What did she mean by “cute?”

  Hello?!

  The word cracked in my mind like thunder, echoing again and again, impossible to ignore. “Cute.” It seemed innocent, a passing remark maybe—but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like a dagger dipped in honey. Sweet enough to confuse me, sharp enough to hurt. Did she mean it in the harmless, throwaway sense? Or did it carry weight? A hidden truth?

  Anger surged, hot and jagged, but so did fear. Fear of being left behind. Fear that I was just some background extra in her story, not the one who got to stand at her side. So I forced myself to stay quiet. Watching was easier than exploding.

  Malachi walked in.

  He moved with confidence, but it wasn’t only him. A group of his friends trailed behind, like an entourage trained to magnify his presence. His eyes flicked first to September, though the smile on his face wasn’t meant for her at all. No—his smirk was directed at me. A silent taunt. A dare.

  “What’s good,” he greeted, voice smooth, casual, but sharpened with meaning.

  September lit up instantly. She always did. Her voice was warm, friendly, unguarded. She had no idea—or maybe she did—how much this tiny exchange was costing me.

  His friends hung back, pretending to be spectators, though I caught one of them glancing downward, gaze settling in places I didn’t even want to imagine. The look was greedy, wrong, like he was inspecting treasure not meant for him.

  I swallowed hard, biting down on my tongue.

  Malachi spoke again, feigning forgetfulness. “Did you see that new… what was it, Dutch Bros? Or Starbucks?”

  “It was most likely Dutch Bros,” September said brightly. “It’s down the street. Got myself one before I came here.”

  “And you didn’t get me one?” one of his friends blurted out. His voice cracked with awkward humor, and the whole group turned to glare at him.

  He looked ridiculous—blond mop of hair, brown eyes guilty as if he’d just kicked a puppy. He fiddled with his agility belt, shrinking into himself. “In fact, I’ll catch up with y’all later, alright?” he muttered. The others nodded, murmured, then peeled away like waves retreating back into the ocean.

  Now it was just Malachi and September.

  “You said you got one?” Malachi pressed.

  September nodded, and Malachi chuckled as though she’d just confessed to some secret. Then—smooth as ever—he pulled out a red drink from behind his back. It looked like he’d produced it from thin air. He raised it to his lips and took a slow sip.

  “Wait, let me try it real quick,” September laughed, motioning toward him.

  He handed her the drink with flair, like it was a performance. She tried to waterfall it. Keyword: tried.

  The lid betrayed her. A splash of crimson liquid leapt out, a dangerous arc. September yelped, but with her lightning reflexes, she managed to avoid a catastrophe. Not a drop touched her clothes.

  She shrieked, then burst into laughter, shaking her head. She passed the drink back, cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and amusement. Malachi chuckled low, a sound meant to pull her closer, and without hesitation he draped an arm around her shoulder.

  My chest clenched.

  “Wait, wait, I need to—” she began.

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  “No, don’t worry. Nathan! Clean this up!” Malachi barked.

  One of his lackeys leapt from his seat, black hair slicked back, moving like a soldier at attention. He snatched a handful of napkins and dashed to mop up the tiny spill as though it were a crime scene.

  I blinked. What even was this? A hierarchy? Malachi the king, his friends his servants, September the prize.

  “Come with me. Just to hang out for a bit, alright?” Malachi said, his smile poised so perfectly it could’ve been sculpted.

  “Sure,” September answered softly.

  And just like that, they were gone. But before he disappeared, Malachi turned his head. His eyes locked with mine, dimming with challenge. I met the look, refusing to blink, but when he turned away, the emptiness rushed back in.

  Beside me, Tisiah’s face twisted with shock. “Wow. I see why you wanted to tell her so bad.”

  I shook my head. “That wasn’t even the reason…”

  Before I could explain, more footsteps echoed. A mocha-skinned girl appeared, curls bouncing as she walked. She wore a white spaghetti-strap top tucked into a tight black skirt, and she slid into the seat across from us with a sharp look of confusion.

  Tisiah jerked his head toward Malachi’s retreating direction. She followed the gesture, then her eyes went wide. “Did Malachi go through puberty?”

  Tisiah scoffed. “The man’s almost eighteen. What are you even saying?”

  “I don’t know. He just looks… different. Like he changed his whole style. His whole… everything. Since when did he start da—”

  “Ahem,” I cut in, forcing the words out. I couldn’t hear the end of that sentence. Not right now. Maybe I should let things play out, let Malachi chase his chance. Maybe another time would be mine. But my chest ached with the thought. Watching her drift away—it felt like being hollowed out.

  I coughed, tapped my chest as if to beat the ache away, and tried to steady my breath.

  Her eyes widened as she took us all in. “I came at the wrong time, didn’t I?”

  “No, no,” Tisiah said quickly, forcing a grin. “Maybe yes, but it’s fine now…”

  But he wasn’t fooled.

  His gaze flicked toward me, reading the grief I couldn’t hide. He clapped me on the back, voice firm. “Don’t worry, we got you. We’re going to help you out. All we need is a plan. Yes—a plan! Think of this as an event in your life.”

  “She never rejected me,” I muttered. “She just seems to…” But the rest of the words slipped away.

  And then the universe decided to intervene.

  A sudden click from the PA system silenced the entire cafeteria.

  “Hello, everyone,” a deep voice boomed. “This is your superintendent, Mr. Drails. I’m sure you’ve heard about the assembly today, correct?”

  My jaw slackened. Wait—what assembly?

  No one had told me a thing. I’d never seen this academy organize such an event. Was this going to be one of those miserable, sit-on-the-floor pep rallies, with some poor soul shouting into a microphone that barely worked?

  But here’s the strange part: nobody else looked surprised. Not at all. Faces lit with excitement. Students whispered eagerly, eyes sparkling.

  But I knew the truth—they had no idea what it was about.

  “So, being that the time has come upon us, please head to the Magnifico presently,” Mr. Drails ordered.

  The cafeteria erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. The flood of bodies surged toward the exit.

  “When was this even announced—” I began.

  “Come on, hurry up. We need the front seats,” Tisiah interrupted, already scrambling.

  I blinked. “Why?”

  They ignored me. Nikki tugged at my arm, forcing me to join the current.

  We pushed into the hallway, swept up in the crowd. The staircase split us in two, bodies surging like the parted Red Sea.

  At last, we reached the double doors of the so-called Magnifico.

  Magnifico. Who in their right mind named it that? Back at Wolfpack School, it was just “the gym.” Plain and simple.

  But when we entered, I understood.

  This wasn’t a gym. This was a theater.

  A vast space stretched out before us—velvet curtains, spotlights glowing faintly, tiered seating filling the room. It wasn’t an assembly. It was a spectacle.

  For once, I wanted the front seats. Assemblies bored me, but this felt like history about to happen. I needed the best view.

  But everyone else had the same idea. Students scrambled for the first rows like vultures on a carcass.

  “Tisiah, do you see any seats? I don’t wanna get crushed,” Nikki muttered.

  “Agreed,” I said, eyeing the chaos.

  “Calm down, I got this—oh! Over here!” Tisiah pointed.

  The third row had a few open spots, filling up fast.

  “Quick, quick, quick!” he urged.

  We shoved through, brushing past knees and elbows, until finally we collapsed into the last three chairs left. Relief came in a rush.

  And then I froze.

  Directly in front of me sat September. And beside her—close enough to touch—was Malachi.

  My stomach turned to stone.

  Malachi wasn’t just chasing. He was winning. His presence was deliberate, calculated. Ever since the Armonk mission, he had set his eyes on her, and he wasn’t wasting time.

  Me? I had nothing. No strategy, no preparation. Just a Perk that nearly ruined everything.

  What could I possibly do now?

  Before I could spiral further, the theater hushed.

  Mr. Drails stepped onto the stage.

  He wore a sharp gray suit, a black vest, and a perfectly knotted black tie. His shoes gleamed under the lights. His hair, neatly styled, glistened with authority. Every step was deliberate.

  The air in the Magnifico grew heavy, charged with anticipation.