Monday, May 6

  Location: Cafeteria

  Operation: Mission: Operation Hope

  Time: 15:10

  Ohhhhhhh, buddy.

  The air in the cafeteria tightened instantly. Every pair of eyes was locked on Mari, curiosity and hope colliding in one heavy, electric silence. She clearly knew what she was doing—stretching the suspense just enough for Greg to crack first.

  “Soooo?” he hissed, finally breaking.

  Mari smirked, tapping her fingers on the table. “Remember when you decided to kill me?”

  That... was an exaggeration. A dramatic one. But knowing Mari, she meant when I’d accidentally flung her halfway across the training arena. So yeah, maybe not entirely far-fetched.

  “I knew what you meant,” I said cautiously. “But still—bit extreme, don’t you think?”

  Mari waved off my protest. “Anyway. Jamal walked past me that day—right before I saw you at that... whatever that place was. Honestly, I’m shocked they made the entrance so obvious.”

  I blinked. “Didn’t you say you didn’t see him?”

  “When?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed.

  My mouth opened, but my brain stalled. “Uh…” was all that made it out.

  Nikki sighed, drumming her nails on the table. “Probably not a big deal. Still, they don’t usually let anyone take anything from there.”

  “It’s kind of like the fire alarm,” Tisiah said, chiming in. “You can use it easily—but you really shouldn’t. Same concept.”

  “Either way,” Mari continued, “I made the connections. You were spying on Jamal because he was stealing food. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But was he?” Her eyes gleamed. “We should go check.”

  Greg frowned. “What if they already removed it?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mari said. “We still go after Jamal. That guy hates you, Connor—not because he really does, but because he’s trying to impress Malachi. You like September. Malachi likes September. And Jamal’s using that rivalry to yank both your pants down.”

  The table went silent. Like, graveyard silent.

  Greg cleared his throat. “His hatred for Connor is pretty unnatural.”

  “Not really,” I said quickly. “I might’ve... annoyed him a little.”

  Greg tilted his head. “How? By not telling Nikki he likes her?”

  “I mean…” Nikki muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, “yeah.”

  Mari ignored the awkwardness and clapped her hands once. “So, here’s the plan. We do it during the passing period. Fewer people, less attention. No one will know we were even there.”

  “I mean, there are cameras,” I started, “so they could definitely—”

  “You’re thinking too much,” Mari snapped. “Just do it.”

  And that was that.

  The flood of students washed through the halls, a living current of chatter, footsteps, and chaos. It worked in our favor—we were practically invisible as we slipped into the stairwell and made our way down.

  We arrived at the lower storage area, the supposed scene of Jamal’s “food theft.” The air was cold and thick with the smell of refrigeration. Boxes, crates, and deep freezers filled the space, arranged like an obstacle course built by someone with a vendetta against logic.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Tisiah asked, eyes darting nervously.

  “Where did he steal the pastries from?” Mari asked.

  I pointed toward the far end of the room. “That fridge—over there. The silver one.”

  Mari immediately took the lead, moving fast, determination written all over her face.

  “Go quick!” she hissed suddenly.

  Her tone wasn’t panic—it was alarm. I turned to look behind us and instantly saw why.

  Three men in security vests. The same ones who’d chased me before. Charging at full speed.

  My heart plummeted. Must’ve been the cameras. Of course. They probably heard everything over the cafeteria feed. I was already on the school’s hit list as the possible mole. This would only seal it.

  We sprinted through the maze of boxes, knocking into crates and skidding past corners. The room felt endless, the walls closing in.

  I vaulted over one box, only to trip on another and go face-first into the concrete.

  Spoiler: it did not taste good.

  By the time I looked up, one of the guards—a blond guy with scrambled hair and a wand crackling with electric current—was already on me.

  I shrieked. Reflexively. Not proudly.

  Scrambling to my feet, I barely dodged the first jab. The air hummed where his wand struck. He swung again—wildly—and I ducked under it, rolling away and sprinting deeper into the maze.

  Panic climbed my spine like static. I could hear the sounds of struggle behind me—shouts, spells crackling, boxes crashing. My friends were still fighting.

  “Where’s that fridge?” I muttered to myself, breath ragged.

  Finally, I spotted it—the farthest fridge, tall and steel-gray. I darted to it, pulling the handle and swinging it open.

  Rows of pastries. Dozens of them. Nothing strange, nothing stolen-looking, just sugary, harmless fluff.

  Sweat beaded down my forehead. My pulse drummed. I crouched, searching under the trays, behind the shelves, then beneath the fridge itself.

  Something felt off.

  My fingers brushed against something wiry.

  I froze.

  “I found—” I started, but the words died in my throat as thunderous footsteps echoed closer.

  I shoved my shoulder under the fridge, activating my Perk for strength. The metal lifted, straining against my palms.

  And then—there it was.

  A small, wired device blinking red.

  A bomb.

  “Don’t move!” the blonde guard shouted.

  I didn’t. But I yanked the thing free, holding it up anyway.

  They all stopped in their tracks. Even the guards looked stunned.

  “Oh… my… Lord…” the blond one whispered.

  Then came the beep.

  A sharp, piercing beep that swallowed the silence whole.

  This—this was what Jamal had planted? But why now? Why trigger it now?

  No time for answers. Panic erupted like a dam breaking.

  “Hand it over!” the blond guard barked, snatching the device. He pressed his radio, voice cracking with urgency. “We’ve got a live one! Repeat—possible explosive, basement level!”

  Within ten seconds, the sirens began. Red light flooded the room, pulsing from hidden corners. The alarms blared through every corridor.

  “We need a bomb squad down here now!”

  The guard’s words blurred as my eyes caught the timer: 2:00 minutes.

  Not nearly enough time to evacuate a campus this size.

  Greg turned toward me, his face pale. “Well. Must be happy now—we found something.”

  “But why did it go off when Connor pulled it out?” Tisiah asked, rubbing his arm where the guards had held him down.

  The blonde guard turned to his team. “You—take these kids outside. Far as possible.”

  But then I saw something.

  A small switch—hidden beneath the device. I pressed it instinctively.

  The beeping stopped.

  The countdown froze.

  Everyone went dead still.

  The guard blinked, dumbfounded, and inspected the “bomb.” His frown deepened. “This some kind of joke?”

  Greg snorted. “Probably just a dumb criminal. Jamal must’ve—”

  “Who’s Jamal?” the guard snapped.

  Before anyone could answer, the bomb squad stormed in—five agents in black armor, moving with surgical precision through the obstacle field. The leader, a graying man with a voice like gravel, knelt beside the device.

  He squinted, then started laughing. “What kind of sick prank is this? Who rigged a training prop to a timer?”

  The guards looked at each other, confusion morphing into embarrassment.

  The leader grabbed his radio. “False alarm. Repeat—false alarm. Stand down.”

  Tisiah exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Makes sense why it went off when Connor touched it—it was rigged to activate by movement.”

  Nikki turned sharply toward Mari. Her eyes narrowed. “So… you find the exact place, drag us down here, and suddenly there’s a fake bomb. Really?”

  Mari’s expression snapped cold. “You think I did this? Seriously?”

  “Uh—yeah,” Nikki shot back. “You sprint to our table faster than Sonic, declare a ‘mission,’ drag us here, and—voilà—a fake bomb? C’mon, Mari.”

  The bomb squad paused mid-pack-up, listening. So did the guards. The theory made too much sense not to consider.

  Mari’s jaw tightened. “Then explain why the guards didn’t catch me. You saw—they already knew we were here. If I’d planted that thing before, I’d be the first one arrested. I’d be branded the mole. And newsflash—no prank is worth that.”

  “Dang…” Greg muttered under his breath.

  The lead guard—still holding the fake bomb—let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Alright. Enough. Let’s get these kids out of here.”

  He turned to the others. “Call Lloyd.”