The next morning dawned gray, clouds hanging low as though the sky itself had grown suspicious. Ethan walked into class with his usual indifferent air, his hands in his pockets, eyes sharp and calculating. To everyone else, he was just another quiet student with no ambitions, no remarkable spark. Invisible. Forgettable.
But invisibility was the sharpest blade of all.
Ryan shuffled nervously beside him, dark circles under his eyes. Ethan didn't need to ask; the boy hadn't slept, consumed by paranoia after planting the orb in Wallace's office. Good. Fear kept him sharp.
Ethan slid into his seat and opened his notebook. To the casual glance, it was blank paper covered in half-hearted doodles. In reality, each mark corresponded to a code only he understood — a journal of his growing web.
He tapped his pen twice. The orb had been active all night. Which meant by now, the Inventory had already synced the recordings to his mind. A simple thought opened the feed.
Dark images and hushed whispers bled into his consciousness.
Professor Wallace's office. The man pacing like a caged rat, his face pale, his mutterings frantic. "It's gone… it can't be gone. If anyone finds out—no, no, no."
He dropped into his chair, pulling a worn ledger from the bottom drawer of his desk. His trembling fingers flipped through the pages, each one filled with figures and names. Ethan leaned forward mentally, letting the Celestial Inventory sharpen the clarity of the vision.
It wasn't just grades. It was money. Payments. Transactions that had no place in an academic ledger. Wallace was siphoning funds from research grants, laundering them through ghost projects.
And more damning still — there were names attached. Derek's among them. Large sums marked with his initials.
Ethan's smile was razor-thin. "So that's how the golden boy stays golden."
The lecture droned on. Wallace stood at the front, trying to project his usual authority, but Ethan could see the cracks. The twitch of his eye. The stiffness of his shoulders. The way he avoided looking directly at anyone.
Weakness. Leverage.
Ethan scribbled in his coded notes:
Wallace: Embezzlement. Derek connected. Potential blackmail material. Immediate advantage if exposed strategically.
He tapped the pen again, eyes flicking toward Derek, who was sitting smugly a few rows ahead, laughing with his entourage as though the world was still firmly beneath his heel. The fool had no idea the ground was crumbling beneath him.
But patience was vital. One wrong move, and he'd show his hand too early. No — Derek's fall had to be drawn out, piece by piece, until his so-called allies tore him apart themselves.
After class, Ryan caught up to him. His voice was low, urgent. "Did it work?"
Ethan gave him a cold glance. "Of course it worked. The question isn't whether we found something. The question is whether you're ready to act on what we found."
Ryan hesitated, his fists clenching. "What did you find?"
"Proof," Ethan said simply, leaning in just enough for his words to sink like knives. "Wallace is stealing. Derek's involved. Money ties them together like chains. All it would take is the right whisper to the right ear, and Derek's reputation collapses overnight."
Ryan's eyes widened. "…So we're really going to—"
"No," Ethan cut him off. "Not yet. A true predator doesn't kill at first sight. He stalks. He waits. He lets the prey exhaust itself before striking. That's how you ensure the kill."
Ryan swallowed hard, but Ethan could see the hunger forming behind his fear. The boy had tasted power once, and now he craved more. Perfect.
Later that evening, Ethan retreated to his dorm. The rain had stopped, leaving the campus damp and glistening under the lamplight. He sat by the window, journal open, listening to the faint hum of the orb as it continued to collect secrets.
But then — a knock at the door.
Ethan froze. He wasn't expecting Ryan. And Ryan never knocked; he barged in like a fool.
He opened the door to find her.
The girl from the library. Chestnut hair tied neatly, glasses reflecting the hallway light, expression sharp and unreadable.
"Ethan, right?" she said, her voice calm but edged with steel.
Ethan leaned against the frame, masking his alertness with casual boredom. "Depends who's asking."
"Clara Reynolds," she replied smoothly. "I've been watching you."
Blunt. Direct. Dangerous.
Ethan's lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile. "Most people don't admit that out loud."
"I'm not most people," Clara said flatly. "You're hiding something. You move like someone who's planning three steps ahead, always watching, always calculating. And Ryan—" her eyes flickered with disdain— "has been acting strange ever since he started hanging around you."
Ethan's silence stretched, heavy, suffocating. Then he stepped aside, gesturing toward the room.
"Come in, then. If you're so sure you've figured me out, let's see how deep you're willing to go."
Clara hesitated, then walked past him into the room, her eyes scanning everything like a hawk. Ethan closed the door softly behind her, his smile cold and sharp.
The web had caught another spider.