"New York," I had whispered last night, looking out at the glittering skyline like some kind of dark superhero. "Let's see what you're worth."
It was a cool line. Seriously, I felt like I was in a movie.
But ten seconds later, my stomach let out a growl so loud it probably echoed in the hallway. Reality hit me like a bucket of ice water. Sure, I could see the future. I could rewrite the script of the world. But as of 8:00 PM on a Tuesday, I had exactly four dollars in my bank account and a half-empty jar of peanut butter in my fridge.
"Note to self," I muttered, dragging my tired feet to my tiny kitchen. "Fate Points are great, but they don't buy a pepperoni pizza. At least not yet."
I spent the next twenty minutes preparing my 'Gourmet Dinner': two slices of slightly stale bread toasted to hide the mold I'd scraped off, topped with the last of the peanut butter. I sat at my wobbly wooden table, staring at my glowing phone.
[Target: Peanut Butter Toast] [Fate: Will be eaten in 30 seconds. Outcome: Mild heartburn.]
"Shut up," I told the system.
I ate my toast, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, the sun decided to stab me in the eyes through my thin curtains. I groaned, checked my phone, and saw a news notification.
"High-speed chase on the BQE ends in a fireball. One dead, two in custody."
There was a blurry photo of a black Cadillac. I recognized the license plate. It was Marcus Vane's car.
I felt a chill for a split second. If I had stayed on that street corner last night, I might've been dragged into that mess. But I had my own problems—like being late for my 9:00 AM Algorithms class.
I grabbed my bag and sprinted out the door. Just as I reached the landing of the third floor, I almost collided with someone coming out of Apartment 3B.
"Whoa! Silas! Slow down, tiger!"
I skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over my own shoelaces. Standing there was Elena.
Elena was my neighbor and probably the only reason I hadn't moved out of this dump yet. She was the definition of the 'Girl Next Door.' She was wearing a simple, tight-fitting white tank top and some very short denim cutoffs that showed off her incredible legs—tan, smooth, and seemingly endless.
She wasn't 'model-thin'; she had these amazing curves that made it hard for a guy like me to keep eye contact. Her chest had a very impressive... scale, and every time she laughed, well, the laws of physics seemed to enjoy the show.
"Sorry, Elena," I panted, trying not to stare at her cleavage. "I'm late. Again."
She giggled, tucking a strand of her honey-brown hair behind her ear. "You're always late, Silas. You need a better alarm clock, or maybe a girlfriend to wake you up."
[Target: Elena Rossi] [Status: Friendly/Secretly worried about her rent.] [Fate: Will drop her keys down the elevator shaft in 15 seconds.]
My eyes widened. Not today, Elena.
"Wait!" I grabbed her arm just as she reached for her bag.
"What?" She looked at me, surprised.
"You... uh... you have a bug on your shoulder!" I lied, reaching over and gently moving her away from the elevator door. As I did, her keys slipped from her hand, but instead of falling into the dark abyss of the elevator shaft, they landed harmlessly on the carpet.
"Oh! Oops!" She laughed, leaning down to pick them up. Her shorts rode up just a bit, giving me a view that almost made me forget about my class. "Thanks, Silas. Good catch."
[Fate Diverted. Reward: 2 FP.]
"No problem. See ya later!" I shouted, already halfway down the stairs.
Two points. Hey, it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
Campus was the same as always: crowded, loud, and smelling like overpriced coffee. I found my best friend, Leo, sitting in the back of the lecture hall.
Leo was a big guy, a fellow CS nerd with a permanent layer of Cheeto dust on his fingers and a heart of gold. He was currently staring at his laptop, probably trying to hack the school's vending machines again.
"Yo, Silas," Leo whispered as I slid into the seat next to him. "You look like you got run over by a truck. What happened?"
"Just New York, man," I sighed. "Did I miss anything important?"
"Nah, just the usual. Oh, and everyone's talking about the party this Friday at the Omega House. Apparently, even the 'Ice Queen' is going."
I blinked. "The Ice Queen? You mean... her?"
Leo nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Isabella Vance. The girl who makes every guy on campus feel like a peasant just by breathing the same air."
Isabella Vance. I knew her, of course. Everyone did. She was a senior, a business major, and wealthy beyond belief. But it wasn't just the money. She had this cold, elegant beauty that was almost intimidating. Long, obsidian-black hair, pale skin, and a body that belonged on the cover of a high-fashion magazine. She was the kind of girl who wore $2,000 boots to a lecture and didn't even notice the stares.
I looked toward the front of the room. Isabella was sitting in the very first row, her back perfectly straight. Even from the back of the hall, she stood out. Her silk blouse was draped perfectly over her frame, and even her seated posture showed off a pair of legs that were both slim and powerful.
I felt a strange itch in my eyes. Against my better judgment, I focused on her.
I expected to see something boring, like [Fate: Will buy a new Porsche] or [Fate: Will marry a Prince].
But when the system calculated her destiny, the text that appeared wasn't blue or green. It was a dark, pulsing crimson.
[Target: Isabella Vance] [Status: High Value/Target of a Conspiracy.] [Fate: In 72 hours, at the Friday Party, she will be drugged with a high-dose sedative. Outcome: Abduction and Sexual Assault.]
My heart went cold. The humor of the morning vanished in an instant.
I looked at Isabella—the girl who seemed to have the whole world at her feet. She looked so untouchable, so perfect. And in three days, her life was scheduled to become a nightmare.
"Silas? You okay?" Leo nudged me. "You're staring at her. Careful, her fan club will kill you."
I swallowed hard, looking back at my cracked phone.
"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm fine. Just... thinking."
I wasn't a hero. I was just a guy with four dollars and a broken bike. But as I looked at that crimson text, I knew I couldn't just sit back and watch the script play out.
Isabella Vance didn't know I existed. But in three days, I was going to be the only thing standing between her and hell.