"Attack her!" Something ugly flickered in his expression. Not just wrath, not humiliation, desperation. He realized what the others were only beginning to understand. Nadira was not the victim they thought she was.
And if he didn't crush her now, he would lose everything. The wind roared harder as if echoing his command. Zayn and Trent exchanged a terrified glance, but they moved because fear of Nadira was nothing compared to fear of defying Riker. Riker's stare sharpened with new understanding. Nadira wasn't prey, and if they didn't overwhelm her now, she would dismantle them piece by piece.
Jaw clenched, pride burning. Riker lunged forward first, triggering the Blaze Jackets to storm her together, turning the rooftop into a full-scale battlefield. The rooftop shook under pounding footsteps as the last three members of the Blaze Jackets surged toward Nadira. The gusts slammed into them sideways, tearing at jackets and hair, carrying the smell of cold metal and concrete. The air vibrated with a dangerous frequency, the kind that came right before something catastrophic.
Nadira didn't back down, but the numbers forced her to move. Zayn lunged first, grabbing for her shoulder. His fingers brushed fabric and Nadira spun. Her body turned on instinct, hips rotating, arms sweeping upward to break his grip before it fully formed. She caught his wrist, redirected the pull, and used his momentum to slide behind him.
Her hand clamped onto the inside of his elbow, clean, sharp, controlled. Then she locked. Zayn gasped as his arm folded against his will. Before he could process the pain, Nadira pivoted and pushed, sending him stumbling sideways, nearly colliding with Milo's sprawled body. But she didn't have a second to breathe.
Trent came next. He wasn't fast, but he was big, bigger than Milo, heavier than Riker, and far more reckless under pressure. His expression twisted between fear and fury as he grabbed the metal bucket they had used earlier. Water sloshed inside from the first assault. His knuckles whitened as he lifted it overhead.
He didn't hesitate. He swung. The bucket carved a deadly arc through the air, aimed at Nadira's back. If the edge hit her spine, she could go down hard or worse, topple over the railing. But Nadira felt the shift in wind pressure before she even heard his shout.
She ducked, rolling forward on one knee. The bucket whooshed past, missing by inches before Trent could regain balance. She swept her leg outward in a tight, powerful rotation. Her heel slammed into his ankle. Trent's foot slid out from under him.
His arms flailed. The bucket flew from his hands and clattered across the rooftop with a metallic screech. The big boy dropped like a felled tree. He hit the ground on his side, air rushing out of him in a painful bark. two down momentarily. But Riker had no intention of giving Nadira space, admiration, or acknowledgement.
Instead, he pulled out his phone. He lifted it high. He aimed it directly at Nadira, and he hit record. "This psycho girl is attacking us," he shouted with breathless panic, angling the camera to capture Zayn stumbling. Trent on the ground, Milo groaning, "She's gone crazy.
Somebody call the cops." Nadira froze, not because of fear, but because she instantly understood the shift. This was worse than fists or water or shoves. This was the kind of lie that ruined lives. Riker's voice cracked with performative terror as he stepped backward, making sure the camera only showed her as the aggressor.
He stumbled deliberately, adding drama, breathing hard like he was under attack. He didn't care about the truth. He cared about control. and he knew videos traveled faster than consequences. But he had miscalculated horribly because Riker had not started a recording. He had started a livestream, a livestream connected to the school's internal student network.