It was a Thursday morning when Amira was called to the headteacher's office. The air was stiff with unspoken accusations.
Across the desk sat Mr. Callahan, the English department head and one of Kieran's former mentors. His sharp eyes studied her.
> "You've come a long way, Amira," he said slowly. "Too far, maybe."
He placed a printed document between them: private footage from a restricted school server — the same one Luca had shown her just days earlier. Footage she never leaked.
"This surfaced anonymously. But you had access. Care to explain?"
Her fingers tightened.
Luca had lied.
---
That afternoon, she confronted him by the river wall near the train station.
> "You set me up."
He didn't deny it. His smirk was gone, replaced with something colder.
> "You were impressive, Amira. But you started enjoying the pain too much. It wasn't justice anymore. It was theatre. And people like you... burn out eventually."
She realized then: Luca wasn't just helping her. He was studying her. Waiting for the moment she crossed the line.
And now she had.
---
Kieran struck next.
The school's gossip page blew up with anonymous tips. One post claimed Amira had manipulated her way into the poetry showcase. Another accused her of threatening classmates. Fake screenshots. Twisted truths. Photos taken without her knowledge.
She was summoned again. Her parents were called.
Everything was spiraling.
But Amira was no longer the girl who cried quietly in her room.
She knew how to fight.
And this time, she wasn't fighting to punish.
She was fighting to survive.
---