Chapter 30. Complications

Steffy studied the tension in Teacher Greg's face—the tightness around his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. He hadn't heard her come in.

"I've been looking for you, sir." Her voice was light and easy. The kind of character she had been showing the school the past few months. "The vice-principal announced the vigil for Mr. Seson. I figured I'd find you here."

She always knew where to find him; fifteen minutes before the first bell, he would drink his black coffee—no sugar and definitely no cream. His free periods were spent tucked in the library's farthest corner, fingers tracing the spines of old history books. During lunch, he preferred to eat alone, always on the second-floor balcony, watching the field without really seeing it. And lastly, after school, he would linger in his classroom, grading, and staring at the blackboard. Sometimes, a look of loneliness would be seen in his eyes.

Steffy took a step closer. "You don't have to be alone."

A lie. Her fingers brushed her thigh, feeling the press of the handgun strapped beneath her skirt. 'Today is the day' she told herself. One move. That was all it took. The mission would be over.

But she hesitated. Again. All of a sudden, she could hear George's voice yelling at her: 'Stop fucking him and get it over with!' But it was getting hard to do so. She told herself it was just a distraction, just the thrill of toying with him. But then he looked at her—really looked at her—and something twisted deep in her chest.

Damn it. Her phone had buzzed that morning. It was her father. "You should finish him off now," he'd said, his voice sharp and clipped. "Yuan succeeded in his mission. The principal is already dead. What's taking you so long to kill yours?"

Steffy blinked hard, forcing the memory away. Her father's icy tone echoed in her head, a reminder of the brotherhood's dwindling faith in her. And maybe… maybe they were right to doubt. She could end it here, in this forgotten room, with no witnesses. She could be gone before his body hit the ground. And yet—

Teacher Greg let out a shaky breath. "How could someone murder my godfather like that?" His voice cracked, raw with something she wasn't sure she'd ever heard from him before. Maybe it was genuine pain. His shoulders slumped, and his hands trembled at his sides. For the first time, he didn't look like a target to Steffy. He looked human—a beautiful creature filled with loneliness and loss.

Steffy's grip tightened at her side, fingers twitching. The weight of the gun against her thigh felt heavier than ever. She could not kill him. Not yet.

"What they did to him was inhumane," Teacher Greg whispered. His voice was unsteady, his breath shallow. "They castrated him, stabbed him over and over, then hung his body on the wall. H-how will I possibly forget that, Steffy?"

She said nothing. She knew Yuan had only done what was necessary. The Alphas were brutal with their enemies—always had been. And Greg or Lucio Hernandez… if she did her job, he would meet the same fate. Unless—

No! She shut the thought down before it could take root. There was no unless. Not now! Not ever!

But she could think about it later when her head was clear. When she wasn't standing in front of him, feeling something she shouldn't.

She would kill Teacher Greg when the time was right. Painlessly, if she could. But she would do it. She had to. She couldn't afford to fail—not in the eyes of the Alpha Council, not in the eyes of her father. She had joined the brotherhood to prove something. To change its belief system about women. And she had vowed to uphold that, no matter the price.

She exhaled slowly and forced the thoughts away.

"Do you still want to attend the vigil?" she asked, letting go of the weight of the revolver pressing against her thigh.

"I'd rather be anywhere else," Greg admitted. "But the faculty needs me. After the vigil, though… maybe we could go somewhere?" His voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

Steffy met his gaze, ignoring the knot tightening in her chest. "Of course," she said. "Let's do that."

They walked side by side, their steps unhurried. Steffy was keenly aware of his presence—the quiet weight he carried, the tension in his shoulders, the warmth radiating from him. Their hands brushed, just barely, a fleeting touch neither of them acknowledged.

"Thank you, Steffy," he murmured.

She glanced at him. "For what, sir?"

"For easing the pain."

She only nodded. There was nothing to say. Not when she knew she would also be the end of him.