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Episode 15 — Hidden Currents
The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across Avalon University's campus, painting the brick walkways in warm amber. Students hustled between lectures, some laughing in small clusters, others lost in earbuds and scrolling feeds. Layla Wellington moved deliberately through the crowd, Naomi Rivers' USB drive tucked safely in her satchel, Ethan Marshall's hand brushing hers briefly as they navigated past the fountain. That small gesture—just a touch—anchored her, a reminder she wasn't alone in a world that shifted beneath her feet every hour.
Ethan's presence was steady, calm, but there was an unspoken tension that hummed between them. High school felt like a distant universe. He was no longer just the star basketball captain of Riverside High; he had translated his skill and discipline into Avalon's competitive athletic program, commanding attention on the court just as he commanded respect among his peers. Yet the familiar sparkle in his eyes—the way they always noticed the little details—remained unchanged. Layla felt a flutter she hadn't admitted to herself, even as her mind raced with surveillance logs, encrypted data, and the shadow of Project Sentinel.
They reached the student center, where Marcus Hale waited in a corner, laptop open, his normally impassive face drawn tight with focus. Jake Moreno scrolled through multiple feeds on a tablet beside him.
"Any progress?" Ethan asked, voice low but carrying the quiet authority of someone used to taking charge.
Marcus tapped rapidly. "The relay nodes from Naomi's USB are complicated. Whoever moved the logs is careful. False trails, redirects, but the data eventually points back to internal investor accounts. Julian Blackwood hasn't been confirmed yet, but the access patterns match someone inside the board."
Layla leaned over the laptop, studying the screen. "So the pattern is solid, but we still need verification?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "If Julian's involved, he's meticulous. Surgical, almost."
Jake looked up. "And social feeds? Paid amplifiers are still active. Tiffany's documents sparked interest, but it's superficial. Naomi's data—that's the real map."
Ethan exchanged a glance with Layla. "We keep this tight. No public leaks. No unencrypted messages. Every move counts now."
Layla nodded, pulse racing. The thrill of investigation intertwined dangerously with the thrill of being near Ethan. Each touch, each glance, reminded her of high school crushes that had never fully faded.
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Later, in the quiet of the library, Layla and Ethan spread out Naomi's files across a long table. The rustle of papers and soft hum of fluorescent lights wrapped around them. Between pages of transaction logs and metadata fragments, they traced old projects tied to Project Sentinel prototypes.
"You've always been good at reading patterns," Layla said, glancing at Ethan. "Back in high school, I watched you anticipate every move on the basketball court. Didn't think that skill would help you track data flows."
Ethan smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Some things stick with you. Court sense translates to careful observation—handy for other strategies too."
Layla smiled despite herself. "Guess all those long nights watching you practice weren't wasted."
He laughed softly, eyes locking with hers. "Never wasted. Some lessons you carry forever." His words carried more than school pride; they acknowledged the risks they were taking now, together.
The library doors opened, and Marcus slipped a folder onto the table. "Preliminary analysis," he said. "Headers, server logs, timestamps cross-referenced. We have enough to show internal inconsistencies, but it's not airtight for board escalation yet."
Layla's fingers hovered over the folder. "We need airtight. If Julian—or anyone on that shadow committee—suspects we're onto them, they won't hesitate."
Ethan reached over, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "We'll get there. Together."
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Evening fell, and the campus lights flickered on, casting long shadows over the quad. Layla, Ethan, and Marcus retreated to a secluded terrace to discuss next steps.
Madeline joined them, tablet in hand, expression serious. "I monitored online chatter tonight. Paid amplifiers are getting bolder. People are trying to connect dots that aren't there, but if Tiffany's folder goes viral, perception may outweigh reality."
Layla frowned. "So what do we do? We can't sit still, but we can't misstep."
Madeline's gaze softened on her. "You don't have to do it alone. That's why I'm here. Ethan and Marcus are solid anchors. But Layla—be careful emotionally too. Ethan… he's Ethan. Good for you, yes, but distractions can be dangerous in this case."
Ethan's jaw tightened slightly. "Distractions won't stop us. But we'll be precise. Focused."
Layla's chest tightened. She remembered high school days watching him command the court, hands throwing basketballs effortlessly. That same confidence lent weight to every decision he made. Yet the warmth of his hand brushing hers—professional and personal—was a tether she clung to.
By nightfall, the group finalized a plan: Marcus would continue decrypting metadata, Jake would monitor social channels, and Madeline would oversee any movement on campus or in the city, ensuring safety.
Layla stood at the terrace edge, looking down at the glowing campus below. Ethan approached quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Ready?"
She nodded, mixture of fear, excitement, and something unspoken. "As ready as I'll ever be."
He offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation. They descended together, moving through the campus carrying the weight of secrets, danger, and unspoken feelings.
Outside, a black sedan waited across the street, a silent reminder someone was watching. Inside their circle of light, plans were made, alliances confirmed, and the first glimmers of trust—and something more—were firmly established.
Project Sentinel's threads continued to weave a complex web. Naomi's fragments pointed toward unseen players, Tiffany's curated documents whispered selective truths, and Julian Blackwood's influence loomed over every move. Yet through it all, Layla and Ethan remained tethered—not just by purpose, but by the subtle, persistent pull of the heart.
The game was far from over, stakes higher than ever. But for the first time in weeks, Layla felt a flicker of confidence: they had a plan, each other, and a way forward. And sometimes, that was enough.
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