The walk to the bus stop was cold. The wind cut through Dallas's hoodie.

Her mother's words echoed in her head. Useless. Waste of space.

She sat on the bench. She pulled out her phone. She opened the application for Capitol University. The Ivy League of the state.

She scrolled through the requirements. GPA: 4.0. SAT: 1500+.

She had a 0.0 GPA.

She closed the tab.

She opened another app. A secure terminal.

She typed a message to a user named Ghost.

Target: Inger Bentley. Asset verification.

She hesitated. She could ruin her mother. She could drain Inger's accounts, expose her affairs, destroy her social standing with a few keystrokes.

Her thumb hovered over Enter.

She took a breath.

No. That was Black Eagle's style. Not hers.

She deleted the command.

The bus arrived. She got on.

Back at the dorm, the room was dark. Whitney and Sloan were asleep.

Dallas lay on her bed. She stared at the ceiling.

She thought about Erika's violin playing. The lack of soul.

She thought about Inger's wine glass.

She thought about Fielding Pickett's eyes.

"Birthmarks don't usually have perfect topological precision."

He knew. Or he suspected.

She rolled over. She pulled the blanket up to her chin.

She needed to be careful. She needed to be invisible.

But inside, the fire was still burning.

The next morning, the administrative office was buzzing.

Lance Jagger was pacing back and forth. Finn Foster, a sophomore computer prodigy, was sitting at Lance's desk, pointing at the screen.

Look at the timestamp! Finn said, his voice cracking with excitement. The counter-virus was deployed 0.03 seconds after the breach. That's not human. That's AI. Or... god-tier.

Fielding stood in the doorway. He was drinking coffee, leaning against the frame.

Or, Fielding said lazily, it was a trap.

Finn looked up. Who sets a trap for Black Eagle?

Fielding didn't answer. He was thinking about a girl in a gray hoodie. A girl who knew about Port 443.

Find the IP, Fielding ordered.

I'm trying! Finn said. But it's bounced through seven proxies. Wait... the origin point... it's inside the school.

Lance gasped. A student?

Fielding smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

Narrow it down, he said.

Meanwhile, in History class, Dallas was bored.

Mr. Harrison was droning on about the Industrial Revolution.

Dallas was drawing on her notebook. Not doodles. Schematics. She was mapping out the network architecture of the school, looking for the hole Black Eagle had used.

Boone Faulkner was sitting behind her. He leaned forward.

Is that a map of the subway system? he whispered.

Dallas slammed the notebook shut.

No, she said.

Boone chuckled. You're strange, Ruiz.

Is that a compliment?

From me? Yes.

The classroom door opened with a quiet click. A student aide, a nervous-looking freshman clutching a clipboard, stepped inside.

"Excuse me, Mr. Harrison?" the aide squeaked. "The Nurse's Office needs to see Dallas Ruiz. It's regarding her... vaccination records. Mr. Pickett said it was urgent."

The class went silent. Everyone looked at her.

Boone raised an eyebrow. "Vaccination records? That's a new one."

Dallas stood up. She felt a cold knot in her stomach.

Fielding. He wasn't broadcasting it. He was being surgical.

She walked out of the classroom. The hallway felt like a mile long.