Edrix Charles strode toward the exit, his movements unhurried, his posture dripping with authority. His words lingered in the air like a curse:

  "Let the war begin."

  The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the silence was deafening.

  Lia could feel it pressing against her skin, coiling around her like a snake waiting to strike. The class sat frozen for a breath, as if waiting for someone to react first. And then, like a spark in dry grass, chaos ignited.

  Snickers, murmurs, low-pitched laughs.

  "She's done for."

  "How long do you think she’ll last?"

  "Two weeks, max."

  Lia didn’t react. Not outwardly. She had learned to drown out whispers long ago. She knew what they wanted—a reaction, a crack in the mask. But she refused to give them one.

  Instead, she calmly walked toward an empty desk, claiming a seat near the window. The sun streamed in, warm against her skin, a stark contrast to the cold, predatory gazes drilling into her back.

  The bell rang. The teacher entered. The lesson began.

  Lia exhaled, shifting in her seat, reaching for a pen in her desk. But the second her fingers touched the surface, something squelched beneath her touch.

  Something wet.

  Something slimy.

  A disgusting chill slithered down her spine. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her hand. It was covered in thick, gluey mucus.

  Her stomach curled as she realized what had happened.

  Because sitting inside her desk, nestled between her books, was a small, writhing box filled with snails.

  Laughter erupted across the room.

  Aurora Sinclair was already smirking, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she was on a magazine cover.

  "Oops," she mused, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Looks like someone forgot to check their desk first."

  Lia's jaw tightened.

  They wanted a reaction.

  She gave them none.

  Calmly, she stood up, ignoring the way the thick slime clung to her fingers like a second skin. She wiped her hand against the edge of her desk before raising it in the air.

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  "May I be excused?" Her voice was perfectly even.

  The teacher barely glanced up. "Go."

  Lia turned, making her way toward the door. But as she passed Aurora’s desk, she casually dragged her still-slimy hand through Aurora’s flawless golden curls.

  The reaction was instant.

  Aurora shrieked, bolting upright so fast her chair tipped over. "YOU BITCH!"

  Lia didn’t even flinch.

  She simply walked out.

  Lia entered the locker room, unbothered by the lingering glances that followed her every move. She opened her locker, reaching for her tracksuit—

  And froze.

  Because instead of her usual tracksuit, someone had cut her pants into a pair of ragged, uneven shorts.

  The meaning was clear.

  Aurora’s voice rang out from behind her. "Oh no, Madison," she cooed. "Seems like your uniform got ruined. What a shame."

  Her friends giggled, feigning concern.

  Lia inhaled through her nose.

  She could play their game. Or she could let them choke on their own failure.

  So, instead of snapping, instead of giving them the outburst they so desperately wanted—she simply grabbed her spare leggings, changed, and left without another word.

  And that? That pissed them off more than anything.

  Technically, they were supposed to be training.

  Technically.

  In reality, half the class was too busy taking selfies, striking perfect sun-kissed poses.

  Lia ignored them.

  Instead, she focused on actual practice. Dribbling. Passing drills. Footwork. She refused to waste her time playing their games.

  But she could feel Aurora's eyes on her.

  She was waiting. Plotting.

  Lia let her.

  She wasn’t the one who needed to scheme to win.

  She showered quickly, enjoying the brief moment of peace. When she emerged, towel-drying her hair, she made her way toward her locker—

  Only to stop dead in her tracks.

  Because inside her locker, crawling over her books, her bag, her clothes—

  Were cockroaches.

  Not one. Not two.

  Hundreds.

  A thick, seething mass of glossy black bodies, moving in a sickening wave.

  Her body went stiff.

  For a moment, everything inside her froze.

  Then, behind her—laughter.

  Aurora and her entourage stood a few feet away, watching her with wide, delighted grins.

  They wanted her to scream. To run. To panic.

  Lia's fingers curled into a fist.

  Enough.

  She grabbed her water bottle.

  Turned.

  And without hesitation—drenched Aurora from head to toe.

  The perfect heiress, the untouchable queen of Section 06—was now soaking wet, her perfectly ironed uniform ruined.

  Silence.

  Then—

  A slap.

  Aurora’s hand cracked across Lia’s cheek, the force of it sharp, stinging.

  Gasps rang out. Someone whispered, "Oh, shit—"

  But Lia?

  She didn’t flinch.

  Instead, she grabbed Aurora by the collar, yanking her forward until their faces were inches apart.

  "You wanna fight?" Her voice was dangerously low.

  Aurora shoved her back.

  Lia stumbled, catching herself against the benches just as Aurora swung a fist.

  But before she could land the punch—

  A voice cut through the air.

  "Enough."

  The tension snapped.

  The crowd parted.

  And there, standing at the edge of the locker room—was Edrix Charles.

  Expression unreadable.

  Eyes locked on Lia.

  Watching.

  Calculating.

  Aurora’s arm was still raised, her chest heaving, dripping wet, her face burning with anger. But she hesitated.

  Because Edrix was watching.

  And if there was one thing Aurora hated more than Lia Madison—

  It was losing her carefully crafted reputation in front of him.

  With a sharp inhale, she lowered her hand. Turned. And walked away, her entourage scrambling after her.

  The crowd dispersed.

  But Edrix?

  He didn’t move.

  Didn’t look away.

  And as Lia stood there, heart still pounding, adrenaline still thrumming through her veins—

  She met his gaze.

  And smirked.

  Because war had already begun.

  And she wasn’t losing.