Rootbinder’s face went from pale to ghostly white. "What? How is that possible? Our labs are hidden by ancient cloaking herbs!" "They didn't care!" Myria shrieked. Behind her, the sound of massive explosions and crumbling stone echoed through the phone. "Every supplier we have called me in a panic. They’ve been threatened by the Rhein Group. They’ve sworn on their lives never to speak your name again!" "Our customers, the dealers, the smugglers—they’ve all blocked us! As we speak, the lair is being crushed to the ground! Nothing is left!" "Rootbinder, who was at that wedding? Who did you offend? You have to apologize! Beg him! Beg him right now, or we are dead!" The line went dead. Rootbinder’s phone slipped from his fingers, landing softly in the sand. He looked at Adrian, his eyes wide and trembling. For the first time, he realized that he wasn't dealing with a hero who followed the rules. He was dealing with a King who owned the world he lived in. To Adrian, Rootbinde

Clara was standing up. She wasn't shouting, and she wasn't shaking. She stood with her back straight, her gaze locked directly onto Bianca. Bianca froze, her mirror halfway to her face. She slowly lowered it, turning her head to look at the new girl. A cruel, disbelieving smile began to curl on her lips. "What did you just say to me?" Bianca asked, her voice dropping to a low, predatory purr. Clara didn't flinch. She remembered Adrian’s lessons on fairness, how power without justice was just a slow form of rot. "I said he was sitting there. You came in late and bullied him. Give him back his seat." The students around Clara began to slide their desks away, creating a wide, empty circle around her. They looked at her with a mix of pity and horror. They knew who Bianca was. They knew about the Rossi family’s grip on the city. Bianca stood up slowly, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor like a countdown. She walked toward Clara, stopping only inches away. She wa

Blinded by a sudden, white-hot rage, Bianca stormed forward, her hands reaching out to grab Clara’s throat. She had completely forgotten the mess she had just made. Her expensive, high-heeled shoe landed right in the center of the slick, oily pasta sauce. WHOOP. Bianca’s legs flew out from under her as if she’d stepped on a banana peel in a cartoon. She hit the floor with a heavy THUD, her designer skirt flaring up as she landed face-first in the puddle of red sauce and noodles. The silence lasted for exactly one second before the cafeteria erupted into a roar of laughter. Students were doubling over, pointing, and howling with laughter. The "Ice Queen" was currently covered in tomato sauce. "My clothes!" Bianca shrieked, her voice muffled by the floor. She scrambled to get up, her hands sliding in the grease. As she tried to find her footing, her other heel slipped on a rogue noodle, and she went down again, landing even harder on her side. Jada and Chloe rushed to

Clara took a slow, deliberate step toward Bianca. "Pick it up," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had a strange, vibrating weight to it that silenced the laughing students nearby. Bianca laughed, her eyes widening in mock disbelief. "Excuse me? You want me to touch that filth? You really have lost your mind, Lancaster. Maybe the smell of the trash is making you hallucinate." Jada stepped forward, looming over Clara with a sneer. "You heard the Queen. We don't do chores. But since you’re so fond of garbage, maybe we should just stuff you inside the locker with it. It’s where you belong." "I won't say it again," Clara whispered, her eyes fixed on Bianca. "Clean. This. Up." "Or what?" Chloe chimed in, stepping closer to join the intimidation. "You’ll tell your big, scary brother? You’re pathetic. You’re just a little girl playing hero, and it’s honestly getting boring." Suddenly, Jada snapped. She reached out with a fast, claw-like hand, aiming to grab Clara’s hair and yank

"I don't even have a car here. Bianca has been karting since she was six, and she’s got a custom-tuned Italian engine. There’s no way I’d win. I’d just be giving her another reason to laugh at me." "At least you finally admit it." The voice was like a splash of ice water. Bianca was standing right behind them, flanked by her usual shadow, Chloe. She was dressed in a racing jacket that probably cost more than a mid-sized sedan. Bianca stepped closer, a nasty, sharp smile spreading across her face. "I was wondering when you would finally show her true colors. So, you’re smart at math." "Big deal. But when it comes to real skill—to speed, guts, and actual talent—you’re just another coward hiding behind a library book." Clara didn't turn around immediately. She took a breath, feeling the pendant against her skin grow warm, as if it were responding to the challenge. She slowly turned to face Bianca. "It’s called being realistic, Bianca. I don't need a trophy to know my worth."