Monday, May 6

  Location: Interrogation Room (the “nicer” one)

  Mission: I don’t even know anymore...

  Time: 16:35

  Ohhhhhh, buddy.

  If there was one thing I didn’t expect today, it was to get dragged back in for another interrogation—an hour after the fake bomb incident. You’d think after saving the school from a glorified science project, they’d give me at least a snack or something.

  But no. Thirty minutes were spent wrangling students back into the building like a herd of caffeinated sheep. Not that I was part of that chaos. We were escorted out the back—right through the loading dock, past all the food trucks still parked in formation like metal cattle.

  Then came a scenic ride back to the front of the school, where we got to witness what can only be described as a mosh pit of desperate students trying to cram through a single doorway. The sun blazed above, a brutal reminder that summer was almost here—and I was nowhere near vacation mode.

  Now I was sitting in what could only be described as a dentist’s lobby disguised as an interrogation room. Soft lighting, clean walls, and a water dispenser humming in the corner—it almost made me calm. Almost.

  I still had questions. So many questions.

  The door creaked open, and in walked Agent Lloyd White. This time, he was dressed sharper than ever: a sleek black suit, a faintly gridded gray shirt, and a solid black tie. Clean. Annoyingly clean. The kind of clean that screamed, I don’t sweat, I just judge.

  But what I hadn’t noticed the last time I was here was the window near the ceiling—a dark observation pane where I could faintly see figures. A few agents. And Principal Renner herself.

  She was up there, arms crossed, hair tied back into a tight ponytail, gray blazer, matching skirt, and an expression that could freeze lava. I didn’t need telepathy to know what she was thinking: If I could pour toilet water on you again, I would.

  But at least she wasn’t the one being accused of being a mole. So yeah—she had it easier.

  Still, this time I actually felt like my case had some legs to stand on.

  White gave me a polite nod. “Good evenin’, Connor. I must say—I’m rather surprised by your... evidence skills.”

  “Oh, well—thanks,” I said with a nervous chuckle. Not fake nervous. Genuinely proud nervous.

  “It’s too convenient.”

  The pride vanished faster than a magician’s rabbit. My shoulders slumped. Was there no winning with this guy? If I found nothing, I was suspicious. If I found something, I was too suspicious. What did he want from me? A confession and a surrender letter?

  Ugh.

  “A bomb,” he said dryly, pacing behind the chair opposite me. “I could’ve never imagined anything less creative. For a second, I thought it was a joke. Now I know it’s a joke. You found a fake bomb.”

  “Placed by someone who isn’t really creative,” I muttered.

  White narrowed his eyes, though there was the faintest curl of amusement on his lips. “Elaborate,” he said.

  I sat up straight, crossing my hands on the table like a model student. “Some time ago, I saw Jamal down near the food—uh, storage area, whatever you call it—”

  “Be professional with it,” White interrupted sharply.

  I sighed, blinking rapidly like that might fan away my frustration. “Fine. The culinary stockroom, or whatever fancy name you guys use. Jamal was down there stealing pastries. Mari caught me watching him, he noticed, and—well, things got messy. He hurt Mari a bit before escaping.”

  “I agree,” White said suddenly.

  That stopped me cold.

  “You... agree?” I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  It sounded like the kind of thing he’d say just to get me talking, but still—it was the first time anyone had agreed with me since, well, ever.

  “Anyway,” I continued, encouraged, “me and my team went back to check the same spot today. That’s when security found us—and that’s when I found the fake bomb.”

  “But the bomb’s fake,” White repeated.

  “Or was it?” I countered, leaning forward. “Think about it—Jamal’s not exactly the brightest tool in the shed. Maybe he planted it as leverage. Something to pretend he was in on a bigger mission. He’s taking Tactical Bomb Diffusion, so he probably doesn’t even know how to build a real one. That’s why there was a switch—his failsafe.”

  White studied me for a long moment. “Why Jamal, though? Is he also at the bottom of the ranking list?”

  I didn’t answer right away. My mind flickered through memories of every awful encounter I’d had with Jamal—every threat, every shove, every sneer.

  “He’s been after me for months,” I said finally. “First he threatened me to tell someone he liked them. Then he tried to attack me outside of school. Then he started the rumor that I was the mole. It’s personal, sure—but it’s also calculated.”

  White nodded slowly. “You did swing a mallet at Mari when she caught you down there, so that one’s on you. But the rest…” He tilted his head. “...seems valid.”

  Wait. Was he—was he agreeing with me? Again?

  He leaned back in his chair. “We questioned your other teammates. They said similar things about Jamal. Even your friend Tisiah mentioned that you both joined Mage Football to boost your standings. Smart move.” He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Here’s what you’re going to do: find him in the act. Get real evidence. Right now, it’s speculation. But if we can catch him red-handed, we’ll make our move.”

  I didn’t even know how to respond. Relief and disbelief wrestled inside me. For the first time, it felt like the storm was passing.

  Until he added:

  “We still have our suspicions about you. So don’t think you’re off the hook yet.”

  And just like that, the sunshine died.

  I sighed heavily, rubbing my eyes. Still, it was progress. If Jamal was the mole, I’d take him down myself. If he wasn’t… well, I’d just end up on another interrogation couch anyway.

  “Why are you lying?”

  “I’m not.”

  “So he wouldn’t take Maddie, but he’d take Jamal?”

  “What makes Jamal less suspicious than Maddie?”

  “It doesn’t,” Nikki said firmly.

  We were gathered outside the school now, the late afternoon light stretching long shadows across the courtyard. The final bell had rung, and portals were opening in the air one by one, each shimmering with blue energy—each a doorway home.

  Time was running out before we’d be separated for the day.

  “Maddie ran from us,” Tisiah said. “Elf ran too. And they didn’t even know why we were after them.”

  Mari crossed her arms. “They’re Jamal’s goons, and Jamal’s the one who’s been giving Connor the most trouble. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.”

  Greg adjusted his glasses, his tone firmer than usual. “We’re talking about Malachi’s case, not Connor’s. Jamal, Maddie, and Elf haven’t done anything to Malachi. Which means it might not be them at all.”

  Mari scoffed. “We’re literally the ones running the case. Of course we’re the ones they’d target! Is it not obvious Jamal’s trying to make Connor look like the mole? He’s framing the team that’s close to the truth.”

  I rubbed my chin, thinking. “We just need to catch him in the act. Something concrete. That means spying on him—without any of us being seen.”

  “Understandable,” Nikki said, swaying her head side to side. “So… how?”

  The silence that followed was loud enough to make my eardrums ache. Around us, students laughed and chattered, waiting for their portal calls—but within our circle, it was dead quiet.

  “Tracker?” Nikki suggested.

  “Too obvious,” Mari shot down.

  “Cameras?” I offered.

  “About as useful as a cake in a diet,” Tisiah said flatly.

  “Malachi?” Greg suddenly said.

  “What about me?”

  We turned to find Malachi leaning casually against the doorframe of the school like he’d just stepped out of a 2000s teen movie. Sunlight glinted off his shades—yes, he was wearing shades—and his grin was pure confidence.

  “No one’s looking at Malachi,” Nikki said quietly, though not unkindly.

  Malachi pushed off the wall and sauntered toward us, his smile widening. He clapped me so hard on the back I swear my spine temporarily dislodged.

  “My man, Connor,” he said. “Thanks to this guy, I passed all my classes. Maybe use that brain of yours to get a girl or something—calculate love, scientifically serenade her, whatever works. It’s a gift, bro.”

  “Actually, it’s—”

  “Shhh,” he said, rubbing my head in slow circles like I was his pet project.

  Nikki crossed her arms. “You got anything on Jamal?”

  Malachi’s smile faltered for a second before returning full-force. “First of all, none of you have room to talk. Y’all haven’t done anything either.”

  We groaned collectively.

  “But here’s my thing,” he continued. “I need someone to work with me. Connor, obviously.”

  I blinked. “Wait—me?”

  He nodded, extending his hand.

  “What do you need his help for?” Nikki asked. “You’re the target. Wouldn’t that make you more suspicious?”

  Malachi rubbed his forehead, clearly exasperated. “I know you’re slow, but think. If I’m the target and he sees me investigating him, I’m done for. Six feet under, no revival spell included. But if Connor—our school’s favorite scapegoat—looks suspicious of Jamal, then I get free range.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Tisiah said bluntly.

  Malachi snapped, “You talk too much, you know that?” Then, with a deep breath, he smirked again. “Listen. It’ll work. Connor’s the decoy. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Nikki muttered, “Neither of them are that smart.”

  Malachi’s fists clenched, but I shot him a wide-eyed warning glare before he could start round two.

  He exhaled slowly. “We start tomorrow,” he said, turning to me with a grin that felt halfway between motivational and menacing. “Oh—and Connor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got another assignment for you.”

  His smile didn’t fade. It widened. And I couldn’t tell if that made me feel special—or doomed.