ascensus type. Not gonna lie," Pierce said, chuckling nervously. "Guess we've already got something in common, eh?"

Clay just bobbed his head vigorously, like a puppy trying to convince its owner it hadn't chewed the slippers.

"So, what's your major, Clay?"

"Aerospace engineering,"

"Whoa, hold up! Rocket ships? Spaceships? Are you trying to launch footballs into orbit?" Pierce chuckled, shaking his head. "I heard you're freaking good at football. Personally, never liked it that much, but I get the fun."

A moment of silence hung heavy in the air, thick enough to slice with a knife. Pierce cleared his throat, attempting to lighten the mood.

"To be fair, Cipher isn't exactly known for its football prowess. More of a Vectorn kinda thing, you know? Speedsters and touchdowns, perfect combo. We're more...well, let's just say we're the masterminds behind the crazy weapons, the silent shadows, the Batman-esque heroes with superhuman strength. So, gotta hand it to you, Clay. You're breaking stereotypes." He paused, a flicker of genuine amusement in his eyes. "And, honestly, I'm still amazed how..."

"Sir, with all due respect," Clay interrupted, his voice tight.

"Yeah?"

Clay hesitated, twisting his hands nervously. "Are we called here because you think we did it? Because you think we murdered Rose?"

Pierce sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Goddamn it, can't I just get to know you guys a little bit better first eh?" His gaze drifted towards the queen of "I don't even care" girl, Clara Belle, a subtle shift in energy.

"This must be rough, huh?" Pierce offered, his usual cheerfulness dimmed.

Clara Belle remained silent, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor, refusing to meet Pierce's gaze.

"I knew Rose, you know. Worked alongside her, saw her hustle. Non-Supe, yeah, but she worked twice as hard as anyone else. Real dedicated. Good soul, that woman. Must've been doing this for you, trying to protect you."

A tiny, choked sound escaped Belle's lips. "Yeah...she was..." Her voice was barely audible, barely more than a whisper.

Pierce nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "And you're..." he trailed off, searching for the right words. "...you're an Ascensus, right?"

"Our parents adopted Rose,"

"Ah, okay, makes sense,"

Pierce turned his attention to the other girl, a direct, assessing gaze settling on her.

"You," he said, his voice firm, "Lyra Haze. Noesis, right?"

Lyra swallowed, her voice catching slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Your dad's Weaver Haze? That famous magician?"

"Yes, sir,"

Pierce chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow, daughter of a celebrity? Never did I expect to see one here."

Lyra offered a small, genuine smile. "You're the headmaster of the best university in New Olympus, sir."

"Oh, come on, don't be silly," Pierce waved a dismissive hand. "I've heard you're a real humble one, and now I can see it for myself."

"Ah, I wouldn't say I'm popular, sir…" Lyra began, blushing slightly.

"There you go! Crazy, it's like looking at a young, latina version of Keanu Reeves."

Pierce's gaze shifted back to Clay, who'd been watching him expectantly, a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

"Alright, you're right, Clay," Pierce conceded, leaning forward. "I do think...you three murdered Rose."

"Lyra found the body first, sir, then she saw Griffin's eyes glowing red," Clay clarified quickly, trying to stay calm.

"Damn, you're clever, kid. Nineteen years old, and you're giving a fifty-year-old Cipher like myself a run for his money. Outsmarting the police? Cool. Trying to pull the wool over my eyes, and the Teacher's Council? Hell nah."

"We're telling the truth, sir!" Lyra exclaimed, her voice trembling slightly.

"I've heard your story from the police, Clay," Pierce countered, raising an eyebrow. "Let's just say, how the hell do you expect a guy like Griffin to even murder Rose?"

"Ask him!" Clay retorted, gesturing helplessly towards Griffin. "We don't know!"

Pierce chuckled, his gaze flickering between Lyra and Belle, who were both staring down at their shoes, fear and awkwardness etched on their faces.

Pierce leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he grabbed a file from the table. "This," he said, brandishing it like a weapon, "is your testimony about the night it happened. Let's go over it again..."

His gaze swept over the trio, settling on Clay with a weight that seemed to steal his breath. As Pierce opened the file, Clay felt a knot of doubt tighten in his stomach. The ease with which he'd fielded questions from the police evaporated, replaced by a gnawing fear that they'd made a mistake.