The rumors started that same morning.
Soft at first, like a ripple on still water.
By lunchtime, they roared like a wave crashing against stone.
> "Did you hear? Caleb and Jamie fought yesterday. Broke a table."
"I think Caleb's losing it. Did you see how he snapped at Mr. Raynor?"
"Something's not right with Caleb's group."
Nate moved through the halls silently, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded.
Every whisper, every sidelong glance fed into the plan he hadn't spoken aloud.
He didn't need to lift a finger — the school itself was tearing Caleb down.
But Nate knew better than to relax.
Broken kings didn't fall without dragging others with them.
There would be retaliation.
He was ready.
---
At the edge of campus, in a small grove shielded by old oaks, Nate met the first of his silent agents.
He hadn't called them — not directly — but the card had acted on its own after his second-level activation.
A woman stood there, tall and severe, dressed like a school administrator but with sharp, dangerous eyes.
She spoke first, her voice clipped.
> "I'm Agent Eira. Assigned to you under Asset Deployment. Orders: protection, surveillance, limited intervention. You hold command."
Nate blinked.
He hadn't expected them to be so real.
> "How many of you are there?" he asked, voice low.
> "In this region? Three assigned for now. More can be summoned if necessary."
The world tilted slightly.
This was no longer just a personal grudge.
This was a quiet war.
---
Meanwhile, Caleb paced inside his father's mansion, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
> "Someone's messing with me," he muttered.
He knew it.
Felt it in his gut.
And he knew who.
Nate Carter.
The nobody.
The silent one.
> "You're dead," Caleb swore under his breath.
"I don't care who you think you are. You're dead."
Caleb wasn't just angry — he was scared.
And scared men made desperate moves.
That night, he called in a favor.
A dark one.
---
At midnight, a black SUV pulled into Westbrooke's back parking lot.
Three men stepped out — not students.
Hired.
Hard faces.
Hard fists.
Paid to hurt.
Paid to make an example.
Nate didn't see them yet.
Didn't know they were coming.
But the card pulsed once, sharply, against his chest.
A warning.
The game was no longer confined to whispers and manipulation.
Tomorrow, it would draw blood.
---