Zion couldn't get Nyra's words out of his head.
"You need to be willing to get your hands dirty."
He'd spent the rest of that day pacing his penthouse, replaying the conversation, analyzing every angle. Nyra had always been quiet, almost invisible in the social hierarchy of Goldridge. She wasn't part of the inner circle, didn't chase attention, didn't compete for validation.
But that was the thing about ghosts—they saw everything precisely because no one was looking at them.
By nightfall, Zion made his decision. He texted the number.
Zion: I'm in. But I need to know who I'm working with. Tomorrow. Same place. And this time, you tell me everything.
The response came three minutes later.
Ghost (Nyra): 10 AM. Don't be late.
The morning air was crisp, the kind that bit at exposed skin and made breath visible. Zion arrived at the basketball court early, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning for any sign of a setup.
Nyra was already there, sitting on the bleachers, legs crossed, looking oddly at peace.
"You're early," Zion said, approaching cautiously.
"I don't like surprises," she replied. "Sit."
He sat a few feet away, keeping distance. "You said you'd tell me everything. So talk."
Nyra didn't answer immediately. She stared out at the empty court, her expression distant, like she was seeing something he couldn't.
"You think Kevin's the only one who's been screwed over by this academy?" she finally said. "You think you're special because he targeted you?"
Zion frowned. "I never said—"
"Kevin destroyed me two years ago," Nyra cut him off, her voice flat but sharp. "And nobody noticed because I wasn't important enough to care about."
The weight of her words hung in the air.
Zion leaned forward slightly. "What happened?"
Nyra exhaled slowly, like she was deciding how much to reveal. Then she spoke.
"Sophomore year. I was dating someone. Marcus Chen. He wasn't flashy, wasn't rich, but he was kind. Real. We kept it quiet because I didn't want the drama, didn't want people in our business."
She paused, jaw tightening.
"Kevin found out. I don't know how—maybe someone told him, maybe he just noticed. But one day, he pulled me aside after class and said, 'You know Marcus is using you, right? He's got a bet going with his friends about how long until you sleep with him.'"
Zion's stomach twisted. "Was it true?"
"No." Nyra's voice cracked just slightly. "But Kevin made it look true. He photoshopped screenshots, faked group chats, even got one of Marcus's friends to back up the lie. By the time I confronted Marcus, half the school already thought I was some desperate girl who'd been played."
She turned to face Zion, and for the first time, he saw the rawness in her eyes—the kind of pain that didn't fade with time.
"Marcus tried to defend himself, but the damage was done. His reputation tanked. People called him a creep, a liar. He couldn't take it. He transferred schools two months later."
Zion felt his fists clench. "And Kevin?"
"Kevin got what he wanted," Nyra said bitterly. "Marcus was gone, I was humiliated, and he moved on like it never happened. Because to him, it was just a game. Another way to prove he could control people."
She looked away again. "I stayed quiet after that. Learned to blend in, to watch instead of participate. I figured if I stayed invisible, he'd leave me alone."
"But he didn't," Zion said quietly.
"No," Nyra confirmed. "Last year, he tried to set me up with one of his friends. Said it would be 'good for me' to get back out there. When I refused, he started spreading rumors that I was still hung up on Marcus, that I was pathetic."
Her voice hardened. "That's when I realized Kevin doesn't just want to win. He wants to own people. Control their narratives, their reputations, their lives. And anyone who refuses to play his game becomes a target."
Zion sat back, processing everything. He'd known Kevin was manipulative, ruthless even. But this? This was something else. This was systematic cruelty.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Zion asked.
Nyra laughed, but it was hollow. "Who would've believed me? Kevin's untouchable. Golden boy, perfect grades, charming smile. And me? I'm nobody. Just another face in the crowd."
She turned to him, eyes sharp. "But you're not nobody, Zion. You're the only person who's ever stood up to him and survived long enough to fight back. That's why I'm helping you."
Zion studied her, seeing her differently now. She wasn't just some quiet observer. She was a survivor. A strategist who'd spent two years learning Kevin's patterns, his weaknesses, his blind spots.
"So what's your endgame?" Zion asked. "You take Kevin down, and then what?"
Nyra's smile was cold. "Then I get to watch him feel what I felt. Powerless. Erased. Forgotten."
The darkness in her voice sent a chill through Zion. He understood it—God, did he understand it—but it also scared him. Because if Nyra had been carrying this rage for two years, what would she be willing to do to satisfy it?
"What do you need from me?" Zion asked.
Nyra pulled out her phone, scrolling through something before handing it to him. "Kevin's schedule for the next two weeks. Where he'll be, who he'll be with, what he's planning. I've been tracking him for months."
Zion's eyes widened as he scrolled through the detailed notes—timestamps, screenshots, even voice recordings.
"How did you—?"
"I told you," Nyra said. "Ghosts see everything."
Zion handed the phone back, his mind racing. This was more than he'd expected. More than he'd hoped for. With this kind of intel, he could dismantle Kevin piece by piece.
But it also meant trusting Nyra. Fully. Completely.
"Why now?" Zion asked. "You've had this information for months. You could've used it yourself."
Nyra stood, brushing off her jeans. "Because I'm not stupid. Taking Kevin down alone would've gotten me expelled or worse. But with you? With your platform, your reputation, your willingness to burn everything down?" She smiled. "Now we have a chance."
Zion stood as well, the weight of the alliance settling over him.
"One rule," Nyra said, her voice firm. "We don't just beat Kevin. We make sure he never comes back. No half-measures. No mercy."
Zion met her gaze, and in that moment, he saw himself reflected back—two people who'd been broken by the same enemy, now ready to do whatever it took to win.
"No mercy," Zion agreed.
Nyra extended her hand. "Then we have a deal."
Zion shook it, and the pact was sealed.
As they walked away from the court together, Zion felt the shift. This wasn't just about him and Kevin anymore. This was about something bigger—about exposing the rot beneath Goldridge's polished surface, about making sure no one else got crushed under Kevin's cruelty.
But deep down, a small voice whispered a warning: In becoming the weapon to destroy Kevin, was Zion becoming just like him?
He pushed the thought away.
There would be time for guilt later.
Right now, he had a war to win.