The first explosion wasn't loud.
That was the mistake.
It was a sharp crack of sound—metal on stone, glass shattering somewhere distant—easy to mistake for construction or careless maintenance. The campus continued breathing for several seconds afterward, unaware it had just crossed into danger.
Then the alarms began.
Not fire alarms.
Emergency alerts.
Phones vibrated simultaneously across lecture halls, libraries, cafeterias. Screens lit up with the same message, over and over:
SHELTER IN PLACE. ACTIVE THREAT REPORTED.
Anabeth was standing near the humanities building when it happened.
The sound reached her a heartbeat later—a ripple of panic, voices rising, chairs scraping. Students poured out of doors in confusion, then froze as security shutters slammed down at the building entrances.
Cassian's voice snapped into her ear.
"Move. Now."
She didn't ask questions.
She ran.
Cassian watched from the roof of the administration building, pulse steady despite the chaos unfolding below. He had known Hale wouldn't let Lucien's capture end quietly.
Hale never retaliated privately.
He retaliated symbolically.
And nothing was more symbolic than a campus—youth, future, innocence—turned into a warning.
"Multiple points of disruption," a voice reported through Cassian's earpiece. "North quad, science complex, underground parking."
Cassian swore under his breath.
Coordinated.
Not random violence—pressure points.
He spotted Anabeth weaving through the crowd, head down, moving exactly where he'd told her not to.
"Anabeth, stop," he ordered.
"I can't," she replied breathlessly. "They're closing the east exits."
"Turn left," Cassian said. "Maintenance corridor. Door marked green."
She spotted it just as a security drone whirred overhead, red light scanning the crowd.
Students screamed.
Someone fell.
Panic ignited like gasoline.
Cassian fired once—not at a person, but at the drone. Sparks burst midair, the machine spiraling down into the grass.
That was the moment everything shattered.
Armed campus security surged into view. Unmarked men moved against the flow of students—too disciplined, too coordinated.
Hale's people.
Blending.
Provoking.
"Shooter!" someone screamed.
Cassian's jaw tightened.
That word would do more damage than any weapon.
---
Inside the maintenance corridor, Anabeth pressed her back to the wall, chest heaving. The concrete hummed with distant explosions—controlled, precise. Distractions.
She heard footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Not panicked.
Her hand tightened around the small object Cassian had slipped into her pocket earlier—a panic beacon, no weapon.
She didn't need one to know this wasn't a student.
The door at the far end creaked open.
A man stepped inside, dressed as campus security, face calm.
"Miss," he said gently. "This area's restricted."
Anabeth lifted her chin. "Then why are you here?"
His smile was faint. "Because Hale likes certainty."
Her blood chilled.
Cassian heard it through the open channel—heard the shift in her breathing.
"Anabeth," he said sharply. "Do not engage."
Too late.
The man lunged.
Cassian fired through the wall.
Concrete exploded inches from the man's head, the shockwave throwing him backward. Cassian was already moving, sprinting down stairwells, heart pounding now—not with fear, but fury.
By the time he reached the corridor, Anabeth stood frozen, staring at the unconscious man on the floor.
Cassian grabbed her arm. "We're leaving."
"Where?" she demanded.
"Anywhere that isn't here."
They burst back into daylight just as another blast rocked the science complex. Smoke rose. Sirens wailed. Police vehicles screamed onto campus from every direction.
This was no longer containment.
It was spectacle.
Cassian pulled Anabeth behind a concrete barrier as gunfire cracked nearby—short bursts, controlled. Hale's men retreating already.
They never stayed.
Chaos was the message.
---
Across the city, Hale watched the news feed in silence.
"Casualties?" he asked.
"Minimal," an aide replied. "Mostly injuries."
Hale nodded. "Good. Fear spreads faster when people live."
"And Lucien?"
Hale smiled thinly. "Lucien served his purpose."
On the screen, reporters shouted over one another, words flashing:
CAMPUS UNDER ATTACK
UNKNOWN ASSAILANTS
STUDENTS IN LOCKDOWN
Hale leaned back.
"Now Rafael has to choose," he murmured. "Disappear—or declare war in daylight."
---
Cassian ushered Anabeth into an armored vehicle just outside the lockdown perimeter. She was shaking now—not with fear, but delayed shock.
"This was because of me," she said.
"No," Cassian replied firmly. "This was because Hale needed an audience."
She stared at him. "People could've died."
"Yes," he said quietly. "That's why he stopped short."
She swallowed hard. "He's proving he can reach anywhere."
Cassian nodded. "And that no one—not even campuses—are neutral ground anymore."
His phone rang.
Rafael.
Cassian answered immediately.
"It's done," Rafael said. His voice was flat. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Yes," Cassian replied.
"A campus," Rafael continued. "Children."
Cassian closed his eyes briefly. "He wanted you angry."
Rafael exhaled slowly. "He succeeded."
"What do you want me to do?" Cassian asked.
There was a pause.
Then Rafael said, "Bring her to me."
Cassian looked at Anabeth, who was staring out the window at the flashing lights, the broken calm.
"That's not safe," Cassian said.
"No," Rafael replied. "But hiding hasn't protected her either."
Cassian understood then.
The separation was over.
The illusion of distance had failed.
"I'll bring her," Cassian said.
---
Later, as the vehicle pulled away, Anabeth finally spoke.
"This isn't just about survival anymore, is it?"
Cassian glanced at her. "No."
"It's about making a statement."
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Then stop treating me like a secret."
Cassian met her gaze. "You'll be visible."
"Good," she said. "So will the truth."
Behind them, the campus burned with lights and sirens—an institution shaken, innocence fractured.
Ahead of them waited Rafael.
And somewhere in the city, Hale smiled, knowing he had turned a place of learning into a battlefield.
But he had also done something else.
He had unified his enemies.
And that mistake—
Would cost him everything.