The thing no one tells you about revenge is how often you have to stare at yourself.
Not just metaphorically though the guilt does its own haunting but literally.
I sat in front of the dorm mirror, still in my academy uniform, hair undone, eyes tired. I was starting to look more like Ayla Everett again and less like Ava Monroe.
The closer I got to the truth, the less of me remained.
I heard Iris enter behind me, her boots soft against the tile.
"You're doing that thing again," she said.
"What thing?"
"Looking at yourself like you forgot which girl you're supposed to be."
I didn't answer.
Because she was right.
Later that night, we broke into Vanguard's faculty archives.
A risky move, but we needed to know how deep the Circle's reach went.
The records were stored in a secured server inside the library's sub-basement—off-limits, protected by both digital locks and a very cranky AI named Corvus.
Lucky for us, Iris had an override code.
Unlucky for us… so did someone else.
Because when we entered, someone had already been there.
Files missing.
Security logs wiped.
Only one clue left behind: a mirror, cracked across the center, hanging crooked above the backup terminal.
I stepped closer.
Carved into the glass in jagged etching:
"YOU ARE BEING WATCHED."
Scene: Jonas Vale's Dorm
He sat at his desk, flipping through a notebook filled with surveillance notes and equations. Everything Ava and Iris did, he recorded. But lately, the notes had started to drift.
Lines like: "Why does she pause before lying?" and "Iris protects her without admitting it."
He was writing about them like… people.
Which was dangerous.
Because Sweepers weren't allowed to feel.
His phone buzzed.
No caller ID.
He answered.
A voice said: "You have six days left. If they're not dead, you are."
Then the line went dead.
Melanie's Secret Journal
There's something broken in Ava Monroe. I don't know what yet, but it's not just trauma. It's surgical. Intentional. Like someone carved her into this thing she's become.
And Iris Dax? She's what happens when the scalpel breaks halfway through the operation.
They're dangerous. But I'm more dangerous. I have to be.
Back in my dorm, I couldn't sleep.
I kept replaying the reflection in that cracked mirror.
The message. The threat.
But also… the truth.
Someone was watching us.
But they didn't realize something crucial:
We were watching back.
And the girl in the mirror?
She wasn't scared anymore.
She was sharpening her blade.