Officer Ramirez stepped forward, voice low and cold, hands where I can see them. Zayn's mouth fell open. "Wait, us? Why now?" The officer barked.
Trent raised his hands slowly. Milo obeyed reluctantly. Zayn trembled, finally understanding the gravity. But Riker Riker shook his head like a drowning man, refusing his last chance at rescue. No, no, you don't understand.
She attacked us. She the officer cut him off. "I just watched four minutes of footage showing you assaulting a student, endangering her life, and attempting to deceive the entire school." He glared down at the concrete bucket, the dripping water, the bruised girl standing strong. And the livestream doesn't lie.
Riker's facade cracked. For the first time, his eyes filled with something raw. Not anger, not ego, fear, pure, unmistakable fear. His reputation, his privilege, his untouchable status gone in a single recorded moment. Nadira exhaled, her breath shaking slightly as adrenaline faded from her muscles.
But her eyes stayed locked on Riker, watching the realization consume him. Officer Ramirez turned to Nadira, softening his voice. "You're safe now. Stay where you are and don't move. I need to secure them first."
She nodded once, silent, controlled, stronger than she had ever felt. Riker sagged to the ground as the officer approached, his world collapsing piece by piece. His teammates stared at him, realizing the truth. It wasn't Nadira who destroyed him. It was his own cruelty, his own arrogance, his own livestream.
As Officer Ramirez took the phone from Riker's trembling hand, the boy finally saw the viewer count over 2,000 watching and the color drained completely from his face. With evidence undeniable and panic spreading fast, the school administration moved instantly, issuing a command to detain the entire Blaze jackets for immediate investigation. The afternoon sun had begun to fade into the yellow tint of early evening when Nadira was escorted into the disciplinary office. The air inside the room felt heavy, thick with the weight of consequences that had not yet been spoken aloud. A long wooden table divided the room.
Chairs lined both sides. Files sat stacked in neat piles as if waiting for their verdicts. On one side sat Nadira, quiet, composed, her hair still damp from the rooftop assault. On the other side, Riker, Zayn, Trent, Milo, four boys who hours earlier believed themselves invincible. Now each sat hunched forward, elbows on their knees, hands fidgeting under the table.
None of them spoke. None of them dared to lift their eyes. At the center of the table stood Dean Marlo, the disciplinarian, a tall, stern man known for his even voice and zero tolerance for dishonesty. Beside him was Officer Ramirez, arms folded, jaw locked tight, and nearest the window sat Mr. Halden, the social studies teacher, one of the few faculty members students actually respected. His face, usually calm, now looked unsettled.
Dean Marlo cleared his throat. "We have reviewed the livestream footage," he began, his voice slow and deliberate. "It raises significant concerns." But during our preliminary examination, something else surfaced. The boys stiffened.
Nadira didn't move. Marlo tapped a key on his laptop. A video window blinked open. A timestamp appeared. 2:17 p.m. Maintenance.
Roof camera #4. Auto-reactivate after reset. Zayn's lips parted in shock. Trent's shoulders tensed. Riker's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.