Sweat mixing with fear. "She's still coming for us," he yelled, taking a step toward Nadira, even though she hadn't moved an inch. "If I don't stop her nowโ" But the viewers weren't buying it. Stop lying, dude. She's literally just standing there.
We're screen recording everything. Bus driver just saw it. Teacher saw it. You're done. Nadira is defending herself.
Period. Riker's world shattered fully. Then the rooftop, the wind, the camera, the boys, his reputation, his lies, all spiraling beyond his control. and he knew deep in the pit of his stomach that once teachers saw this livestream in full, there would be no turning back. His father couldn't fix it. Booster clubs couldn't fix it.
Principals couldn't hide it. He had destroyed himself publicly live unfiltered. He snapped. "If I end her, the video ends!" he screamed, voice cracking. Zayn stared at him.
"Riker, what are you doing?" Trent's throat tightened. "Man, stop. You're making it worse." But Riker was past listening, past thinking, past sanity.
He lunged toward Nadira with the phone clenched in one hand, his other hand outstretched like a claw. He wasn't trying to scare her now. He was trying to silence the livestream the only way his collapsing mind could grasp by knocking her down. Out of frame, out of the story, out of the truth. His sneakers hammered the rooftop.
His shadow stretched across the concrete. His breath came in ragged, desperate bursts. Nadira watched him come. Her stance lowered. Her muscles tightened.
Her center aligned. She wasn't afraid because now the entire school was watching. And the truth was finally on her side. For the first time since the attack began, Riker understood the full scale of what he had unleashed. Not on Nadira, but on himself.
Fueled by panic and humiliation, he charged blindly toward Nadira, triggering the darkest, most dangerous clash yet. As she prepared to defend herself against a blow that could end everything, the wind at the far edge of the rooftop howled like a living thing, clawing at Nadira's clothes and ripping through the giant advertising sign bolted to the wall. Metal creaked, bolts groaned. The drop below stretched down four stories cold, merciless concrete, waiting like a silent predator. Nadira stood inches from the ledge, her breath steady, her stance lowered, her mind razor focused.
Riker charged, not running, barreling, not attacking, lunging. Every ounce of panic, humiliation, and collapsing pride turned into raw force behind his sprint. His sneakers screeched against the rooftop as he hurdled forward, arm outstretched, aiming to grab her shoulders and shove her off the edge. He wasn't thinking about consequences anymore. Not the livestream, not the comments, not the viewers climbing past a thousand, not the camera recording above.
Just one thought flooded his mind. If he could get Nadira out of the frame, he could get his power back. Nadira's eyes never left him. She felt the shift in weight, the pattern of his steps, the reckless forward momentum. Years of judo training condensed into a single perfect moment of clarity.
She stepped backward, not fleeing, not fearing just enough to control the angle. Her heel touched the rooftop's final line of safety, one more inch, and her foot would meet air instead of ground. Riker saw her trapped and roared. "You're done!" He lunged.