Chapter 3: Time for Trouble
Adam Stiels lounged in Nevermore's quad, autumn leaves crunching under his boots, the air crisp with the scent of pine and morning fog. His HUD glowed faintly: Level 1, 2/100 uses. The Time Control System was his secret weapon, but memory gaps—blurry voids around the Hyde and Crackstone—kept him on edge. He needed allies, and the Nightshades were his ticket to answers. But first, a prank to solidify his reputation as Nevermore's resident troublemaker.
Bianca Barclay, siren and Nightshades leader, strode past, her silver jewelry glinting like scales in the sunlight. Perfect target. Adam focused: Stop Time: 20 seconds. Activate? The world froze—students mid-step, a raven mid-flight, its wings locked in place. He darted to Bianca's locker, stuffing it with glitter pilfered from the art room, the sparkles catching the dim light like a starry night. As he closed the door, a hidden journal slipped out, embossed with a raven crest. Nightshades, he thought, pocketing it, his pulse racing. The system snarked: Glitter bomb? Bianca's gonna make you eat that sparkly mess.
Time resumed with a snap. Bianca opened her locker, and a glitter explosion dusted her like a disco apocalypse. "Stiels!" she roared, shaking sparkles from her hair, her eyes blazing with fury. "You're dead when I catch you."
Adam grinned, dodging her glare as he leaned against a nearby pillar. "Just brightening your day, Barclay." Her scowl softened into grudging respect, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, but the journal burned a hole in his pocket. He wandered the quad, the cobblestones uneven underfoot, passing Nightshades members—a gorgon adjusting his cap, a psychic muttering about omens. Their guarded glances fueled his curiosity: What's this group hiding? He struck up a conversation with the psychic, probing for Crackstone details. "Old legend, bad vibes," she said, shrugging. "You don't wanna know." His memory gaps blocked any connection, frustrating him further.
Wednesday cornered him later in the library, the air heavy with the musty scent of ancient tomes. Her voice was sharp as a blade. "You found something in Bianca's locker. Hand it over." Adam passed the journal, playing dumb, though his heart pounded. She flipped through it, her eyes narrowing at the cryptic notes—raven symbols, hints of a prophecy tied to Crackstone's legacy. "This is bigger than your childish pranks," she said, her gaze dissecting him. "You're reckless, but useful. Join me for Outreach Day in Jericho. Don't make me regret this."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Adam said, her trust feeling like a test he wasn't sure he'd pass. They sat at a library table, poring over the journal's pages—sketches of rituals, mentions of outcast blood. His gaps kept him in the dark, but Wednesday's intensity pulled him deeper into the mystery. What's Crackstone planning, and why's my mind blank?
Enid bounded over, her pink sweater a splash of color in the library's gloom. "Adam, that glitter prank was iconic! You're gonna get in so much trouble, and I'm totally here for it." Her grin was infectious, and Adam's heart stuttered. "You're my biggest fan, Sinclair," he teased, basking in her warmth. She rambled about her latest blog post, her passion for Nevermore's quirks drawing him in. "You gotta read it," she said, eyes bright. "It's about the best dorm pranks ever."
In the apiary, Eugene Ottinger rambled about his bees, his enthusiasm contagious. "They're like tiny detectives, you know? Always buzzing with secrets." Adam nodded, bonding over the kid's passion. "Bees are MVPs, man. How do they pick their queen?" Eugene dove into hive dynamics—swarm signals, loyalty to the queen—cementing their friendship. "You're cool, Stiels," he said, grinning. Thing scuttled nearby, signing approval of the glitter prank with a flourish.
Adam's monologue churned as he wandered back to his dorm: Nightshades, monsters, and Enid's smile. This journal's trouble, but so am I. Pranks keep me sane in this crazy world. The system pinged: 3/100 uses. Keep pranking, but don't expect Wednesday to bake you cookies. Wednesday's recruitment meant he was in deep, and Outreach Day loomed as a chance to prove himself. The quad's energy—outcasts laughing, plotting, whispering about Jericho—fueled his resolve. But the journal's mention of Crackstone sparked nothing, his memory gaps a wall he couldn't climb. Why am I always one step behind?