Autoshare enabled, a feature designed for sports games and pep rallies. Within seconds, a notification pinged across multiple students phones. Riker Hail is live. In the middle of English class, someone glanced down. In the hallway, a group of freshmen huddled around a screen.
In the cafeteria, a table of juniors paused mid-conversation. Dozens became hundreds. The viewer count climbed like a lit fuse racing toward an explosion. 16 watching, 43 watching, 129 watching, 287 watching. Riker kept shouting into the camera.
"She attacked Milo. She threw Zayn into the wall," but the livestream caught more than he realized. Milo's unconscious groan. Zayn's terrified face. Trent's dropped bucket.
And most damning of all, the angle of the wind revealing the bucket of water still splashed across the ground. The remnants of the first assault. Students saw everything. Not the edited story Riker wanted, but the truth bleeding through the cracks. Dude, what is he talking about?
Why is the bucket overturned? Isn't Milo the one on the ground? Wait, why is Nadira soaked? Bro, did they do something to her? The comments poured in faster than Riker could blink.
But up on the rooftop, Riker didn't know yet. He only knew his hand was sweating around the phone. His breath rattled with desperation. His identity, his power was slipping from him and he was clawing to take it back. Zayn staggered upright, cradling his elbow.
"Riker, what do we do now?" "Shut up," Riker hissed. "Just fight." We finish this before anyone. He didn't get to finish because behind the phone screen, unseen by him, the little red dot blinked.
Live. Nadira saw it. For a moment, the world narrowed to only that dot. Not the wind, not the bruises forming on her arms, not the sting in her throat from cold water, just the tiny pulsing circle documenting every breath, every word, every false accusation. It changed everything.
Her eyes lifted from the phone to Riker's face. And then the shift happened. The same shift that froze the boys earlier. No fear, no panic, no victimhood, just resolve. A deep, unbreakable clarity.
Her expression turned still, almost eerily calm, and the camera caught it. Riker swallowed hard. "What are you looking at?" he barked, voice cracking. "Stop looking at me like—like you're not scared." But she wasn't.
Not anymore. And the viewers saw that, too. A sophomore typed, "Why does she look calm while they're freaking out?" A senior replied, "I think they messed with the wrong girl. The tide was turning quietly, rapidly, irreversibly, and Nadira felt it.
She straightened her posture, rolling her shoulders back slightly, grounding her weight. Her center lowered again, readying for the next rush. Her gaze drifted from the phone to the three boys struggling to regain formation. Zayn holding his arm. Trent pushing himself off the ground.