Chapter 16: Faculty Eyes
The Advanced Superhero Theory classroom reeked of chalk dust and broken dreams. Professor Brink stood at the front like a predator sizing up prey, his pale eyes scanning the assembled students with the calculating precision of someone who'd made a career out of turning idealists into corporate assets.
Landon kept his posture carefully slouched, projecting the same harmless mediocrity he'd worn like armor since arriving at Godolkin. But beneath the surface, his nerves hummed with tension. The lockdown had passed, but its aftermath lingered like smoke—faculty scrutiny had intensified, security protocols had doubled, and every small interaction felt like walking through a minefield.
Just another day in paradise, he thought, tracing idle patterns on his notebook margin while Brink droned about "power application frameworks." The geometric shapes helped center him, a remnant of childhood coping mechanisms that still worked when the walls felt like they were closing in.
"Mr. Vale."
The name cut through classroom chatter like a blade. Landon's hand stilled on his pen, but he kept his expression carefully blank as he looked up.
"Sir?"
Brink's smile carried all the warmth of winter moonlight. "Perhaps you'd care to share your thoughts on temporary power replication? I understand you have some... practical experience in that area."
The classroom went dead silent. Every eye turned toward Landon, some curious, others predatory. He could feel Marie's concerned gaze from two seats over, Andre's subtle tension from across the room. The air tasted metallic—fear and anticipation mixing with the ever-present chalk dust that coated everything in Godolkin like educational sediment.
Careful, careful. He's fishing.
Landon affected a nervous laugh, complete with a slight stutter that had become second nature. "I-I wouldn't call it practical experience, Professor. More like... accidental survival?"
"Accidental." Brink repeated the word like he was tasting something unpleasant. "How remarkably modest. Tell me, how does one accidentally survive multiple potentially fatal encounters with enhanced individuals?"
The question hung in the air like a noose waiting to tighten. Landon's mouth went dry, but he forced his shoulders to hunch defensively—the picture of a frightened student being bullied by an authority figure.
"Just lucky, I guess? Right place, right time. Wrong time. You know how it is."
Several students chuckled, but Brink's expression didn't shift. If anything, his pale eyes grew more focused, like a microscope zeroing in on a particularly interesting specimen.
"Luck." Another word savored and found wanting. "In my experience, Mr. Vale, consistent luck often requires considerable planning. Wouldn't you agree?"
[BRINK'S WATCHING: LIE BETTER, COWARD.]
The system's warning felt like ice water in his veins, but Landon had learned to mask his reactions to its commentary. Instead, he bit his lip—a calculated gesture of nervousness that he'd practiced until it looked genuine.
"I wouldn't know about planning, sir. I'm barely keeping up with regular coursework."
Brink stepped closer, his footsteps echoing in the too-quiet classroom. The scent of his cologne—something expensive and clinical—mixed with the chalk dust to create an atmosphere of sterile menace.
"Perhaps. But I find it curious that someone with such limited apparent abilities continues to find himself at the center of... significant events."
The words were chosen carefully, but their meaning was clear. Brink knew. Maybe not the specifics, maybe not the system or the deaths or the careful orchestration, but he knew something was off about Landon Vale's miraculous survival rate.
Before Landon could formulate a response, Marie's voice cut through the tension.
"Professor Brink."
Every head turned toward her. Marie sat straighter in her chair, her dark eyes blazing with protective fury that made Landon's chest tight with emotion he couldn't afford to show.
"I was there during most of those incidents. Landon didn't do anything except get hurt trying to help people. If you want to blame someone for the chaos on campus, maybe look at the administration that turned our school into a police state."
Her Midwest accent carried clearly through the classroom, each word precisely enunciated with the kind of moral certainty that could stop bullets. Several students shifted uncomfortably—Marie Moreau defending someone was noteworthy enough, but directly challenging a professor was practically revolutionary.
Brink's attention shifted to Marie like a snake focusing on movement in tall grass. "Ms. Moreau. How noble of you to defend your... friend. Though I wonder if your perspective might be somewhat limited by personal attachment."
"My perspective," Marie replied evenly, "is limited by facts. Landon's never started any of the fights he's been caught up in. He's just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place when other people lose control."
The classroom atmosphere crackled with tension. This wasn't just about Landon anymore—this was about authority versus student solidarity, corporate control versus personal loyalty. Lines were being drawn in real time.
Landon felt a surge of gratitude so powerful it nearly stole his breath. Marie was risking herself to protect him, standing up to faculty authority with the kind of courage he wished he actually possessed instead of merely performing.
[MARIE'S YOUR SHIELD: DON'T WASTE IT.]
I won't, he promised silently, both to the system and to the fierce young woman who'd somehow decided he was worth defending.
"Thank you, Marie," Landon said quietly, just loud enough for the classroom to hear. "But Professor Brink's right to be suspicious. I know how it looks."
He turned back to Brink, affecting sheepish humility while calculating exactly how much truth he could afford to reveal.
"The thing is, sir, when you're powerless in a place like this, you learn to read situations pretty quickly. Danger signs, escape routes, when to duck." He shrugged, playing up the self-deprecating angle. "Survival instincts, I guess. Nothing special about it."
Brink studied him for a long moment, pale eyes searching for cracks in the performance. Finally, he stepped back, but the predatory focus remained.
"Survival instincts. How... illuminating." The professor returned to his position at the front of the classroom, but his gaze kept drifting back to Landon like iron filings drawn to a magnet. "We'll continue this discussion another time, Mr. Vale. I have a feeling there's much more to learn about your particular... talents."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. This wasn't over. If anything, Landon had just made himself more interesting to someone whose interest was the last thing he needed.
The campus quad buzzed with the familiar energy of evening social hour, but tonight it felt different. Groups clustered tighter, conversations carried undertones of conspiracy, and security cameras tracked everything with mechanical persistence. The lockdown might have officially ended, but its shadow stretched long across Godolkin's carefully manicured facade.
Landon found Andre and Emma at their usual spot near the fountain, though even that felt like a risk now. Public gatherings drew attention, and attention was becoming increasingly dangerous. Still, maintaining normal patterns was crucial—deviation would only invite more scrutiny.
"You look like you need alcohol," Andre observed as Landon approached. "Or therapy. Maybe both."
"Brink cornered me in class," Landon said, settling onto the fountain's edge. The stone was cool against his back, grounding him in physical sensation when his thoughts kept spiraling toward increasingly paranoid scenarios. "Marie had to save my ass from verbal evisceration."
Emma shifted closer, her shoulder bumping his in a gesture of casual intimacy that sent warmth spiraling through his chest. "What did he want?"
"Answers I can't give him. He knows something's off about my 'survival rate,' but he can't prove anything yet."
"Yet being the operative word," Andre muttered, magnetic fields swirling around his fingers in agitated patterns. "Pops always said faculty here were corporate spies first, teachers second. Brink's probably filing reports on all of us."
The thought should have been more disturbing than it was, but Landon had long since accepted that privacy was an illusion at Godolkin. The real trick was managing what information leaked and how it was interpreted.
Emma pulled a notebook from her backpack, pages covered in meticulous handwriting and small diagrams. "Speaking of reports, I may have done something slightly illegal."
"Slightly?" Landon peered at the notebook, recognizing Brink's distinctive handwriting on photocopied pages. "Emma, please tell me you didn't break into a professor's office."
"I didn't break in," Emma said primly. "I shrunk down and went through the ventilation system. Totally different thing."
Andre choked on his coffee. "You what?"
"Research," Emma defended, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I wanted to know what kind of notes he's been taking about certain students. Turns out, quite a lot."
She flipped through the pages, revealing detailed observations about student behavior, power manifestations, and psychological profiles. Landon's name appeared frequently, surrounded by question marks and speculative annotations that made his stomach clench.
"Look at this," Emma pointed to a particular entry. "'Subject displays unusual resilience to physical trauma. Recommend further observation and possible testing protocols.' Testing protocols, Landon. That doesn't sound good."
The casual mention of "testing" sent ice through Landon's veins. He'd seen enough of Godolkin's dark side to know what faculty testing could involve—and none of it ended well for the subjects.
"There's more," Emma continued, flipping to another page. "He's got files on all of us. Marie's listed as 'emotionally compromised, potential liability.' Andre's marked as 'ambitious, possibly manipulatable.' And I'm apparently 'resourceful but naive.'"
"Naive?" Andre snorted. "The woman who just committed breaking and entering is naive?"
"Hey, I prefer 'creatively investigative,'" Emma shot back, but her humor couldn't quite mask the underlying worry. "The point is, we're all on his radar now. And not in a good way."
Landon studied the photocopied pages, noting the clinical precision of Brink's observations. The professor was building psychological profiles, looking for leverage points and weaknesses. It was exactly what Landon might do in his position—which made it both impressive and terrifying.
He's good at this. Too good.
"We need to be more careful," Landon said finally. "Brink's not just suspicious—he's actively hunting. And if he's filing reports with higher-ups..."
"Then we're all fucked," Andre finished bluntly. "Unless we give him something else to focus on."
Emma's eyes lit up with dangerous inspiration. "Or someone else."
She reached into her backpack again, this time producing a small stack of printed papers that looked suspiciously official. "I may have also grabbed his lesson plans for next week. Including his personal notes about classroom management and student discipline."
Landon accepted the papers with growing admiration and terror. Emma's capacity for calculated mischief continued to surprise him—and remind him why he'd been drawn to her in the first place.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" he asked, though he was already formulating possibilities.
"I'm suggesting," Emma said with a grin that could have powered the campus, "that Professor Brink is about to have a very educational week. Pun intended."
Andre leaned forward, interest replacing wariness. "I'm listening."
"Simple substitution prank," Emma explained, spreading the lesson plans across her lap. "We replace his carefully prepared notes with... alternatives. Nothing too obvious—just enough to throw him off balance and make him look unprofessional in front of students."
Landon studied the plans, noting Brink's meticulous preparation and rigid structure. The man clearly prided himself on classroom control and academic authority. Disrupting that control, even subtly, might shift his focus away from investigating students toward maintaining his professional reputation.
"It's risky," he said, though his tone suggested interest rather than dismissal. "If he traces it back to us..."
"He won't," Emma said confidently. "I've got the swap planned for tonight, when he's at the faculty meeting. Simple in-and-out, no evidence left behind."
"And if something goes wrong?"
Emma's expression grew serious, the playful mischief replaced by quiet determination. "Then we deal with consequences together. Like we always do."
The simple statement carried weight beyond its words. Together. Whatever came next—pranks or investigation or worse—they'd face it as a team. The thought should have been comforting, but instead it filled Landon with the familiar ache of undeserved loyalty.
They don't know what they're signing up for.
But looking at Emma's bright confidence and Andre's eager anticipation, Landon found himself nodding. Maybe they didn't know the full truth about him, but they knew enough. They'd chosen to stand with him anyway.
[GROUP'S TIGHT: PRANK CREW RISING.]
The system's approval felt like benediction. Whatever else he was—liar, manipulator, serial suicide victim—he was also part of something larger. Something that might actually be worth the risks they were all taking.
"Alright," Landon said, accepting Emma's offered hand as she pulled him to his feet. "Let's go mess with a professor's lesson plans. What could possibly go wrong?"
Andre grinned, magnetic fields sparkling around his fingers like controlled lightning. "Famous last words, man. I love it."
As they walked toward the academic building, Emma's hand warm in his and Andre's laughter echoing off campus walls, Landon felt something dangerous blooming in his chest. Hope, maybe. Or just the intoxicating rush of shared rebellion.
Either way, it felt like flying.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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