[v2] Chapter 27: New Intel

Friday, April 26

Location: Dorm Hall (Scary Principal to the left)

Operation: Get info from Mari

15:58

I hadn’t known she cared that much.

The look of genuine concern that crossed her face was—honestly—surprising. Almost heartwarming. Maybe Mari was just a hardhead on the surface. After all, some people wear armor they don’t realize is transparent.

After I filled her in on everything, she crossed her arms and said, “Jamal seems the best bet. But it’d be stupid not to question the other two with him.”

“Maddie and Elf?” I asked.

“Yeah. He’s probably trying to protect them since they’re the real moles. You’re right—Jamal has the most evidence stacked against him. But what about the other two?” She paused, thoughtful. “It’s not always the one in front of the spotlight. Sometimes it’s the ones hiding behind it.”

“How are we going to get information?” Nikki asked.

“Malachi,” Tisiah said simply.

Nikki sighed, dragging the word out like a confession. “Yeah... that.”

Mari nodded. “I’ll find some dirt on Maddie with Nikki. You two try to figure out what Elf is up to.”

“Why me?” Nikki raised a brow. “Is it because we’re girls?”

Mari looked her dead in the eye, nodded softly, and replied with no shame, “Yeah.”

***

YMPA’s school day came to a close. I arrived home around seven, looking like I'd just witnessed the end of the world. When Mom opened the door, she blinked at me in muted confusion—nothing dramatic, just her subtle brand of maternal concern.

“Lost a chess match or something?” she asked, then grinned. “Is it that girl you like?”

“Related, but not exactly,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Just trying to figure things out.”

She patted me on the back, ushering me toward the stairs. “Go get changed so you can eat. I waited for your club to end. Didn’t want your dinner going cold.”

I managed a weak smile. But it faded quickly.

Imagine it—me, locked up because they think I’m a mole.

No more Mom. No more Dad. No more Greg. Not even that disaster of a school, Wolfpack Academy. I hate the place, sure—but I’d miss it.

I dropped my backpack by the chair that might as well have had my name carved into it and trudged up the stairs. I opened the door to my room—and screamed.

Malachi was sitting cross-legged on my bed, watching what looked like short-form content designed for people with an attention span of four seconds.

He jumped.

“Jesus, Connor!” he yelped. “How do you expect to be a spy if you scream the moment someone’s in your room?”

“Because someone’s in my room!”

“Shhhhhhhhh, would ya?” he hissed. “You’re over here screaming for no reason. Be glad I soundproofed this place.”

My eyes narrowed. “How did you even do that?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He pulled a folder from his backpack and flung it onto the bed. “I’ve come with two things: my first set of homework, and a request for intel.”

The folder flopped open, revealing about ten pages, their bottoms crumpled like they’d been stuffed into a locker. He spread them across the blanket like it was a crime scene.

“And now for the information. Have you found anything?”

“Well—not exactly. But I’ve got more suspects. Jamal, Maddie, and Elf. Jamal might be trying to protect them. It’s a stretch, I know, but still possible.”

“The ‘What if those three are trying to protect the rest of my friends who might just be against me’ theory? That’s pretty far-fetched.”

“What’s your point?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ve been thinking about this for the past two hours. Maybe they’re not trying to kill me. You said they made it easy to get caught, right? And they mentioned the MP system?”

“Yeah. That’s correct.”

“Maybe they're trying to study it. Learn how it works, so they can create their own operatives who can gain power just as fast. Think about it. We’ve developed a method to help agents grow stronger in record time. If the TSA can reverse-engineer it or upgrade it? They’d outpace us.”

I squinted, looking for plot holes. It sounded like a sci-fi novel—but... it wasn’t impossible.

“I thought the MP system was just a way to get students to commit to their majors more deeply,” I muttered. “I didn’t know it could accelerate growth like that.”

“It can,” Malachi replied. “Mr. Robbs told us last year that both sides—ours and the TSA—have been trying to crack how to reach higher levels of power faster. But it’s like the ocean. We’ve only explored 5%. The rest is unknown.”

“And yet you need me to do your homework.”

“I’m not dumb. I just don’t want to do it,” Malachi said, looking genuinely offended. “Don’t disrespect me.”

I snorted but caught myself. He sounded like a fifth-grader defending his honor.

“Anyway,” he said, brushing off the moment, “we should focus on who’s causing the most damage—not who’s trying to kill me. There were countless chances to off me. They didn’t. That means they want something else.”

“Well... how soon do you need this done?” I asked, eyeing the mound of homework.

“Tomorrow.”

“Excuse me? Tomorrow?!”

“I don’t know. I figured something out for you—so now you do it for me,” he said, then leapt out the window.

Yes. Leapt.

I heard the sound of frost forming beneath his feet as he descended.

I stared at the now-empty window frame.

“There’s not even any school tomorrow!”

***

Saturday

“Oh. Oh, wow,” Greg said.

I was lying on my bed, phone in hand, giving him the full play-by-play. The chase, the interrogation, and—worst of all—the toilet water. I would never forgive Principal Renner for that.

“But this is good,” Greg said. “Now that Malachi’s working with you to save... himself, you’ll probably get less pushback trying to make September fall for you. How many levels have you gained?”

“I’m at level 5 now,” I said. “Still not sure where to use my points.”

“They’ll probably announce something soon,” he replied. “Though I doubt it’s today.”

“You don’t say,” I muttered.

“But Malachi did say something.”

“About the MP system?”

“No. About the mole. Sorry—lack of context.”

“You’re excused.”

Well, dang. I expected “no problem,” or maybe a laugh—not legal courtroom energy. What made it worse was that it technically made sense, so I couldn’t even argue.

“Malachi thinks maybe they’re not trying to kill him. Just trying to learn from him—how the system works.”

“Why? I mean, couldn’t they just make a game or something to encourage their students to dive deeper into their majors?”

“Apparently not,” I replied. “According to Malachi, our history teacher once said both factions have been trying to figure out how to level up faster. But they’ve only made small progress.”

There was a long silence.

“Greg?”

“How can you not see this?!” he wheezed suddenly.

“What?” I asked. Anxiety flooded me like water into a cracked fish tank.

Greg’s laughter softened, and his words finally took shape.

“I agree with Malachi. But let’s not forget—he’s still a prime suspect. He’s at the top of the list, right?”

“Wish it was me.”

“So it makes sense. Watch Malachi, observe how the system works, reverse-engineer it. They don’t want him dead because he’s their source.”

My stomach twisted.

“That’s why he’s still alive. The mole isn’t trying to eliminate him—they’re trying to learn from him. It’s almost worse.”

“Worse than murder.”

“If they understand and replicate what your side’s done, they could create agents just as strong as Malachi. Maybe stronger. And if they get there before we do…”

“World-ending war,” I finished.

“Exactly.”

“How come you’re only a genius during existential threats?” I asked.

“Because you told me about it today,” he said smugly.

I sighed, ending the call.

But one question still screamed in my head like a fire alarm:

Who’s at the bottom of that list?