"You idiots are ruining everything." Mark stepped closer. "No, Carter, you ruined everything. They're just finally telling the truth." Another officer entered, carrying three folders, one for each boy.
He handed them to Marks. These are their case files. Juvenile Division has approved transfer. Carter felt the world tilt. Transfer.
Transfer to wear. Marks met his gaze without a shred of sympathy. To the county juvenile detention center until your formal federal hearing. Bryce collapsed into sobs. Logan curled into himself.
Carter went still, dead still. No, he whispered. My dad will fix this. He'll get lawyers. He'll get Henderson.
Cut him off. Your father's influence means nothing here. Federal charges don't bend to money. Carter shook his head violently. No. No. This isn't happening.
We're kids. We didn't sign up for You signed up the moment you grabbed Ayana. Henderson said, "Save consequences, even for kids." Two officers stepped forward. Carter Hail, Logan Pierce, Bryce Tanner.
You are hereby placed into federal juvenile custody pending further review. Stand up. Logan nearly fainted. Bryce begged. Carter tried to pull away, but the metal cuffs clanged against the bench as officers forced him up.
The boys were escorted out of the office. Their steps clumsy, their faces stre with panic. The hallway outside had grown crowded. Students whispering, teachers staring, phones quietly recording. Silver Ridge High was buzzing like a shaken hive.
Voices spread rapidly. "Carter's going to Juvie," they said. "Federal. Did you see the video?" He shoved her like she was nothing.
Ayana didn't interact. She simply rose from her chair, back straight, eyes steady, watching the boys being led through the crowd. Not with satisfaction, not with triumph, with quiet, unbroken resolve. Major Henderson nodded at her. We're done here, Lieutenant.
But Ayana's gaze lingered on the hallway ahead where students parted around her like she was untouchable because something inside her wasn't finished, something important. And the entire school began whispering while Ayana prepared for one final lesson. The auditorium at Silver Ridge High had never been this full. Every seat was taken, every aisle crowded. Students packed themselves shouldertosh shoulder.
Teachers stood along the walls and whispers rippled across the room like nervous electricity. The stage lights glowed against the heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows across the polished floor. In the center of the stage stood a single podium, and behind it, Ayana Brooks. She wasn't in uniform. She wasn't flanked by K-9 officers or surrounded by dogs.