Someone had been watching.
Not from the crowd.
Not from the stage.
But from the shadows.
The same shadows that lined the library pillars when Callum approached Eira.
And now, those shadows were moving again.
---
The hooded figure leaned against a forgotten balcony overlooking the drama classroom. Their phone was in hand—camera recording. The feed captured every beat of Eira's performance, from the first breath to the whispered goodbye.
"She's changing," the figure whispered, voice androgynous.
In their pocket was another phone.
Callum's.
Swiped cleanly from his coat the day before—an act masked behind the chaos of a spar.
The figure stepped away from the balcony, lowering their phone, eyes hidden beneath the curve of a white mask.
Then they left, vanishing into the crowd like smoke.
---
A few hours later, a long drive through crumbling roads led them to a building that shouldn't exist.
Three stories of abandoned architecture. Broken windows. Faded paint. Echoes of the past buried in brick.
Inside, a basement lit by a single hanging bulb buzzed with static. The figure sat down, plugged Callum's phone into a custom-built terminal, and started typing.
Security firewalls.
Encrypted folders.
A challenge.
They liked that.
They cracked the outer layer in minutes. But the core security—Callum's private data—was another story. Biometric-linked. Military-grade. Obsessive.
The figure grinned. "Someone's been hiding things."
They leaned back in their chair, staring at the loading screen. A voice message pinged.
Unknown contact.
Encrypted line.
Female voice.
"Status?"
"Still working. The boy's clean on the surface. But something's buried deep."
"Find it. He's not as invincible as he thinks."
The line cut.
No name. No goodbye.
The masked figure chuckled, then licked their lips, voice dripping with something cold.
"I love it when she's like that."
They stood, stretched, and walked to a wall lined with photos. All pinned with red thread, all focused on one family:
The Vances.
Callum. Juliet. Their parents. Business connections. Teachers. Peers.
And now, Eira's photo had been added to the corner—taken during her performance.
"You weren't part of the plan," the figure murmured to her image. "But you're interesting."
Then they pinned the handkerchief below it.
---
Back at school, Callum sat beneath a tree near the back courtyard. His thoughts had been swirling all day.
Eira's performance.
Her voice.
Her words.
He hadn't meant to sit through it. But now, he couldn't stop replaying every line. There was something in it—something real.
And then there was the symbol.
He couldn't stop thinking about that handkerchief.
The embroidery. The red string. The dragon wings.
It was a symbol he designed years ago—something he used for encrypted tags. A private emblem, something no one else should recognize.
So how did she look at it like it meant something?
Callum's fists curled in the grass.
He needed answers.
And this time, he wouldn't wait for her to speak first.
---
Across the quad, Eira walked alone.
But for the first time… she could feel eyes on her.
Not the usual stares. Not curiosity. Not judgment.
No.
Something else.
Something colder.
Like the signal had changed.
And someone was tuning in.
From a distance.
Or too close.