The cafeteria felt louder than usual, but not in the chaotic, energetic way. It was the kind of loud that came from everyone talking about the same thing—voices layered over voices, whispers disguised as conversations, phones held at angles to hide screens that everyone was staring at anyway.
Mabelle sat at their usual table, phone face-down, untouched lunch tray in front of her. Across from her, Celeste scrolled through the forum thread for what had to be the tenth time, her expression unreadable. Mikey sat beside Celeste, fork frozen halfway to his mouth, staring at nothing.
Isla arrived last, sliding into the seat next to Mabelle with wide eyes.
"Have you guys—" she started.
"Yes," Mabelle said flatly.
"Everyone's seen it," Celeste added without looking up.
Mikey finally set his fork down. "This is insane. Like, actually insane."
"Which part?" Celeste asked. "The part where Kevin's been manipulating people for years, or the part where someone just nuked his entire reputation in one post?"
"Both," Mikey muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I mean—yeah, Kevin's a piece of work. We all know that. But this?" He gestured vaguely at the chaos around them. "This is scorched earth."
Mabelle's jaw tightened. She hadn't said much since the forum post went up, but her mind was racing. The timing. The thoroughness. The surgical precision of it all.
This wasn't random. This was planned.
"Do you think it's true?" Isla asked quietly. "All of it?"
Celeste finally looked up, her gaze sharp. "Marcus Chen's testimony is in there. You remember him, right? The guy who transferred sophomore year after that whole mess with Nyra?"
Isla nodded slowly.
"If Marcus is willing to put his name on it, then yeah. It's true." Celeste's voice was cold, final.
Mabelle glanced around the cafeteria. Across the room, Kevin sat at a different table—surrounded by a few lingering followers, but the energy was wrong. People kept their distance. Even his so-called friends looked uncomfortable, like they were waiting for an excuse to leave.
Kevin's face was calm, almost too calm, but Mabelle knew that look. She'd seen it before, back when he was spiraling over her and Zion. It was the look of someone holding on by a thread.
"He's going to retaliate," Mabelle said quietly.
Mikey frowned. "Against who? Whoever posted this is anonymous."
"He'll find someone to blame," Mabelle replied. "He always does."
Across the cafeteria, Kevin felt the weight of every stare, every whisper, every screen tilted just slightly away from him.
He forced himself to take a bite of his sandwich, chew slowly, swallow. Act normal. Act unbothered.
But inside, his mind was a storm.
Someone had been collecting evidence on him for months—maybe years. Someone had coordinated testimonies, verified screenshots, compiled everything into a single, devastating post.
And they'd done it while he wasn't looking.
His first instinct was Zion. It had to be Zion. Who else had the motive, the intelligence, the sheer audacity?
But Zion was suspended. Off-campus. Cut off from school resources.
Unless he wasn't working alone.
Kevin's eyes drifted across the cafeteria, scanning faces. Mabelle sat with the others, her expression closed off. Mikey looked lost, conflicted. Celeste was scrolling through her phone, probably reading the thread again. Isla seemed shaken.
And then there was Nyra.
She sat at the far end of the cafeteria, alone as always, earbuds in, notebook open. She looked completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around her.
Too unbothered.
Kevin's jaw clenched.
Nyra had been invisible for two years. A ghost. Someone people forgot existed until they needed a partner for a group project.
But ghosts saw things. Heard things.
And if anyone had a reason to come after him, it was her.
Kevin pulled out his phone, typing quickly.
Kevin: We need to talk. Library. After lunch.
He sent it to three people—his most loyal followers, the ones who hadn't flinched when the post went up.
If someone was coming for him, he'd make damn sure they regretted it.
Back at the main table, the conversation had shifted.
"Where's Lucian?" Mabelle asked, noticing his absence.
Isla hesitated. "He said he had to handle something. Didn't say what."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Convenient timing."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Isla asked defensively.
"It means," Celeste said carefully, "that Lucian shows up out of nowhere, gets close to all of us, and suddenly Kevin's entire life implodes. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"
Isla's cheeks flushed. "Lucian wouldn't—"
"We don't actually know what Lucian would or wouldn't do," Mabelle interrupted gently. "He's Zion's friend, not ours. And Zion's not exactly in a forgiving mood right now."
Mikey leaned back, exhaling slowly. "So what, we think Zion's behind this?"
"Who else?" Celeste said. "Kevin humiliated him, got him suspended, and now suddenly Kevin's the one getting destroyed? Come on."
Mabelle didn't answer. Because the truth was, she didn't know.
Part of her hoped it wasn't Zion. Hoped he was better than this—better than Kevin's tactics, better than revenge dressed up as justice.
But another part of her, the part that had watched Zion's eyes go cold in that assembly, knew better.
Zion wasn't playing defense anymore.
He was playing to win.
"I need to talk to him," Mabelle said suddenly, standing.
Mikey looked up, alarmed. "Mabelle, he's suspended. You can't just—"
"I'll figure it out," she said, already walking away.
Celeste watched her go, then turned to Mikey. "This is going to get worse before it gets better."
Mikey nodded grimly. "Yeah. I know."
That evening, Mabelle stood outside Zion's penthouse, her finger hovering over the buzzer.
She'd rehearsed what she'd say a dozen times on the way over, but now that she was here, the words felt hollow.
Finally, she pressed the button.
A moment later, Zion's voice crackled through the intercom. "Who is it?"
"It's me."
Silence.
Then: "Come up."
The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors opened, Zion was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He looked different—leaner, sharper, like he'd been carved out of stone.
"You saw the post," Mabelle said. It wasn't a question.
"Everyone saw the post," Zion replied.
"Did you do it?"
Zion's expression didn't change. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," Mabelle said firmly. "It matters to me."
Zion stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. She did, the door closing softly behind her.
They stood in his living room, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Kevin's been destroying people for years," Zion said quietly. "You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that. But nobody did anything because he was untouchable."
"So you decided to touch him?" Mabelle asked.
Zion turned to face her, his eyes dark. "I decided to stop letting him win."
Mabelle's chest tightened. "Zion, this isn't you."
"You don't know what I am anymore," Zion said, his voice colder than she'd ever heard it. "You chose to stand on the sidelines, Mabelle. You don't get to tell me how to fight."
The words hit like a slap.
Mabelle's hands curled into fists. "I'm not on the sidelines. I'm trying to keep us all from destroying each other."
"Too late," Zion said simply. "The war started the moment Kevin decided I was his enemy. I'm just finishing it."
Mabelle stared at him, searching for the boy she used to know—the one who smiled at her like she was the only person in the room, who held her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But that boy was gone.
In his place stood someone harder. Colder. More dangerous.
"I can't watch you become him," Mabelle whispered.
Zion's expression softened, just for a moment. "Then don't watch."
She turned and walked to the elevator, her heart breaking with every step.
As the doors closed, Zion stood alone in his penthouse, the city sprawling beneath him, and for the first time since this all started, he wondered if winning was worth losing everyone he cared about.
Behind him, Nyra stepped out from the hallway, phone in hand.
"She'll come around," Nyra said.
Zion didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure he wanted her to.