Chapter 54
Chapter 54:
To: Felix
I need the University Library login logs from 8:00 AM to 8:30 AM today. Specifically Terminal 4 in the West Wing. Also, pull the security feed for that sector.
From: Felix
Consider it done. Give me ten minutes.
Skye smiled. It was a cold, terrifying expression.
She didn’t need to be a hacker when she had the resources of Sea City’s underworld at her fingertips. They had likely used Jessica’s student ID to authorize a guest login, thinking it added a layer of separation. Amateurs.
Seraphina thought she was playing a high school prank. She didn’t realize she was declaring war on a woman who had already lived through hell and come back with a map.
Ping.
A file arrived on her phone. A video clip.
Skye opened it. It showed Jessica sitting at the terminal, typing furiously. Standing behind her, reflected clearly in the glass partition of the study pod, was Seraphina Miller, dictating the caption.
Skye deleted the notification preview but saved the file. She wouldn’t go to the Dean yet. She would wait. She would let them think they had won. And then, when they felt safe, she would burn their world down.
The cafeteria at Sea City University was a cavernous space, echoing with the clatter of trays and the roar of hundreds of conversations. But the moment Skye Sterling walked through the double doors, the noise level dropped by half. Heads turned. Eyes followed her. The “sugar baby” rumor spread faster than a virus.
Skye ignored them. She walked with her head high, her spine straight. She grabbed a tray. A bottle of water. A garden salad. Simple. Clean.
She moved toward a corner table, a strategic position where she could have her back to the wall and a clear view of the exits. It was a habit from her new life, a survival instinct honed by kidnapping and betrayal.
She was halfway to the table when her path was intercepted.
𝖮𝗋𝗴𝗮ո𝘪𝗓𝗲 y𝗈𝘂r 𝗿𝘦𝘢𝗱і𝗇𝘨 𝗅𝗶𝘀𝘵 𝗼𝗻 𝘣el𝘯𝘰𝘃e𝘭ѕ.𝗰o𝗆
Jessica and Tiffany stepped out from behind a pillar. They were holding trays piled high with spaghetti and meatballs, the sauce a vivid, angry red.
Skye stopped. She saw the tension in Jessica’s shoulders. She saw the way Tiffany bit her lip. They were telegraphing their move like bad actors in a soap opera.
“Oops!” Jessica chirped, her voice pitchy with fake surprise. She “tripped p>
It was a clumsy lunge. She thrust her tray forward, aiming the entire plate of pasta directly at Skye’s chest. The intention was clear: ruin the hoodie, humiliate the girl, make her run away crying.
But Skye didn’t run.
Her body reacted before her brain even processed the threat. It was muscle memory—years of ballroom dancing lessons, combined with the heightened reflexes of someone constantly looking over her shoulder.
Skye pivoted.
She stepped to the left with a fluid, graceful slide, her body twisting sideways. The movement was so fast it was almost a blur.
The tray of spaghetti sailed through the empty space where Skye had been standing a fraction of a second ago.