I spent the next four hours acting like a total creep.
During my "Data Structures" lecture, I didn't write down a single line of code. Instead, I sat in the back row with my eyes wide open, scanning every male head in the room. I looked at the jocks in the front, the nerds in the middle, and even the sleepy guy drooling on his notebook.
[Target: Mike Thompson. Fate: Will drop his phone in a toilet tonight.] [Target: Kevin Lee. Fate: Will get a 'C' on the midterm.] [Target: Chad Miller. Fate: Will successfully hit on three girls this weekend.]
"Blue... blue... green... blue," I muttered, my head starting to throb.
None of them were "Crimson." None of them had a fate tied to a conspiracy or a high-profile abduction.
By the time the lunch bell rang, I felt like someone was stir-frying my brain. My "CPU Load" was definitely in the red zone. To make matters worse, a couple of the guys in the rowing team started looking at me suspiciously. One of them actually leaned over to his friend and whispered, "Why is that delivery guy staring at us like he's picking out his next victim?"
I quickly looked down at my lap. Great. Now I'm the campus weirdo.
I spent the rest of the afternoon trailing behind the crowd, trying to find a match. NYC was huge, and this university had thousands of students. Trying to find one specific criminal before the crime even happened was like trying to find a specific grain of sand in a desert.
By 4:00 PM, I was officially defeated. My nose felt like it was about to start bleeding again, and my bank account reminded me that "Heroism" didn't pay for my electricity bill.
"Silas? Hello? Earth to Silas!"
I blinked, coming back to reality. I was standing at the campus gate with Leo and Elena. Leo was busy ranting about a new solid-state drive he wanted to buy, while Elena was fanning herself with a notebook.
"Sorry, man," I said, rubbing my temples. "Just a lot on my mind."
"You've been weird all day," Leo said, adjusting his glasses. "Seriously, you looked like you were trying to explode someone's head with your mind during the lecture."
"Just stress, Leo. Don't worry about it."
"Well, I'm off to the electronics district," Leo said, waving his hand as he turned toward the subway entrance. "That SSD isn't going to buy itself. See ya tomorrow, Silas! Bye, Elena!"
And then, there were two.
The afternoon sun was brutal. The humidity made the air feel like a warm, wet blanket. I looked over at Elena, and for a second, my "Fate Master" brain short-circuited for an entirely different reason.
She was wearing a thin, ribbed white tank top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Because of the heat, the fabric was damp with a light sheen of sweat, clinging to every curve of her body. Every time she breathed, well... let's just say the "Master of Fate" was having a hard time focusing on anything but the view. Her denim shorts were distractingly short, showing off those tan, toned legs that seemed to go on forever.
"God, it's so hot," Elena groaned, pulling her hair up and exposing her neck. She looked at me with those big, playful eyes. "Hey, Silas, you're unusually quiet today. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice a bit tighter than usual. I was trying to think about Isabella Vance and the Friday party, but Elena was currently standing about six inches away from me, and the scent of her coconut shampoo was driving me crazy. "Just thinking about... work stuff."
"You work too hard," she said, stepping a little closer. Our arms brushed—her skin was warm and soft. "You know, my AC is still acting up. It's like an oven in my apartment. I was thinking... maybe I should just bring a pillow over to your place tonight? Your unit actually works, right?"
She said it with a little tilt of her head and a shy, mischievous smile that would have made any other guy in New York drop to his knees.
But my brain was currently stuck in a loop. "Drugged... sedative... Friday party... Isabella... who is the guy?"
"Oh, the AC?" I said, looking at her blankly. "Yeah, mine is okay. But you should probably call the landlord. Those older units can be a fire hazard if they overwork. You don't want a short circuit."
Elena's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She blinked, looking at me like I had just grown a second head. "Wait, did he just give me a lecture on fire safety? Is he serious?"
Elena's Inner Monologue: Is my tank top not tight enough? Are my legs invisible today? I literally just offered to sleep at his place and he's talking about short circuits? This guy is either a saint or the densest man on the planet!
"A fire hazard," she repeated slowly, her voice flat. "Right. Thanks, Silas. Very helpful."
"No problem," I said, totally missing the disappointment in her eyes. I was looking at a guy walking past us wearing a hoodie, wondering if he was the one who would drug Isabella. "Safety first, right?"
She let out a long, frustrated sigh, but then she giggled and shook her head. She reached out and playfully pinched my arm. "You're a piece of work, Silas. Truly."
We walked back to our building in silence. Elena kept stealing glances at me, her hips swaying just a little more than usual as we climbed the stairs, but my mind was a million miles away.
By the time we reached our floor, she stopped at her door. "Well, I guess I'll go suffer in my 'fire hazard' of an apartment. Good luck with your... work stuff."
"See ya, Elena!" I waved and disappeared into my room.
The moment the door closed, I slumped against it.
I was exhausted. My head was pounding, and I felt like a failure. I had this incredible power, and I couldn't even find one bad guy in a sea of college students.
"I'm the All-Knowing Master," I muttered, walking over to my bed. "And yet, I can't even tell when my neighbor is trying to get into my bed. I really am a special kind of stupid."
I looked at the clock. 5:30 PM.
The Ice Queen's fate was still ticking down. I had about 70 hours left. But right now, Isabella Vance's life wasn't my only concern.
I looked at my empty fridge. Then I looked at my bank account.
Balance: $4.12.
"Screw it," I sighed.
I grabbed my tattered delivery jacket—the one with the faded "Pizza Galaxy" logo on the back. I pulled on my helmet, grabbed my keys, and checked the app on my phone.
I was the All-Knowing Master of Fate. I was the programmer of the world. I held the secrets of the universe in my pocket.
But in New York, even a God has to deliver a Large Pepperoni with extra olives if he wants to pay his rent on Friday.
I headed down the stairs, the weight of the city already pressing down on me. I didn't have a plan yet, but I knew one thing: if I wanted to save Isabella, I needed more points. And to get points, I needed to be out there, in the streets, looking for the cracks in the script.
"Alright, New York," I muttered, swinging my leg over my rickety bike. "Let's see who's about to have a really bad night."