Tuesday, June 5

  YMPA

  Mission: N/A

  15:22

  “Connor, you should’ve asked me for help.”

  “How?” I shot back. “I got frickin’ floored before I could even do anything.”

  Greg swung his head left and right like he was replaying the whole scene in his mind. He froze, then finally shook his head. “When you said you were fighting a ‘vine lizard’ on that field, you could’ve said, ‘Greg, save me,’ or something.”

  “What—no,” I said. “You needed to get out of there. Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to use your Perk because of that pink smoke.”

  “I still know how to use my wand, bruh—” Greg scoffed. “We all do. We could’ve hit the tag team, wombo combo—left, right, right—easy.”

  A long silence settled over the table.

  “I think Connor would’ve been worse off if we helped,” Tisiah said, calm as ever.

  “May God forgive you of your lies,” Greg declared.

  Before it turned into a full-blown argument, I lifted both hands. “Now, now, now—the good thing is we’re back here. Every one of us, y’know?”

  I scanned their faces.

  None of them looked impressed.

  “Yeah,” Greg sighed. “But we could’ve come back here a lot better, y’know? I wish the FMA could’ve helped…”

  “I wish the entire EMO helped,” Nikki snapped. “It’s frickin’ Mr. Drails’s—”

  Tisiah raised a hand right in front of her face like a stop sign. “Now, now, now—we can’t be screaming all that.”

  “Get your hand out my face,” Nikki hissed.

  While they kept rambling, I let my gaze drift across the cafeteria. Everything looked normal—about as normal as this place could ever look.

  And then my eyes landed on the corner.

  An empty space.

  I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  It was just a seat. But it was her seat. The one September always took. I expected to see the blonde-and-black streaks of her hair—either loose like a wave or tied up like a sunflower.

  I rubbed my jaw.

  She could just be resting. Skipping today because of her injuries. I’d missed yesterday too.

  But what if it was worse?

  Would the school even make it known? She was one of their best junior agents.

  Then again… she was still just a junior agent.

  The logic said she wasn’t here because she couldn’t be.

  The smaller, uglier thought whispered that she wasn’t here because she wouldn’t ever be.

  “Yo, Connor…”

  “Hm?” I mumbled, fingers pressed to my lips.

  They all looked at me—brows lowered, expressions skeptical. I forced a chuckle and tried to play it off.

  “No, I was just… thinking,” I said, exhaling.

  Greg leaned forward. “Hey, hey, hey—if you need anything, you gotta tell us. This is not the time to start doing stuff alone.”

  “I don’t need anything,” I said, flashing a smile that felt like a betrayal. “Y’all being here is good enough.”

  “Good enough…” I repeated, quieter.

  Greg stared at me for a solid twenty-five business days, then nodded once. “As long as you’re alright.”

  “Thank you…”

  The PA speaker clicked.

  “Now is the time for everyone to head to the Magnifico Stadium. Now is the time for everyone to head to the Magnifico Stadium.”

  No.

  It’s happening, isn’t it…

  I looked around, confused. Greg looked just as lost. But Tisiah and Nikki stood up immediately—like they’d been bracing for this.

  “You weren’t here yesterday,” Nikki said. “They told us this was gonna happen today.”

  “Ah,” I said, like that made it easier.

  A few minutes later, after pushing through the claustrophobic event you call a student moshpit, we reached the Magnifico. The crowd poured in and flooded the seating.

  “Seats—over here,” Tisiah said, pointing toward the fourth row from the stage.

  Not sure why he wanted to be that close, but… hey. I guess.

  We sat together—Tisiah, Nikki, me—Greg on the far end.

  A lectern stood at center stage with a mic mounted into it. No one was there yet. They were waiting for everyone to settle.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Every second dragged.

  My heart pounded with the same question, over and over:

  Yes or no?

  Did she… or did she not?

  After what felt like forty days and forty nights, the last of the students finally sat down. The lights dimmed slightly.

  And then she stepped out.

  Principal Renner.

  Aka: Toesucker.

  She stood in a black-and-white blazer, brown hair pulled into a slick bun, pearl necklace resting neatly against her collarbone. Her skin shone like someone had polished it for the cameras. Her glasses sat firm, unmovable.

  And there were cameras—everywhere.

  Some on stage, aimed up. One behind the audience for the perfect angle.

  This wasn’t just an announcement.

  This was a statement.

  “Thank you for making your way speedily to the auditorium,” she said.

  The room hushed.

  “I know this may alter your schedules quite a bit,” she continued, “but I hope you understand the weight of what we must discuss today.”

  Board members slipped out from the curtains behind her.

  Mr. Drails included.

  “Mr. Moss is here?” Greg muttered. “So who’s at the FMA?”

  Nikki shushed him without even looking.

  Principal Renner went on. “With me, I have Mr. Drails and directors alike who have flown in from their agencies as a sign of unity. As you all may know, two weeks ago there was an attack on the CAMEO stadium.”

  A heaviness rolled across the auditorium. Heads lowered like the air itself had become too thick to hold.

  “The TSA planned and executed an attack that not only hurt us as an organization,” she said, “but hurt the world as a people.”

  Her eyes lifted. The lights caught her lenses and reflected like a flashlight.

  “It’s hard to even account for the lives lost that day,” she said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Heat gathered behind my eyelids as September’s face surfaced in my mind—uninvited, unavoidable.

  “The fear across the world,” Renner continued. “Families. Friends. Loved ones. I wonder how many mothers are in tears right now, knowing their daughter isn’t coming home—with no answer why. How many women are shattered by the loss of the one they planned to spend their life with. Fathers who can’t play ball anymore with their sons.”

  Whimpers scattered through the crowd. Soft weeping. Even some directors pinched at their eyes with handkerchiefs.

  I kept glancing at Mr. Drails.

  His expression stayed controlled, but defeat lived in his eyes.

  “I—I can’t even begin to describe the many who can’t sleep at night without feeling a large plane hovering over their lives,” Renner said. “Stricken with fear that no matter where they are… they aren’t safe.” Her voice sharpened into something like venom. “This is the TSA. This is the Tactical Sorcery Agency—and their academy branch, the Teenage Spy Academy.”

  Nikki’s hands flew up to her mouth. Tisiah rubbed his forehead like it physically hurt to listen. I didn’t blame them.

  “Every missile they threw down on that field was a testament to their agenda,” Renner said. “And that is why, now more than ever, we must stand together.” She paused. “The entirety of the Enforcement Mage Organization will find the person responsible. And they will pay their dues.”

  A murmur ran through the room—agreement, anger, grief all mixed together.

  “But revenge isn’t how we move forward,” she added. “Unity is. Trust is. Protecting the world is what will get us through.”

  The crowd murmured again, louder.

  “This isn’t about us against the TSA,” Renner said. “It’s about us protecting the world. And as long as we can do that, no organization has a chance.” She lifted her chin. “And with that—God help us all.”

  The auditorium erupted into applause.

  “So,” she said, lifting a hand, “I ask that we stand in silence for those who died in the CAMEO attack.”

  The room rose in a wave—clothes rustling, seats creaking. Hands went to chests. Then everything went still.

  …

  …

  …

  Directors closed their eyes. Renner stared at the lectern. Somewhere to the left, someone sniffled.

  The silence didn’t feel peaceful.

  It felt like pressure.

  “Thank you,” Renner said at last. “For your silence—and your hope for a stronger world.”

  People clapped. Cheered.

  I clapped too—slower than everyone else—because the reality was crawling closer by the second, and I hated how real it was starting to feel.

  “Now,” Renner said, turning to the line of directors behind her, “I give it over to my great friends to say their piece.” She gestured. “Superintendent Drails.”

  The crowd roared.

  Mr. Drails walked onstage in a slick black tuxedo, his vest a lighter shade that made the whole fit pop. Bowtie. Hair curled into a glossy masterpiece.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he said, holding up his hands. “I just want to make known the future of Mageball. There will be no games for the first two months of the season as a result of the attack—but all players who participated are accepted into the team.”

  The room exploded again—mostly the guys, if I’m being honest.

  “The announcement of who’s officially on the team will happen next school year, so don’t act surprised,” he continued. “But good job, all of you. I heard we almost won, so I’ll try to deceive myself into believing we would’ve beaten CAMEO.”

  He glanced back with a quick grin. “I’m joking.”

  An older director—maybe forty-five or fifty—chuckled.

  Mr. Drails’s expression shifted.

  “But to more important matters,” he said, voice firm. “As a result of the attack, and uncertainty across the organization, we have decided to permanently shut down the MP system—so no threat can effectively use it.”

  The reaction wasn’t cheers this time.

  It was groans. Shouts. Complaints ripping through the audience.

  “Couldn’t even—” Greg snapped, rubbing his head like he was trying not to explode.

  “Yeah, it’s a bummer,” Mr. Drails acknowledged. “But we will innovate. We will adapt. We will keep protecting the people who matter.” He spread his hands toward the crowd. “Work with us as a team. As a family. Because us being here isn’t coincidence—it’s fate. Just look at us.”

  He gestured to the directors behind him.

  The crowd cheered again, loud enough to threaten what was left of my eardrums.

  After the memorial gathering ended, students spilled into the halls in scattered waves.

  “Do you think EMO’s gonna do anything?” Nikki asked.

  “I’m not entirely confident they will,” Greg sighed. “Not in the way we think. They’ll focus more on making sure it doesn’t happen again rather than who did it.”

  “They already know who did it,” Tisiah said. “It’s just a matter of finding her and making an example.”

  “To who?” Greg argued. “We already know we shouldn’t bomb our own stadiums. The TSA won’t change because one person gets caught. Their agenda stays the same.”

  Then all three of them turned to me at the exact same time.

  I blinked, caught off guard.

  “You ain’t saying much,” Greg said, “despite you being the biggest piece in the game.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I asked. “You’re probably right. It’s probably for the better too.”

  “Absolutely not,” Nikki hissed. “No one kills a bunch of people and gets away with it because of our image.”

  “It’s not about image,” Greg said. “It’s about prevention. Prevention is better than cure, and holding the person responsible doesn’t give anyone back.”

  Tisiah shrugged. “They won’t forget. If anything, they’ll do both. Find her, pull info out of her, and use it to tighten security.”

  “I guess…” I trailed off.

  My eyes slid through a tight gap in the crowd.

  Orange light spilled through the entrance.

  A figure stood there—tall, curved, with extra mass around the legs.

  I squinted.

  She turned.

  Black-and-blonde hair swung with the motion. Her skin glowed under the light. Her eyes—striking—caught mine and held me like gravity.

  I let out a shaky breath.

  September looked straight at me, brows lowered, then smiled softly.

  My heartbeat kicked like it wanted to launch into space.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  September shrugged—like she didn’t know either.

  Then Malachi stepped up beside her.

  September turned, dabbed him up, and pulled him into a hug.

  I cleared my throat—loud. Too loud.

  They exchanged a few words beneath the hallway noise, then disappeared into the stream of students.

  Only then did I notice it: a heavy mechanical cast running from September’s knee down her shin and ankle.

  I exhaled, slow.

  A smile crept across my face before I scoffed.

  “Connor…” Greg said.

  I turned—and Greg immediately stepped back like he didn’t trust what he was seeing. “You win the lottery or somethin’?” he asked, with Tisiah and Nikki watching right along with him.

  “God forbid a man smile,” I said.

  Greg rolled his eyes as we headed out of the Magnifico.

  The familiar smell of lavender and coal. The endless murmur of students shuffling back to class. The squeaks. The claps. The annoying girls on the stairs laughing like it was the funniest day of their lives.

  For the first time in my life…I just wanted to attend class.