Taylor was still exhausted by the time she reached school that morning.
Not physically—though that too—but in the bone-deep, weary way that came from a night of adrenaline, fear, and too many thoughts to sleep. It didn't help that she'd gotten up at six-thirty for her morning run, then had to lie to her dad about why she'd been out, or why the ends of her hair were faintly singed.
After all that, getting to school was just routine. Catch the bus. Sit. Stare out the window.
It still felt surreal that after everything that had happened last night—the fire, the fighting, the evacuations—she was back here like nothing had changed.
But that was just the superhero life she supposed.
As the bus pulled to a stop in front of Winslow, she steeled herself for the day and sighed. The school building looked as drab as ever. Same concrete façade. Same chipped steps. Almost the same clusters of students lingering out front before the first bell.
But something felt… different.
She noticed it as soon as she stepped inside. Not in how people looked, exactly, but in the noise. The hallway was louder, more excited. Animated even. Voices overlapping with excitement instead of the usual groggy complaints and half-asleep muttering.
Something worth gossiping over had happened.
It was too early in the morning for anything new, which meant it had to be about yesterday. About last night.
Taylor didn't slow down to listen.
She was curious, yes, and more than a little nervous, but no one was staring at her as she passed and no whispers cut off when she walked by. That meant it wasn't about her. Or at least, not obviously.
Besides, she had more important things to focus on.
The Tempestarii is calling.
She repeated it silently as she slipped into the computer lab, the phrase looping in her head like a mantra.
She almost smiled as she powered up the ancient PC, then caught herself and forced her face back into something neutral. Drawing attention to herself right now would be a mistake.
Still, she almost couldn't stop herself from showing her excitement.
After all, Ten-Zero was trying to recruit her. Her!
It felt about as real as someone claiming Alexandria herself had personally invited her to join the Triumvirate, but it was happening.
The plan was simple. Finish the class work as fast as possible, then contact Ordis. She had so many questions, and she hoped that he wouldn't mind answering at least a few before she committed to meeting them in person.
After that, she'd check PHO. See what people and the PRT were saying about last night.
The thought suddenly occurred to her then that despite everything she'd done, the reports might not even mention her. She hadn't checked in with the PRT when they arrived and she hadn't given her non-existent cape name to Armsmaster.
But Umbra had said he'd handle things and he seemed like the kind of hero who would treat her fairly.
She wasn't expecting a medal or anything. She wasn't even expecting praise. After all, despite what Umbra had said, she still felt partially responsible for the situation escalating like it did. But the idea that her part in helping the people might be minimized—or worse, ignored entirely—made something sour twist in her stomach.
Distracted with her thoughts, Taylor almost didn't notice when someone dropped into the chair beside her. She paused her mental chant the second she looked up and caught who it was.
Isaac.
He'd been standing near the front of the room when she had walked into class, talking to two other boys in the front she couldn't name. Now he was here, leaning back in his chair completely at ease, showing none of the exhaustion or grogginess she and others felt at this time in the morning.
Her first thought was unhelpful and immediate.
He looks great today too.
Not in a runway-model way. He didn't look like the kind of guy who belonged in glossy magazines or posed with hollow cheekbones, vacant stares, and jaws sharp enough to cut with. No, Isaac fit a different mold entirely, one she couldn't quite name.
When he leaned back in his chair, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight around his arms, and Taylor's brain helpfully—and traitorously—supplied the conclusion that yes, he was muscular too.
If yesterday hadn't been his first day, she would've assumed Emma or Madison had orchestrated this whole thing as a joke—him asking her to eat lunch, acting friendly for no clear reason. But he hadn't pushed fast or tried hard to get close with her. He'd just… been normal. Nice even.
As her thoughts raced, he turned to her and smiled. It was casual and easy in a way that made him seem almost smug with how natural it looked.
"Good morning Taylor."
Her brain short-circuited when she realized she had been staring at him this entire time.
"G–good morning," she muttered, turning back to her computer. She could feel heat creeping up her cheeks, a rosy warmth she hated and couldn't stop. She hunched slightly, pretending very hard to be interested in the login screen.
"The Tempestarii is calling," she told herself again, forcibly dragging her focus back where it belonged.
She knew she shouldn't be acting this stupid.
Even if Isaac was nice now, it wouldn't last. It never did. Eventually, like all the other boys, he'd fall in with those bitches. They all did if it meant a smile or a laugh or a slim chance to be with them. Backstabbing Ugly frog faced Taylor wouldn't be worth a second thought to them.
Still, she could feel Isaac still looking at her with an easy attentiveness that made her feel like he was actually interested in her reaction instead of just filling space or being polite out of obligation.
"So," he said, stretching the word casually, "how's the morning treating you so far?"
She hesitated before answering. The honest response tried to claw its way out but instinct and experience crushed it flat before it reached her mouth.
"It's… I'm okay," she said finally.
He hummed. "Glad to hear."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him roll forward in his chair, elbows resting on the desk as he glanced around the lab, like he was checking to see who might be listening.
"I heard something big went down last night," he added, lowering his voice just a notch. "Docks, I think?"
Taylor's fingers froze over the keyboard.
For half a heartbeat, panic flared hot and sharp. Her bugs stirred reflexively in the walls and vents, restless, coiling toward a threat that didn't actually exist.
She forced herself to breathe. After all, there was no way he knew she was involved.
"Yeah," she replied carefully. "I heard something about it on the radio this morning."
"Crazy stuff," Isaac said, shaking his head. "Fire everywhere. The Protectorate—and if you believe it, Armsmaster and a woman with bug powers—fighting a dragon." He scoffed softly. "Can't believe this is normal in the Bay."
She nodded. A little too quickly. "That's just how it's always been here in Brockton."
Mrs. Knott cleared her throat sharply, saving her from the rest of the conversation.
"Alright," She addressed the class. " Settle in. Today we're continuing with spreadsheets. Instructions are on the board."
Isaac leaned back again, stretching like a cat until his back popped a little. "Guess I'll let you work," he said. "But hey—if I need help, can you spare some time like yesterday?"
Say no. Say no. Say no, she chanted internally.
Any other day, she would've been fine saying yes. But she had cape business. Important cape business. And she really, really didn't want to be interrupted or caught doing it.
She nodded anyway, eyes still glued to the screen. "Okay."
Dammit, she cursed silently. Why did I say that?
His smile widened just a bit, perfect white teeth flashing. "Thanks, Taylor. I owe you."
Her fingers paused again as her brain caught the sincerity in his voice.
Before she could think of a response—or even overthink it into nothing—he turned back to his own computer, the moment slipping past like it had never been there.
Taylor peeked over at him before quickly returning to stare at the spreadsheet template on her screen, numbers blurring together as the mortification threatened to suffocate her.
Get it together, she told herself firmly.
Time passed and class dragged.
Taylor checked the clock more times than she cared to admit, fingers tapping faintly against the desk as she completed her work.
Despite all her worrying, Isaac only asked for help once.
He leaned over, pointed at a formula he wanted to double-check, listened while she explained it, nodded—and that was it.
What surprised her more was that he finished before she did.
She noticed it when the clacking of his keyboard stopped entirely and he leaned back, scrolling through something else while she was still wrestling with conditional formatting.
She frowned faintly, more confused than anything else. Did he even need help in the first place? The thought lingered, but she didn't jump straight to suspicion. Yesterday had already shown her he picked things up fast—almost unnervingly so. Maybe he'd just studied hard to catch up last night.
Though unlike yesterday, he didn't try to talk to her again.
He barely even glanced her way. Instead, he just pulled up videos—advanced coding tutorials from the look of them—and watched quietly, pausing and rewinding like he was actually trying to learn something instead of killing time until the period ended.
It was… oddly disappointing.
By the time Taylor finally finished her assignment and submitted it, the bell was still a few minutes away. The room settled into that strange limbo where everyone pretended to be busy while mentally checking out.
She opened PHO.
Finding the Slaughterhouse Zero thread was effortless. Even two months after the death of those monsters, clips, screenshots, frame-by-frame breakdowns, and people arguing who was MVP in the fight occurred.
She clicked it.
The very first post was by Ordis and the video links for the nine's death was the first thing she focused on.
She hadn't watched the uncensored version—she wasn't sure she ever would—but Ordis had linked a heavily censored edit beneath the original. Even through the excessive pixelation, it had been incredible. Terrifying and awe-inspiring all at once.
Her favorite part had been Ivara's fight against the Siberian.
The way she fought the Siberian—fluid, precise, always three steps ahead. It was beautiful. A display of skill and battle intelligence Taylor aspired to achieve as a hero. She briefly wondered if she would get to meet Ivara or at least get the same training as her if she joined Ten-Zero.
Taylor shook her head slightly, breaking her thoughts away from her fangirling.
She clicked Ordis's username.
The options popped up immediately.
Create an account.
Sign in.
Send message as an anonymous guest.
Her finger hovered over the mouse, ready to pick the last option but she hesitated.
She could do it now. The phrase was burned into her memory from hours of repeating it. But…
Her eyes flicked sideways.
Isaac was still there, absorbed in his screen, and completely minding his own business. Still, all it would take is a single glance to her computer when she wasn't paying attention for him to know everything. That was a risk she wasn't willing to take. Not just just because it would expose her as a cape but also because it could make her look like a complete idiot to Ten-Zero if they ever found out that's how she got exposed.
So Taylor went back to the homepage.
Later, she told herself firmly. The library is safer.
That didn't mean she was going to sit in class twiddling her thumbs for the rest of the time.
She searched for news on the fight last night.
According to the official narrative, an unknown "bug-themed parahuman" had engaged Lung after overhearing credible threats of violence against children in the area. The report claimed she'd delayed and harassed the ABB leader long enough for Armsmaster to arrive, where he deployed a new piece of tinkertech that suppressed Lung's regenerative abilities. With Lung weakened, the situation had been "brought under control" by the Protectorate leader. It went on to note that she'd assisted with evacuation and search-and-rescue once it became clear her powers were better suited to moving civilians.
Taylor stared at the screen, visibly shocked yet happy despite herself at the way the article had framed her as a key player in bringing Lung to justice.
Despite the article, not everyone liked her.
That became abundantly clear when she clicked on the message boards.
There were complaints about her methods. People who'd been there complaining about insects pouring out of walls and the panic of feeling them crawling all over their body. One comment compared it to a horror movie. Another said it had been "traumatizing."
But next to those were others.
Posts thanking her for getting people out. Parents saying that terrifying or not, they'd made it out unharmed because of her. Someone even mentioned seeing her personally escort an elderly couple down the street after the danger had passed, calling her a real hero for it.
A grin threatened to split her face open.
For a wild, reckless second, she wanted to grab the nearest person—Isaac—spin him around and jab a finger at the screen.
She wanted to scream, "That's me. I did that!"
She didn't, of course. She sat there, hands clenched lightly in her lap, shoulders drawn in, containing it. Pride fizzed through her anyway, warming places that had felt cold for a long time.
Riding that high, she kept reading—and that was when she noticed something strange.
There wasn't a single mention of Umbra.
No pictures. No eyewitness accounts. Not even speculation about the black-armored figure. Even Shade—the drone that had followed her—was treated like a rumor rather than something confirmed.
That was… strange.
Taylor leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as she thought it through. There was no way no one had seen Umbra. When he'd pulled her out of Lung's attempt to burn the block, people had been watching from windows. Someone should've caught something, even if it was just a blur.
Unless it had been scrubbed.
Or withheld.
Or deliberately excluded.
The bell rang for the next class, sharp and abrupt. Taylor closed the tab, gathered her things, and stood, moving on autopilot as she filed out with everyone else.
She couldn't imagine the PRT doing this—stealing credit from an ally wouldn't look good—but she also couldn't see why Ten-Zero would either. From everything she knew, they were nearly as image-conscious as the Protectorate.
Unless they were stepping back and giving her the spotlight on purpose.
Or trying to build her up publicly so it wouldn't look like they were recruiting a nobody.
Either way, it left her with more questions.
_______________________________________________
Isaac saw the hesitation.
The cursor hovering. The tiny pause in Taylor's hand. The way her eyes flicked sideways—checking the room, checking him, checking the risk—before she backed out of the message option entirely and returned to something safer.
Good.
If she'd contacted Ordis in the middle of class, in plain sight, excitement overruling caution, it would've told him quite a few negative things about her ability to maintain secrecy.
Not that her position in Echo-Zero would be in much danger if she had made such a mistake.
Much to the Operator's surprise, Taylor had Umbra's seal of approval.
It seemed that after being informed of Taylor's importance to his plan of creating their own version of Tenno Operatives on Bet, Umbra took it upon himself to do a little more than just save her like he ordered.
It led to her getting front page with Armsmaster and honestly…
A bit sly of the old Dax, but the Tenno approved.
Her actions last night revealed more of her character to him than a chat over school lunch ever could. Because when put in a difficult situation and push came to shove, she had performed most admirably. Almost literally dragging people kicking and screaming to safety if necessary with her bugs.
He liked that. It was very Tenno.
The bell rang and the class snapped to motion. Chairs scraped, backpacks slid on, and the room emptied in a surge toward the door.
Isaac stood with everyone else, slinging his bag over one shoulder, and let Taylor leave first.
He stepped into the hallway after her and immediately got hit with noise. Lockers slammed. Shouting. Laughing. A dozen overlapping conversations bouncing off the walls. Taylor moved ahead of him, head down, walking with the intent of disappearing into the flow.
It was his second day at Winslow, and he was… oddly enjoying it. He could see the appeal Drifter was talking about. Exploring new subjects, plotting the downfall of the local power structure and rebuilding it from the ground up with him at the head. Recruiting new and interesting people like Taylor for him was also a bit fun too, like collecting crew members for his railjack. He could see why Drifter liked doing this normal stuff.
It was freeing in a way. A breath of fresh air without the weight of any true responsibility.
The two acquaintances he made yesterday drifted up beside him while he was in thought, tapping his shoulders.
"Bro," the taller one said, phone already out, "you gotta see this. I got videos of the fight from like three different angles."
"Yeah," the shorter one chimed in, swiping through clips on his own phone. "I also got one from the top of the steps. You can actually see when you dropped down and did that breakdance move."
Shorty shoved the screen toward him. The video was shaky—like the recorder had been in the middle of the fight despite just recording—but it still caught the moment he was talking about.
Isaac gave it a quick glance and a noncommittal hum. He wasn't exactly interested in rewatching something Ordis had already captured from every possible perspective. Saved in an Ayatan Star for "safe keeping."
"Man," the taller one said in slight awe, reaching over to rewind the video and see the attack again. "It looks unreal. I've always thought moving like that was reserved for action movie heroes, capes, and anime characters."
"That's what I'm saying," the shorter one added. "Where'd you learn to fight like that, Isaac? You do martial arts or something?"
"Or something and martial arts, all learned from the ancient school of hard knocks," Isaac answered, a smirk curling his lips.
They laughed.
Then the taller one looked over at his shorter friend while pointing a thumb at Isaac. "Sounds like we have a real badass over here."
Isaac smirk widened. "I thought humiliating the Empire on my first day gave it away."
"And a humble one as well it seems," Shorty commented dryly. "So much for getting lucky."
The Tenno burst out laughing but quickly turned his attention mostly outward when he noticed students were looking at him.
Not all of them, but the fleeting looks he received spoke of recognition and/or curiosity. A few wary stares also followed. A couple of whispers that stopped the moment he turned his head. Someone even elbowed their friend and nodded toward him.
So the videos—or the news—had spread further than he thought, and fast.
Good.
That meant his name and face were circulating. And in a place like Winslow, being known was half the battle. Now he just needed to turn that recognition and wariness into respect.
Not just from regular students either.
The cliques, the wannabe gang kids, and the actual gang kids. He wasn't here to just knock the "Three Bitches" off their little throne after all. That was ultimately small scale.
He realized he'd stopped actually listening to his two shadows somewhere in the middle of their excited rambling about some monks in a place called Tibet.
One of them noticed and drew him back in by asking about something new.
"So—uh," the taller one said, bumping him with an elbow and doing a weird movement with his eyebrows, "how'd the ride home with Hess go?"
"Yeah man, spill," Shorty said with a wide grin. "I know we said not to mess with the trio and all but what they lack in personality… well, you get it."
Isaac didn't, but he took on an exaggeratedly thoughtful look as he considered what to reveal.
There wasn't much he was willing to say. Unlikeable as Sophia was, she had shared all she had in confidence with him. Spilling their private conversation wasn't something he was going to do with people he could only consider acquaintances.
"It was okay. We had an interesting conversation," he said finally. "Turns out she's quite the philosopher."
The last part came with a subtle edge of mockery.
The two guys either didn't notice or didn't care, if the disappointed looks from his answer were any indication. They tried fishing for more detail on the way into World Issues, but he playfully avoided saying anything meaningful.
One of the first things Isaac noticed after a quick scan of the room was a trio.
Three girls a few rows over—two he didn't recognize, with Madison in the middle—leaning close together like they were sharing a secret. Madison's shoulders kept bouncing with giggles, her hand half-covering her mouth despite clearly laughing for the world to hear.
Isaac tracked their gaze without moving his head to Taylor who was halfway to her desk.
She was heading to the desk with those same two boys from yesterday with—one with a bowl cut who always looked ready to talk at her despite her not even sitting down yet, and the other who looked permanently out of it.
Isaac also moved toward his own seat with the two guys he'd been walking with, taking the spot that he had yesterday. Taylor turned to look at him again and in a repeat of yesterday he smiled at her. This time she shyly and subtly waved back before turning away.
He also turned away, content with the progress.
Tall dropped his bag and immediately started digging through papers. Shorty followed suit, pulling out his homework.
"Yo," Tall said, flipping his page around so Isaac could see the header. It read, The Lasting Effects of Andrew Hawke. "What'd you do yours on?"
Shorty tilted his paper too, like they were showing off without wanting to admit it. "Yeah, man. I kept it simple. Mostly."
His read, The Case 53 Phenomena.
Isaac's eyes weren't focused on that though, they flicked over their names.
Brandon Kline, printed at the top of Tall's.
Nate Weller, scribbled in darker pen on Shorty's.
Finally! He figured out their names.
"Well Brandon and Nate," Isaac repeated, like he'd known their names all along. "I—"
He paused.
Isaac realized that he didn't know what his report was even about because Ordis had done it.
To buy time, he opened his bag like he was looking for his pages and sent the thought inward.
"Ordis." The operator called.
There was an immediate, cheerful response in his head, bright enough it almost felt like a grin.
"Yes, Operator?" His cephalon companion answered back.
"What did you do for my World Issues homework?"
"Ordis made a short report detailing how the exploits of the Tenno have influenced the world stage, including the destabilization of multiple hostile organizations, the rise in public morale, and the—"
Isaac nearly sighed as Ordis rattled off more details he put in his "short" report.
A report about how great he was, written by someone who genuinely believed he was the best thing to ever happen to any timeline. It was probably well-written and perfectly formatted too. It was also… yeah. The height of vanity.
But he couldn't be mad. He'd literally asked for this.
"Thanks, Ordis."
"Anything for you, Operator!"
Isaac fished out the printed pages and slid them onto the desk like it had been his plan all along.
"...did mine on Ten-Zero," he said casually.
Brandon's eyebrows lifted. "That's actually kind of cool. I figured most people wouldn't, though. They're pretty new despite everything they've done."
Nate nodded like he agreed, then leaned in closer, voice dropping like he was about to share classified information.
"Speaking of… did you hear about Lung getting captured last night?"
Brandon made a face. "Who hasn't? It was on the news this morning. My mom wouldn't shut up about it."
Isaac nodded once, wondering where this was going. "Yeah. I heard."
Nate leaned in even more, forearms on the desk, eyes darting briefly around the area before snapping back.
"I got info that…" he whispered, "Ten-Zero was involved."
Brandon scoffed immediately, loud enough that Isaac saw a couple heads shift their way. "No way."
Nate flinched and shushed him fiercely, two fingers up like a warning. "Dude. Don't blurt it out."
Brandon blinked. "What? It's not like—"
"It is like," Nate hissed, glancing around again. "Think about it. If they were involved and it didn't hit the news, there's a reason. Whatever reason they got for keeping the name out? It's probably serious. So don't spread it around."
Brandon's scoff faded into uncertainty. He scratched the back of his head like he suddenly didn't like the attention they'd drawn.
The Operator's eyes narrowed behind Isaac's face.
Nate was suspicious.
Not because he knew. Knowing wasn't the weird part—people talked, people saw things, and rumors traveled faster than truth.
The weird part was more how he knew.
The Operator had suppressed that information. Ordis had scrubbed phones, wiped uploads, and killed threads. Even the stuff that slipped through got buried under noise fast. It had been deliberate, and it had worked.
And sure, Nate could have a cousin who lived by the Docks, or a brother who had a friend of a friend in the PRT. That alone wouldn't be enough on its own to flag him.
But Isaac remembered Nate talking yesterday. His casual warning about the Merchants.
The Archers Bridge Merchants weren't the kind of gang most normal or even gang affiliated people even knew existed unless they lived in the right area or had connections with the homeless population. People talked about the ABB. Empire. Sometimes Coil, if they were the type to pretend they knew more than they did.
Merchants was only the kind of name that came up when you were closer to the dirt than you wanted to admit.
Isaac didn't get to press, though. He didn't get to steer the conversation, or test Nate's edges, because Mr. Gladly finally started moving.
The teacher had been in the room for a couple minutes already—quietly writing something on the board, watching the class settle in with that tired patience teachers had when they were already counting down to retirement.
He clapped his hands once.
The room snapped into that half-attentive silence.
"Alright," Mr. Gladly said, voice carrying. "Groups of four."
Groans. Chair's scraping. Immediate shifting.
"You'll share your homework with your group," Gladly continued, pacing slowly, "and you'll prepare to share the best points with the class afterward. The group with the most to contribute wins the prize I mentioned Friday."
Isaac turned to Nate with an eyebrow raised with a question.
"Treats from the vending machine," Nate whispered.
A nod of thanks was given as chairs scraped from people getting up to pair with their friends.
Isaac didn't get up.
He stayed seated while the room broke into motion around him. Backpacks dragging across the floor, people calling out names and waving friends over like it was a cafeteria instead of a classroom. The noise spiked for a moment, then started to settle into pockets of conversation.
Taylor's corner was one of the only ones that didn't change. Isaac noticed that they only had three members and the next part of his plan clicked neatly into place.
Since they were one down, he'd join them.
He started to shift forward in his seat—
"Isaaac," Madison sang, dragging his name out like they were already friends. "You should totally join our group."
She came up in front of his desk, her two lackeys flanking her. She smiled bright and easy, hands clasped behind her back like this was a fun little favor she was offering him.
Isaac's first reaction was immediate and blunt.
No.
His second reaction was the more analytical part of him.
Rejecting her outright—publicly, in front of her friends—was the kind of thing people like Madison were easily offended by and the last thing he wanted at this junction was her running around spreading lies. Not that Madison needed a good reason to start something like a smear campaign other than for her own cruel amusement. But his goals at Winslow weren't helped by giving her one on day two.
Saying yes was worse though.
He couldn't be seen buddying up with them. Not if he wanted the hallway recognition to turn into respect instead of "oh, he's with them." And certainly not if he wanted to befriend people like Taylor.
Speaking of her.
If he turned Madison down and immediately walked over to Taylor's group, that would put a spotlight on Taylor. It would broadcast a message to the room: I picked her over you.
Even if that message helped Taylor in some ways, it might also invite harsher retaliation from her bullies. On the other hand… they already hated Taylor enough to sabotage her grades and pull a stunt like the locker. His presence—and new reputation—could act like a shield if he stood on her side.
Still.
He didn't know how Taylor would react to him stepping into that role. He didn't know if she'd see it as help or as a new kind of attention she didn't want.
So the cleanest move was the simplest one.
Isaac leaned back in his chair, relaxed.
"Appreciate it," he said, tone friendly. "But I've already got a group."
Madison blinked then pouted. "C'mon. You can switch. I'm sure your friends wouldn't mind."
He smiled, small and apologetic. "Yeah, I know. Just trying to stick with the guys I came in with. They've been looking out for me since I got here. I'd feel bad just leaving them high and dry."
For a second, it looked like she might push but Madison wasn't stupid or desperate so she simply smiled again, tighter this time.
"Okay," she said. Her lips pressed together, brows knitting as she straightened. Not angry. Not offended. Just… pouty. Like someone had told her she couldn't get dessert before dinner. She really did remind him of his little sisters. "Suit yourself."
Then she turned away, heels clicking softly as she walked back toward her desk cluster, the two girls following.
Isaac waited until she'd fully disengaged before he exhaled through his nose.
Nate gave him a look, eyebrows raised.
Brandon leaned closer, voice low. "Dude. First Sophia, now Madison?"
Isaac didn't even glance over. "What about them?"
Brandon made a face, halfway between impressed and nervous. "Nothing man. Nothing at all.."
Isaac rolled his eyes and finally shifted his chair inward toward Nate and Brandon again, committing to the group he'd claimed.
Class was going by fast once Mr. Gladly got them into groups.
Brandon and Nate wasted no time launching into their reports like they'd been waiting all morning to show them off. Brandon's on Andrew Hawke—aka Vikare—was more detailed than Isaac expected from a kid at Winslow. Dates, public incidents, a rough timeline, even a section about how the Protectorate had based some of their public relations practices on him. Brandon was proud of it, and honestly, Isaac could see why. It was thorough enough that if Mr. Gladly cared even a little about grading, it'd score well.
Nate's Case 53 report was also impressive.
He'd clearly put work into it, but Isaac could already tell it was going to be a problem. Not because it was bad writing, but because it was the kind of topic that was rife with theory instead of facts. A lot of "maybe," "what if," and "it's not a coincidence" dressed up like certainty. Interesting, sure. But half of it was conspiracy theory stitched to real events, and teachers tended to punish that unless the student wrote it like a formal debate instead of a truth revelation.
He was halfway through explaining his own report when outside chatter caught his attention.
"Can I be in Madison's group?" a girl asked Mr. Gladly.
"That wouldn't be fair," Mr. Gladly said. "Greg's group only has three people. Help them."
The girl—Julia he realized thanks to Greg shouting her name earlier—stood near the entrance of the room, then angled toward the group with Greg.
Thanks to her asking Gladly to sit next to Madison and her general demeanor, Isaac realized she was a hanger-on of the Trio. She walked over toward Taylor's group with that little expression that said she already hated being there.
Then, just loud enough for people nearby to hear, she muttered, "Ew."
Taylor's expression after hearing her say that spoke to her feeling the exact same way about her.
Isaac watched it unfold and made a decision. He wasn't letting Madison's pawn drop into Taylor's group and ruin her day. He raised his hand slightly.
"Mr. Gladly," Isaac called, voice casual.
Gladly looked over. "Yes, Isaac?"
"She can join ours," Isaac said, jerking a thumb toward Julia. "We only have three in our group as well.."
Gladly nodded once, then turned to the girl. "That works. Which group would you prefer Julia?"
Julia's face tightened.
She'd just said "ew" about Taylor's group. Now the choice was between sitting with the group she'd insulted… or sitting with the guy everyone was watching after yesterday.
It should've been obvious.
And yet she hesitated.
Her eyes flicked toward Madison like she was waiting for a silent command.
Internally, the Operator couldn't help the dry thought: "What a well-trained kubrow."
Madison looked annoyed with her but she gave the smallest nod.
Julia exhaled through her nose and dragged her chair over to Isaac's group. She sat down with stiff posture and a look like she was doing community service.
Thankfully, Brandon and Nate weren't like Greg even if they were a bit awkward. They played it cool. So Isaac played it friendly.
"Nice to meet you Julia," Isaac greeted with a smile. "I'm Isaac," he said, then gestured to his sides. "Brandon. Nate."
Brandon waved awkwardly. Nate gave a quick nod.
Julia's eyes flicked between them, dismissive when on them but evaluation on him. "Nice to meet you too."
Isaac smirk grew as an idea came to him.
"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I noticed you haven't pulled out your report. Did you do it?"
Julia scowled and her cheeks flushed instantly. "Shut up."
Oh.
So she hadn't.
Isaac tilted his head, pretending to consider her. "That's a no, then."
Julia was glaring now. "I did it. I just… didn't finish."
"Mm-hmm," Isaac said, very unimpressed.
"Whatever," she muttered, folding her arms and turning away.
Brandon and Nate both gave Isaac a look that screamed: "what the hell are you doing?"
Isaac ignored them.
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like he was letting her into something.
"Tell you what," he said. "If Gladly calls you up to share for our group and you don't have anything, you can read off mine."
Julia blinked, suspicion flickering. "Why would you do that?"
He shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Because you're in my group now. That's how groups work and I'm not saying no to winning free snacks."
She stared at him a second longer, eyes narrowed, like she was trying to catch him in something. When it became clear his easy smile wasn't going anywhere, she huffed. Still, the tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction.
"You know…" She started, leaning forward and batting her eyelashes up at him. "If I don't turn it in, I won't get the grade for it."
Isaac's smile stretched into a smirk of amusement. "Then do the homework next time."
She frowned in annoyance, seemingly mad at him for her failed attempt at charm.
"…Fine," she said, quieter now. Then, after a beat, "Show me the report."
Nate and Brandon leaned back in their chairs, clearly whispering behind Isaac's back.
"How does he do it?" Nate muttered under his breath.
Brandon chuckled. "I don't know, man. Dude might actually be Bruce Wayne."
Isaac heard them. He didn't react. He just kept the same friendly expression on his face as he slid his report over to Julia.
She took it with surprising care and started reading, eyes moving quickly down the page. No snide comment. No eye-roll. Just focus.
Good.
The plan was taking shape. If he could peel even one pawn out of Madison's orbit—even slightly—that was leverage. Better yet if it caused friction. Favoring the lackey while ignoring the queen was exactly the kind of thing that bred resentment. And resentment could fester until Julia broke away from the group.
More time passed as Julia read their reports.Another group ended up winning the reward though.
Barely.
Gladly announced it with the faintest hint of disappointment, noting that Isaac's group had come in a very close second. Close enough that it was actually a surprise to the class they hadn't won. Nate leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, Brandon gave a small fist pump under the desk, and Julia—who had just finished presenting for her group like she actually knew what she was talking about instead of having read of others people's worlk—looked more relieved than proud.
"Nice job," Brandon said quietly as she sat back down.
"Yeah," Nate added, nodding. "You actually sounded prepared."
Julia rolled her eyes, but she smiled anyway. "Shut up. And… thanks. For helping me out." The last part was directed at Isaac.
He gave her a thumbs up and she didn't linger after that. The bell rang and Madison was already gathering her things, so Julia followed her out with the rest of the group trailing behind.
Isaac slung his bag over his shoulder and stood with Brandon and Nate. The second they were outside the class, Isaac paused.
"You guys go on ahead," he said. "I'll catch up."
Nate gave him a look. "You sure? The lunch line is gonna get pretty long if you're late."
"Yeah."
They shrugged and headed off toward the cafeteria. He leaned back against the wall outside the classroom, hands across his chest as he waited for Taylor to walk out.
For some reason, she hadn't left class yet.
But what occupied his attention more than Taylor was a cluster of girls gathered a short distance away—too organised to be coincidence. The presence of Emma, Madison, and Sophia practically confirmed what they were gathered here for.
Isaac, having no interest in letting Taylor walk into an ambush, decided to run interference.
He straightened slightly and lifted a hand. "Hey."
That made them pause their giggling and finally take notice of him.
Sophia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting," Isaac answered calmly.
"For what?"
"For Taylor. Just like you guys."
The air shifted, confusion evident in some of the lackeys but Emma and Madison looked delighted at his declaration. He supposed they believed Sophia filled him in on the car ride she had with him yesterday and that he was now "in" on bullying Taylor.
Sophia didn't buy it.
"What, you and Hebert friends now?" she asked, stepping closer.
Isaac kept his expression flat. "No. We've hardly even talked."
She took another step, close enough that most people would've backed up. "Then what?"
"Well," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, "being new to the jungle and all, I figured I'd start looking for more friends. She seemed nice enough."
As brainwashed by her predator prey fairytale as Sophia was, she picked up on his body language instantly. The lack of tension. The calm in his face and voice. The implication that she didn't rate as a threat by putting his hands in his pocket.
It pissed her off.
Her hands balled into fists. "Maybe you should find someone else to be friends with. We've got business with her."
Isaac tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk touching his lips. "And maybe you're standing too close. People might start talking if they keep seeing us like this, Hess."
Her face flushed with fury. "You fucking smartass—"
She drew her arm back, ready to swing. Isaac didn't move. He'd let her get one hit in before laying her out and going straight to Blackwell. Even that corrupt principal wouldn't be able to ignore that, not after the generous donation he'd just given yesterday.
But the punch never landed.
Emma grabbed Sophia's arm. Madison caught her other side, hauling her back before things could turn ugly. Sophia snarled and fought them for a second, then froze when she realized how many eyes were on them.
Emma turned back to Isaac, her tone smoother and more charismatic than her more violent friend. "Sorry about her. But she has a point. Why bother with Taylor? She's a loser. A drug addict slut. Everyone knows it."
Madison nodded along, arms crossed, piling on with practiced ease. Julia stood with the other hangers-on, quiet and pointedly avoiding his eyes.
Isaac half-listened while they talked. The insults blurred together, repetitive and pointless. For a moment, he wondered if all the social maneuvering he had done earlier had even been worth it. If doing things subtly had just dragged things out to this inevitable point of confrontation.
Probably still necessary.
At least this way, it wasn't happening inside of a classroom.
"Listen," he said, cutting through them. His voice was calm, firm. "I don't care what you think of Taylor. Whatever your opinions are—whatever the truth is—I'll let her actions and character speak for her. Not any of you."
The silence that followed was immediate.
He looked over the group once, then settled his gaze on Sophia, deliberately baiting her one last time. "So. Are we done here, or do you want another shot at my jaw?" He stuck his chin out slightly, the smirk returning. "Fair warning—I'm something of a feminist."
Sophia shook with restrained fury. It seemed that whatever comradery she felt with him yesterday had evaporated like water the second he stepped on her toes. Madison pulled her back again, harder this time. "Let's just go. It's not even worth it."
But none of them moved until Emma did.
She looked at Isaac like she was both angry and disappointed, flipped her hair, and walked away without a word. Sophia yanked her arm free from Madison's grip, nearly sending the smaller girl to the floor, and stormed off after her. Madison and the others followed soon after.
Isaac stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, watching them go—smirk still in place until the last of them rounded the corner.