SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The halls of Northwood High were a special kind of nightmare.

It was a loud, chaotic, brightly-lit world that felt a million miles away from the bloody, shadow-soaked life he now lived every night.

Miles walked through the sea of laughing, shouting students like a ghost, his hoodie pulled up, his head down.

Maintain the cover.

That was the primary directive now.

Be the quiet, invisible bookworm.

Be the kid who was good at physics and bad at everything else.

No one could suspect that the boy who fumbled his way through gym class was the same person who had dismantled a street gang and walked away from a professional ambush.

The duality of it was exhausting.

He felt like two different people crammed into one aching body.

His shoulder was still a dull, throbbing fire, a secret he had to hide with every step.

He made his way to his usual sanctuary.

The library.

It was the one place on campus that was quiet.

It was the perfect place to hide.

He found an empty table in the back corner, a spot tucked away behind a tall shelf of forgotten history texts.

He pulled out his homework, but he didn't see the words.

He was replaying the raid in his mind.

Analyzing his mistakes.

Calculating how he could have been faster, more efficient.

He had been so lost in his own world that he didn't notice her until she was standing right in front of his table.

Clara.

She stood there, a small, thoughtful smile on her face, a thick, leather-bound book held in her hands.

"I had a feeling I might find you here," she said, her voice a quiet, pleasant contrast to the usual noise of the school.

Miles looked up, startled.

His first instinct was to say nothing.

To just stare until she got uncomfortable and walked away.

That was the old Miles Vane playbook.

But the system, his new, uninvited life coach, seemed to have other ideas.

It gave him a gentle, internal nudge.

[SOCIAL INTERACTION DETECTED. MAINTAINING COVER REQUIRES MINIMAL ENGAGEMENT.]

[RECOMMENDATION: RESPOND WITH A NON-COMMITTAL VERBAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT.]

Right.

Talk.

He could do that.

Probably.

"Hey," he managed to say.

His voice came out as a rough, quiet croak.

Nailed it.

Clara's smile didn't falter.

She seemed to be one of the few people on earth who wasn't put off by his terminal case of social awkwardness.

In fact, she seemed intrigued by it.

She held up the book she was carrying.

It was an old, worn copy of "The Art of Rhetoric," a dense, academic text on the theory of debate.

"I found this in the library's donation pile," she said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"It's a first edition. A real treasure."

She opened the book to a random page.

The margins were filled with handwritten notes.

Sharp, insightful, sometimes cynical observations written in a neat, precise script.

"The notes in this book," she said, her gaze lifting from the page to meet his. "They're brilliant."

"Whoever wrote them doesn't just understand debate theory," she continued, a note of genuine admiration in her voice. "They understand people. How they think. What motivates them."

She paused, tilting her head slightly.

"They were yours, weren't they?"

Miles froze.

He remembered that book.

He had bought it at a used bookstore years ago, back when his biggest dream was to join the debate team.

Back before his life had been stolen.

He'd read it a dozen times, filling its margins with his thoughts before he had finally donated it, giving up on the idea of a normal life.

He had never told anyone about it.

How could she possibly know?

[ANALYSIS: SUBJECT 'CLARA' EXHIBITS ADVANCED DEDUCTIVE REASONING SKILLS.]

[SHE HAS CONNECTED YOUR KNOWN ACADEMIC PROFILE WITH THE INTELLECTUAL STYLE OF THE ANNOTATIONS.]

[PROBABILITY OF HER BEING CORRECT: 100%.]

"Thanks, genius," Miles thought with a surge of internal panic. "Any advice on how I lie my way out of this?"

[EVASION IS THE RECOMMENDED TACTICAL COURSE.]

Right. Evade.

He opened his mouth to deny it, to say she had the wrong person.

But looking into her intelligent, perceptive eyes, he knew she wouldn't believe him.

She saw right through the mask.

She saw the person he tried so hard to hide.

It was terrifying.

And, in a strange, unfamiliar way, it was… nice.

So, instead of lying, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Clara's smile widened.

It wasn't a triumphant smile.

It was a smile of connection.

Of understanding.

"I knew it," she said softly.

She then shifted her weight, a new purpose in her stance.

"Actually, that's why I came to find you."

"We have that big history project due in a few weeks. The one on geopolitical conflict in the post-war era."

Oh, that project.

He had been planning to do it alone, as usual.

It was easier that way.

No partners.

No complications.

"I was wondering," she said, her voice still quiet but full of a surprising confidence. "If you'd want to be my partner on it."

The question hung in the air between them.

A simple, normal, high school question.

But for Miles, it felt like a landmine.

Partnering with her meant spending time with her.

It meant talking to her.

It meant letting her get closer.

And getting closer to him was the most dangerous thing anyone could do.

He was a walking, talking nexus of violence and secrets.

He was a magnet for the worst people in the city.

He couldn't drag her into that.

He wouldn't.

He had to say no.

He had to push her away, for her own good.

He looked at her, at her hopeful, expectant face.

And he did the only thing he could.

He built a wall.

"No," he said.

Cold.

Final.

He didn't offer an excuse.

He didn't try to soften the blow.

He just delivered the single, brutal syllable and then looked back down at his textbook, dismissing her completely.

The silence that followed was heavy and awkward.

He could feel her standing there, could feel the hurt and confusion radiating off her.

He felt like a complete monster.

But it was better this way.

It was safer.

For her.

He heard her take a small breath.

"Okay," she said, her voice losing none of its quiet strength. "Well, the offer stands, if you change your mind."

He heard her footsteps as she turned and walked away.

He didn't look up until he was sure she was gone.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

That was awful.

And it was necessary.

He had done the right thing.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Unseen by Miles, from a table across the library, another pair of eyes had been watching the entire exchange.

Julian Cross.

He sat there, pretending to read a magazine, but his gaze was fixed on Miles and Clara, his knuckles white where he gripped the glossy pages.

He had seen it all.

He had seen Clara, the girl he was obsessed with, the one girl who had ever dared to reject him, approach that worthless, book-sniffing nobody, Vane.

He had seen her smile at him.

He had seen her offer him… something.

And then, he had seen the impossible.

He had seen Vane, that pathetic, invisible loser, turn her down.

He had seen him insult her with his cold, dismissive silence.

Julian's mind, a twisted landscape of arrogance and insecurity, could only interpret the scene in one way.

Vane, the freak who had humiliated him in the decathlon, had now publicly disrespected the girl Julian considered to be his property.

It was an insult on top of an injury.

A slow, vicious, and deeply satisfying idea began to form in his mind.

Vane had made Clara look bad.

He had embarrassed her.

So, clearly, what she needed now was a protector.

A champion.

Someone to put that arrogant little freak back in his place.

Someone to show her what a real man looked like.

A cruel, predatory smile spread across Julian's face.

He would be her hero.

And he would get his own revenge in the process.

It was the perfect plan.

He watched as Miles sat alone at his table, completely unaware of the new and very personal storm that was about to break right over his head.