After Chloe and Clark went their separate ways, Chloe couldn't hold back her frustration.
"I don't get it anymore," she complained to Pete, her voice low but tinged with irritation. "Ever since Clark joined the football team, he's been drifting further away from us. It's like he trusts his coach more than he trusts us—his supposed friends."
Pete shrugged, greeting a classmate in passing before answering. "Didn't you once say, as friends, we should give each other the benefit of the doubt? You're good at connecting the dots, Chloe, but Clark's way of showing trust is keeping his doubts to himself. That's your version of a perfect partnership right there."
"Wow," Chloe raised her brows, surprised. "I thought all you cared about were football, girls, and comics. Didn't expect a philosophy lecture out of you, Pete."
Pete smirked, feeling a little offended. "Isn't it normal? Just like you randomly dropping names like Arthur Parks, the so-called Laser Man, whenever it suits your theories. We're even."
Chloe tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash as she pressed further. "Alright then, do you remember the second half of Nietzsche's quote?"
"What second half?"
"'Let inference be your sympathy, but you must first know whether your friend needs sympathy.'" Chloe's tone sharpened. "My suspicions about Coach Watt weren't for fun. I was trying to protect Clark—from mental harm, not physical. But it's obvious now, Clark doesn't need my sympathy."
"You sound hurt, Chloe," Pete said as they squeezed through a crowded hallway lined with lockers.
"Not hurt, just… unrecognized." Chloe's words sped up like a machine gun. "Think about it. Principal Reynolds was investigating the cheating scandal, and suddenly, his car explodes. Before that, the coach had been furious with the players, ranting about betrayal. Someone probably told Reynolds about Watt handing out the test questions. It all fits together. It makes sense—"
"Yeah, yeah. Listen, Chloe, I've got something else to do." Pete cut her off, patting her on the shoulder before running toward a girl he'd been eyeing earlier.
"Figures." Chloe sighed, watching him jog off, deflated.
For a moment, her thoughts spun in circles, frustration mounting at being dismissed again. Then another name struck her.
Adrian Kent.
At that very moment, Adrian—completely unaware that Chloe had thought of him—was focused elsewhere. His piercing vision cut through walls and obstacles, reaching straight into the principal's office.
Inside, Principal Morton was locked in conversation with a reporter about yesterday's "accident."
On the desk sat a heavy ceramic ashtray, a bust of Rodin's The Thinker perched above it. Adrian's vision lingered on every detail.
"Mr. Morton, I'm sorry for Principal Reynolds' misfortune," the reporter said with a sympathetic nod.
"Yes," Morton sighed. "It's a terrible loss. As assistant principal, Reynolds handled curriculum and discipline. He fancied himself a John Wayne type, stern but approachable. Still, his smile always felt… misplaced."
The reporter leaned in. "About the accident—I've already spoken with the police. But now I'd like to hear from you. The police mentioned that the call came from one of your students. Adrian Kent, I believe?"
Morton's brow furrowed. "Adrian Kent… Jonathan Kent's boy, right?"
"That's correct."
Morton gave a small chuckle. "Funny thing about being in education this long. You see a familiar face, and realize their father was once your student. Strange, but wonderful."
"I'd like to interview Adrian," the reporter pressed. "Before that, I need some background. Can you share his credit and evaluation file?"
Morton's smile faded. "Student records aren't public, Mr. Chris. I can't simply hand that over."
Chris leaned back, undeterred. "I understand, but I'm not asking for publication. I just need context. Off the record. Surely you understand?"
Watching from afar, Adrian's eyes narrowed.
This man wanted his file?
Those records held everything: his personal information, assessments, even subtle notes from teachers who thought they understood him. To most students, it was nothing. To Adrian, it was exposure.
Who was this reporter really working for? Government? Corporate interests? Or something darker?
Adrian's lips curved into a thin smile, sharp and cold. If there was one thing he hated, it was someone sniffing around in his shadow. Secrets belonged to him alone. And he knew exactly what to do with people who thought they could pry into his world.
When the last bell rang, Adrian remained calm, methodically clearing out his locker.
"Hey, Adrian, can I talk to you?"
The voice belonged to Chloe.
Adrian turned slowly. Chloe stood with her notebook clutched tightly, nervous under his unflinching gaze. With Clark, she was animated. With Adrian, she was cautious.
"About Principal Reynolds," she began, clearing her throat. "I heard you were the one who called the police. I've pieced together some things, and if we exchange information, we might figure out who's behind this. Maybe even identify the murderer."
Adrian's eyes hardened. His voice was flat, stripped of warmth. "You've got one thing wrong, Chloe."
"W-what?" she stammered.
"I don't care who the murderer is. And I have no interest in your little detective games."
Chloe's brows furrowed. "But if we can stop the killer, we can prevent more people from being hurt."
"Maybe," Adrian said, stepping past her, "but that's not my concern."
Chloe froze, left behind in the hallway, her lips parting in disbelief.
Adrian didn't look back. His mind was already on the reporter who dared dig into his life. Chloe's theories were child's play. The real threat was a man who thought he could unearth secrets Adrian had no intention of sharing.
And Adrian would deal with him soon. Very soon.
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