The courtroom emptied slowly—too slowly for Rowan Hale's trembling nerves.
Court officers flanked him on both sides, escorting him like a witness under federal protection rather than a student in a mock trial. Their hands hovered close to their batons, eyes scanning every inch of the hallway as they guided him out the back exit.
Rowan kept glancing around, paranoia eating him alive. His throat bobbed with every swallow. He wasn't safe. Not after what he'd said. Not after shouting it in front of cameras—cameras Aldric didn't even know were there.
When the double doors shut behind him, Aldric finally exhaled.
He didn't get a moment more.
A presence stepped into his peripheral vision.
He recognized the perfume first—faint jasmine with a cold undertone.
Then the heels.
Then the voice.
"Impressive, Aldric."
Ms. Varo stood beside him, her arms folded, her gaze unreadable. Not cold, not warm—simply evaluating him the way a predator evaluates a young rival.
Aldric swallowed. "Thank you, Ms. Varo."
She leaned in just slightly.
"You didn't win because you were lucky," she whispered.
"You won because you think. And you think fast."
Aldric wasn't sure if it was praise or a warning.
Before he could respond, she tapped the folder in his hand with a perfectly manicured finger.
"Be careful with what you uncover. It might start uncovering you back."
Then she walked off, heels echoing in the empty hallway like a metronome of tension.
Aldric remained frozen for several seconds.
Her words weren't a warning.
They were a prophecy.
Somewhere Else — Unknown Location
A dim room.
A table.
A stack of Aldric's documents laid out: case notes, analysis scribbles, timeline reconstructions—everything he had touched over the last forty-eight hours.
A hand—gloved—reached out, flipping through them with slow, knowing movements.
The man's face remained hidden in the shadows.
A faint, amused exhale escaped him.
A smile.
A very dangerous smile.
He tapped the papers once, almost affectionately, then slid one document—a timeline note—into his pocket.
The door opened behind him.
The man didn't turn.
He didn't need to.
Everything was going according to plan.
Meanwhile — On the 22nd Floor of the Kingston State Building
A polished office.
A wall of windows overlooking the city.
And a politician with too much power and too little patience.
Councilman Desmond Haverly set his whiskey glass down with a sharp clink. His jaw tightened as he replayed Rowan's outburst on the muted flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
Rowan Hale shouting accusations.
A law student—Aldric Benedict—cornering Redd in open court.
And the cameras.
So many cameras.
Haverly pressed one button on his desk phone.
"Get in here."
A subordinate entered quickly. Tall, jittery, reeking of fear already.
Haverly didn't stand.
"Get rid of Jonathan Redd."
The subordinate froze. "S-Sir?"
Haverly finally looked up, his eyes as dark as drowned marble.
"He became a liability the second that boy forced him to expose the call timing.
Remove him. Before someone else does it sloppily."
The subordinate swallowed hard.
"Understood."
Haverly turned back to the window.
The city lights shimmered.
"Too many eyes are opening…" he murmured.
"Time to close a few."
When Aldric reached his door, the porch light flickered faintly—as if reacting to him.
An envelope rested on the ground.
No name.
No seal.
No markings.
Just like the first one.
Placed at the exact time he arrived.
His chest tightened.
Not again.
He picked it up slowly, fingers trembling despite his effort to remain calm.
He didn't open it.
Not yet.
Instead, he tucked it under his arm, unlocked the door, and stepped into the warmth of home.
"Aldric!"
His mother popped her head out from the kitchen.
"Dinner ready, sweetheart!"
His younger brother, Milo, peered over the couch.
"Bro! You said you'd tell us about law school today!"
Aldric forced a smile so sharp it almost cut him on the way out.
"Yeah, I will. Everything's… great."
Great.
Excellent.
Fun.
He lied with ease because telling the truth would break something inside his family.
He washed his hands, joined them at the table, and for a moment—just a moment—he felt normal.
His father asked, "How's your studies?"
Aldric didn't hesitate.
"It's excellent. I enjoy doing it."
The lie slid out smoother than breathing.
They all smiled.
And Aldric swallowed the guilt.
After dinner, he retreated to his room.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
Finally opened the envelope.
Inside was a single paper.
No words.
Just a small printed map—blurry, low detail, but unmistakably:
Rowan Hale's neighborhood.
Aldric felt his stomach tighten painfully.
Whoever was doing this…
was watching Rowan.
Watching him.
He sank onto his bed.
His thoughts spiraled, darker than he expected.
Corruption.
Politics.
Government officials funding private enforcers.
Cases manipulated behind closed doors.
Judges pressured.
Lawyers threatened.
Families ruined before evidence even reached the courtroom.
He used to think corruption in government and corruption in the shadows were two separate things.
Not anymore.
"They're the same…" he whispered.
"Just wearing different masks."
He didn't sleep well.
Next Morning — 6:12 AM
His phone buzzed.
Caller ID: Ms. Vos
He sat up instantly.
"Good morning, Aldric," her voice chimed, way too cheerful for dawn.
"I want you in class today. We have visitors, and I'd like you in the front."
Visitors?
That usually meant high-ranking attorneys.
Or worse—political guests.
Aldric rubbed his forehead.
"Yes, Ms. Vos. I'll be there."
"Good. Don't be late."
Call ended.
He exhaled slowly and got dressed—dark jeans, a clean shirt, hair combed neatly.
He looked normal.
He didn't feel normal.
At school, new names entered the scene.
Jamarion Tate — charismatic, witty, a future defense attorney with ambitions louder than his laugh.
Elena Marwick — quiet, brilliant, scary with analysis; Aldric's biggest rival academically.
Seth Rowe — the one who always knew rumors first; connected everywhere for reasons no one understood.
Leah Vance — gentle, observant, unusually good at reading people.
These four noticed Aldric the moment he stepped in.
And for the first time since this game began…
Aldric felt eyes following him inside the law school too.
Nightfall — Aldric's Home
Aldric dropped onto his couch after a long day, covered in fatigue.
He turned on the television for background noise.
Local news channel.
A reporter appeared on screen—pale, shaky, rattled.
"This evening… authorities report that attorney Jonathan Redd was found dead in his home. The victim was discovered without his head—"
Aldric froze.
"—with no signs of forced entry. No weapon recovered. No fingerprints. No security footage of anyone entering or leaving the home. Investigators describe the scene as 'impossible'."
Aldric's blood turned cold.
They got him.
Already.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown Number.
"This is the cost of seeing too much."
Aldric's hand shook.
Somewhere in the city… in the shadows…
someone smiled.
And Aldric Benedict knew—
He was officially inside the war.
No exit. No pause.
Only forward.