After what felt like the longest day of my life, I found myself sitting in the principal’s office. My heart was pounding so hard it might as well have been a drumline, and I was sure everyone in the hallway could hear it. Kirk, my classmate and the reason for all this trouble, was sitting next to me. His eyes were red, either from crying or sheer rage—I couldn’t tell.

  The room itself didn’t help my nerves. The polished wooden walls gave off a vibe of authority, but the desk in the middle of the room felt completely out of place. Rusty, worn, and cluttered with papers, family photos, and random knick-knacks, it seemed like a desperate attempt to remind us that Mr. Broll, our principal, was human.

  Speaking of Mr. Broll, his stern presence filled the room. Bald with a shiny head that caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows, he looked like the kind of guy who wasn’t here to play games. His hazel-green eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene, framed by a thick beard that didn’t connect to his hairline—well, because there wasn’t any. He wore a perfectly pressed green shirt tucked into dress pants, with polished shoes that peeked out from under the desk.

  “So, I hear you two had a little brawl, eh?” he said, his voice tired as he glanced back and forth between us. Or at least, I think he did. It was hard to tell with those sharp eyes darting around.

  Kirk, of course, wasted no time throwing me under the bus. “It was him! He punched me first!” he blurted, pointing at me like I was a criminal on trial.

  I couldn’t let that slide. “You were about to punch me!” I snapped, leaning forward in my chair. “It was self-defense! Ever heard of that?”

  Before the argument could spiral further, Mr. Broll slammed his hand on the desk. “Enough!” he barked. The room fell silent instantly. “I don’t have time for your squabbles. Here’s how this is going to go: two weeks of detention starting tomorrow. For both of you.”

  My jaw dropped. Detention? Two weeks? For defending myself? My mind raced with frustration. Kirk had been making my life miserable for months, and now that I finally stood up for myself, I got punished too? It felt like the school had a twisted sense of justice—punish the victim for daring to fight back.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the office, too angry to say another word. But then it hit me—my mom. How was I going to explain this to her? She didn’t handle news like this well, and I knew I was in for a lecture, or worse.

  As I walked out of the building, surrounded by students buzzing with excitement about the upcoming prom, I tried to distract myself. I pulled out my phone and started playing a mobile game. It helped a little, but not enough. The sound of honking cars and the rush of the city filled the air as I made my way down the crowded street. The wind brushed against my face, and for a moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

  But I couldn’t dawdle. If I got home late, my mom’s radar for trouble would kick in, and she’d start asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer. So, I decided to take a shortcut through a wooded area near the edge of the neighborhood. It wasn’t my favorite path—it always gave me the creeps—but today, I needed the quickest route home.

  The forest was quiet... very quiet. The trees loomed over me, their branches intertwining to create a canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight. As I walked, I caught a glimpse of something unusual through the gaps in the trees. Two black SUVs were parked side by side, and a group of men and women dressed in black suits were getting out.

  Curiosity got the better of me. I crept closer, staying hidden behind a tree, and watched as they moved with precision. These weren’t ordinary suits—they were sleek, one-piece outfits, almost like they were designed for a mission. One of the women had her hair tied up, and the others wore helmets with dark visors, making it impossible to see their faces.

  Then I noticed another group—guys in matching gray vests, dress shirts, and ties. Their outfits were neat but definitely not casual. Fingerless gloves covered their hands, and they all seemed ready for action.

  At first, I thought maybe it was some kind of weird training exercise or even a performance. But that theory quickly crumbled when one of the guys in a vest threw a punch at one of the suited men. Within seconds, the clearing erupted into chaos. Punches and kicks flew in every direction, the sounds of fists colliding and grunts of effort filling the air.

  This wasn’t a practice. It was a full-on fight.

  One of the women in black executed a flawless flip, taking down one of the guys in a vest. He hit the ground hard and didn’t get back up. Meanwhile, another guy in a vest hurled one of the suited men into a parked SUV, shattering its windshield. The sheer intensity of the fight left me frozen in place.

  But then, something changed.

  One of the suited men suddenly ducked behind the vehicles before he turned his head and stopped in my direction. I froze. He froze. He slowly reached for his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. Then, after a few seconds, he pulled out a gun. My stomach dropped.

  And then the gun fired.

  The bullet hit the tree I was hiding behind, and I felt my heart stop. He was definitely looking at me.

  I didn’t think—I just ran. Bullets whizzed past me, some splintering the trees as I weaved through the forest. My lungs burned, and my legs felt like jelly, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t dare look back. I just kept running, praying I wouldn’t get hit.

  By the time I reached my house, I was out of breath and shaking. I pounded on the door, desperate to get inside. My mom opened it, her face filled with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I couldn’t answer. My words were stuck in my throat. I pushed past her and ran upstairs, slamming the door behind me. My heart was still racing, and my mind was a jumbled mess. What had I just witnessed? And more importantly, what did it mean for me?