His Dark Reign

13. Blood in the halls

The hallways felt different now. Fear had seeped into the cracks of Westfield High like mold—whispered rumors, darting glances, laughter that died too quickly.

Two bullies in the locker row ahead snickered nervously about Marcus and Ethan.

“First Simon, now Marcus? Both messed up bad.”

“Yeah, it’s like someone’s hunting us.”

“Shut up,” one hissed, his voice trembling. “Don’t say that out loud.”

Adam slipped past them with a thin smile. Good. Let them squirm.

But his satisfaction burned away when he caught sight of Lilith at the far end of the hall. She leaned against the wall as though she’d been waiting just for him.

Their eyes locked. Hers glittered with a secret he desperately wanted—and feared—to know.

Adam stalked toward her, his footsteps sharp. “You,” he hissed. “Talk.”

Lilith tilted her head, unbothered by his tone. “Talk about what?”

“Don’t play games with me. Marcus. Simon. Both taken down exactly the way I planned. That’s not coincidence.”

Her lips curved into a slow, infuriating smile. “Maybe you’re not as original as you think.”

Adam slammed his hand against the locker beside her head, leaning in close. “Who are you?”

For the first time, her smile wavered. Just slightly.

“Someone who knows what it feels like to burn,” she whispered, her voice darkly intimate.

Adam’s pulse hammered. He hated the pull he felt toward her—the intrigue, the danger—but it clawed at him all the same.

Before he could press further, a scream split the hallway.

Everyone turned.

At the far end of the hall, a boy lay on the ground, writhing in agony.

His leg bent at an impossible angle, bone jutting through flesh. His friends screamed, stumbling back, while students flooded the hall, phones out, panic breaking like wildfire.

Adam’s heart seized. This was supposed to be his next step. The same injury he had planned in his mind.

Sanchez shoved through the crowd, his face pale. “What the hell happened?!”

The injured boy—another one of Sanchez’s loyal circle—clutched at the floor, sobbing. “It… it came out of nowhere… something hit me—hard, like—like nothing was there—”

The whispers rose to a roar.

“Three of them now—”

“This is a curse—”

“Someone’s hunting Sanchez’s crew—”

Adam stood frozen. He could feel Malick boiling inside him, furious. This is theft. This is blasphemy. Someone steals what is ours.

But Adam’s eyes weren’t on the victim. They were on Lilith.

She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t gasped or screamed like the rest. She only watched Adam, her expression unreadable—almost satisfied.

The sirens wailed again. Teachers shouted, ushering students away. Sanchez, red-faced and shaking, yelled at everyone to shut up, but Adam could see it: the cracks were splitting him open.

And Lilith, damn her, mouthed something across the hall at Adam.

“You’re welcome.”

*******************

Sanchez hadn’t been the same since Marcus and Ethan were hospitalized.

The swagger was still there, but it was forced—too sharp, too loud. His laughter cracked under pressure. His friends whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear, and Elena had stopped clinging to his arm like before.

Adam watched him from across the gym, smirking as Sanchez barked at his dwindling circle of loyalists. The king’s crown was slipping.

Later, in the locker room, Sanchez cornered Adam.

The room reeked of sweat and disinfectant, the clang of lockers echoing harshly. Sanchez shoved Adam against the cold metal, his breath hot and ragged.

“You think I don’t notice, Adam?” he growled. “Every time someone in my crew goes down, you’re there. Smiling. Watching.”

Adam smirked, calm despite the chokehold on his collar. “Maybe I just enjoy seeing karma at work.”

Sanchez slammed him harder against the locker. “Cut the bullshit. It’s you. You’re doing this.”

Adam leaned forward, his lips near Sanchez’s ear. “And if I am?”

The challenge froze Sanchez for just a heartbeat. That was enough. Adam chuckled low. “You’re losing control. Everyone sees it. You’re not protecting them anymore, Sanchez. You’re just waiting to see who’s next.”

Sanchez’s knuckles whitened, his rage trembling at the edges. But he didn’t throw the punch. He shoved Adam back and stormed out instead, his voice echoing: “You’re dead, Adam. Dead.”

Adam straightened his shirt, smiling faintly. The king is crumbling.

---

By the end of the week, Adam’s paranoia was gnawing at him. Marcus. Ethan. Now Sanchez’s circle whispering about curses. All of it had followed the blueprints he had drawn in his head—yet his hands were clean.

Unless Lilith’s hands are dirty, Malick hissed. The girl reeks of shadows.

So Adam followed her.