Chapter 4
The fluorescent light of the boy's bathroom hummed with a low, electric buzz, vibrating directly against Ethan Hayes's raw nerves. He hunched over the sink, transfixed by the ruin of his right hand. The pain had evolved from sharp spikes into a deep, rhythmic throb that pulsed up his forearm in perfect synchronization with his heartbeat.Blood dark and unnervingly warm dripped from his shattered knuckles, splattering against the cracked porcelain below. It mingled with the running water, creating diluted pink spirals that vanished down the drain.He watched it disappear, wishing with childish desperation that he could dissolve along with it.Mandatory Meeting. Bring one parent.The email's words burned behind his eyelids. Ethan pressed his forehead against the cool, unbroken section of the mirror, attempting to calculate tomorrow's inevitable disaster. An equation without solution confronted him.Variable A: Mr. Hayes. His father had just canceled his credit card for "lacking focus." If he witnessed the administration presenting a viral video of Ethan's girlfriend straddling his best friend labeled as "misuse of school property" he wouldn't see victimhood. He would see scandal. He would see weakness a son who allowed public humiliation to tarnish the Hayes name. The Miller Account failure had already loaded the gun; this meeting would pull the trigger.Variable B: The Hand. A jagged glass shard remained embedded between his second and third knuckles. Arriving home bleeding would showcase the physical evidence of his shattered control. "Self-destruction is for the weak, Ethan," his father would sneer. No sympathy would follow just cold calculation of medical expenses and inconvenience.Variable C: The Gas Tank. His car sat in the dark parking lot running on fumes. He'd driven here in a blind rage, burning his last fuel. No money. No card. No escape.The math crushed him: He was trapped.Ethan forced himself to move. The janitorial staff would soon make their rounds, and discovery would add another humiliating chapter to his legend: The Broken Boy of Northwood High.He twisted the faucet shut and grabbed a handful of rough paper towels, pressing them hard against his mangled knuckles. Fresh white-hot agony shot up his arm, blurring his vision, yet the pain anchored him. It offered reality the only genuine thing in his life that wasn't built on lies.He secured the makeshift bandage with athletic tape found at the bottom of his backpack remnants from when he'd pretended interest in sports to impress Ryan. Ryan. The name alone triggered a violent wave of nausea.Ethan shoved through the bathroom door into the darkened hallway.The night-shrouded school transformed into something sinister. By day, it operated as a factory of noise and social hierarchy; by night, bathed in eerie blue safety lights, it resembled a massive corpse. Rows of lockers stood like silent witnesses to his disgrace.Head down, hood pulled up, he hugged the wall toward the exit. His car offered the only remaining sanctuary, even if it couldn't take him anywhere.The heavy double doors of the East Wing yielded to his push. Humid night air slapped him like a wet towel as a miserable drizzle instantly soaked through his hoodie.His sneakers splashed through puddles across the empty asphalt. His battered silver sedan Derek's hand-me-down sat abandoned under the sole functioning streetlight. It looked pathetic. Defeated.Ethan slumped into the driver's seat. The interior reeked of old upholstery and the fading vanilla air freshener Lena had given him months ago. He violently ripped the cardboard tree from the rearview mirror and shoved it into the glove box.The key turned in the ignition. The engine sputtered, coughed once, and died.He tried again. Click-click-click.Empty.His head fell back against the headrest, a strangled sob escaping his throat. Stranded in the parking lot where his life had imploded.His phone buzzed. He expected another text from Derek, or a threatening message from his father.Instead, a name he hadn't yet deleted illuminated the screen.Mia.Mia: I spotted your car in the back lot. I'm at the library next door. Coming over. Don't move.Ethan stared at the message. How had she noticed him? Why was she watching?A sharp rap on his window made him flinch.Mia stood in the rain, clutching a large umbrella. Her face remained expressionless as she assessed him through the glass, her gaze dropping to his bloodied hand. Her oversized cardigan hung heavy with rain, books pressed tightly against her chest.The makeshift bandage had turned crimson.She gestured impatiently for him to roll down the window. He cranked the handle, the glass screeching in protest."Jesus Christ, Hayes," she said, her voice cutting through the rain. "You look worse than roadkill.""Leave me alone, Mia," he snarled. "I don't need your pity.""Good, because I'm offering logic, not sympathy." She shifted the umbrella to shield the open window. "I saw that disgusting blog post. Read the vicious comments. Watched you drive in here like you were fleeing a murder scene. Now you're bleeding all over yourself."She nodded toward his hand. "Mirror?"Ethan glared at the steering wheel, refusing to answer."Fine," Mia said, her tone hardening. "Here's your situation, stripped bare. You can't go home everyone in Debate Club knows your father would crucify you for showing weakness. Security patrols in twenty minutes, so you can't stay here. And that pathetic engine sound tells me you're completely out of gas."She stepped back, gesturing sharply toward a beat-up Toyota Camry."My car has fuel. I have actual medical supplies. And I have a couch. My apartment's ten minutes away. It's chaotic and reeks of coffee, but it's private."Ethan studied her face, recognizing the same calculating assessment he'd noticed earlier in the hallway. Mia wasn't attempting rescue; she was solving an equation."Why?" he demanded. "What's your angle? You're Ryan's friend."Mia's expression darkened dangerously. "I befriended the façade of Ryan. I despise bullies, Ethan. And I absolutely loathe public executions. That video wasn't a breakup it was a calculated assassination of your dignity."She yanked his car door open. "Get out before you ruin your upholstery with blood."Two terrors confronted him.Terror One: Sleep in the freezing car, get discovered by security, face his father's wrath come morning.Terror Two: Trust this near-stranger, expose his vulnerability, admit complete defeat.As pain lanced through his hand again a blinding reminder of his desperation the choice made itself. Pride demanded too much energy; survival required only submission.He grabbed his backpack and followed Mia to her car, collapsing into the passenger seat. Warmth enveloped him, along with the scent of old books and sharp peppermint.They drove in tense silence. Mia didn't interrogate him about the video or Lena. She simply played low-fi music and focused on the rain-slicked road, granting him the mercy of existing without performance.Her apartment complex—small, brick, and weathered—stood near the community college. Inside, her space matched her description: chaotic yet inviting. Books formed precarious towers. A half-finished canvas dominated one corner. The lived-in atmosphere contrasted sharply with the sterile museum he called home."Bathroom's down the hall," she directed, tossing her keys into a bowl. "Sit on the toilet. I'll get supplies."The cramped bathroom overflowed with skincare products and mismatched towels. Ethan perched uncomfortably on the closed toilet lid, feeling like a contaminant in her personal space.Mia returned with a professional-looking medical kit. She dragged a stool in front of him. "Hand. Now."He extended his trembling arm. She peeled away the blood-soaked paper towels with clinical precision. When his mangled knuckles came into view, she didn't recoil—though her sharp intake of breath betrayed her concern."This needs proper stitches," she muttered, saturating cotton with antiseptic. "But I'm guessing the ER isn't an option?""Card declined," Ethan admitted, shame burning his face. "Dad cut me off completely.""Butterfly strips will have to do. This will hurt like hell. Try not to scream."She worked with ruthless efficiency. She extracted glass fragments from the wound, pressed the torn flesh together, and applied adhesive strips. The entire mess disappeared beneath clean white gauze.For ten excruciating minutes, only the ventilation fan and Ethan's ragged breathing disturbed the silence. He watched her bent head, rain-frizzed curls falling forward as she concentrated.It struck him—the first gentle touch he'd received in days that demanded nothing in return."Finished," she announced, securing the bandage. She looked up, her dark eyes boring into his. "You're safe here tonight, Ethan. Nobody knows your location. Not Ryan. Not Lena. Not your dictator father.""Thank you," he whispered, feeling dangerous cracks spreading through his composure."Go sit down. I'll make tea."Ethan sank into the worn sofa, pulling out his phone to power it off and sever all connections.Before his thumb reached the power button, a notification appeared.Not a text. Not an email.A notification from the school's secure cloud drive.Ethan frowned. He hadn't accessed the drive in weeks. He tapped the alert.A file had been shared with him.File Name: 08-25_Cam_2_Log.txtSender: Admin_Ghost_04The text file contained access logs for the security camera in Room 104.Lines of code scrolled past timestamps and user IDs. Most read "System Auto-Save."Then he saw it.08-25 | 16:04 PM: Motion Detected. (Lena and Ryan enter).08-25 | 16:15 PM: Remote Access Initiated. User ID: FACULTY_SCI_0208-25 | 16:18 PM: User viewing live feed.08-25 | 16:21 PM: Ethan Hayes enters room.08-25 | 16:22 PM: User ends live feed.His lungs seized.User ID: FACULTY_SCI_02.He knew the faculty codes from organizing department files last semester.SCI_01: department head.SCI_02: Mr. Hargrove.Hargrove hadn't simply received the video from maintenance. He hadn't discovered it afterward.Remote Access Initiated.Hargrove had logged in remotely. He'd watched Lena and Ryan for six full minutes before Ethan's arrival. He'd witnessed Ethan walk in. He'd observed the entire humiliation unfold.He never intervened. Never called the room. Just watched.Then sent the damning email to Ethan's father.Ethan's head snapped up as Mia returned with steaming mugs. She froze, alarm crossing her face."Ethan? What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost.""It wasn't a student," he whispered, the phone shaking violently in his good hand. "The person who recorded it who watched everything wasn't a student at all."He stared at his bandaged hand, then back at the screen, rage building like a gathering storm."It was my teacher."