Rap. Tap. Tap.
The rhythmic tapping of a foot against linoleum filled the small bubble of silence around Isaac's desk.
The Operator stared blankly at the whiteboard at the front of the classroom, his eyes unfocused. Around him, the mundane chaos of high school droned on—scratching pencils, shuffling papers, the hum of fluorescent lights—but his mind was lightyears away.
He was thinking about the Man in the Wall.
Al's question gnawed at him, an itch he couldn't scratch. Why Taylor? The Tenno believed what the Drifter said about her future self, but the answer didn't feel that simple. The Entity's behavior was usually capricious, rarely specific without reason.
Was targeting her a form of reverse psychology? Why else would it loudly announce it wanted her dead when it knew they would refuse to do its bidding? Or did simply letting them know bring about the change in the timeline it desired?
The questions circled endlessly—a loop of futile speculation.
A sharp, whispered giggle cut through his concentration.
"...totally desperate. I mean, did you see her hair today? She's trying so hard."
Isaac's eyes shifted, focusing on the periphery of his vision. At the table across the aisle, Madison Clements and her gaggle of sycophants were huddled together.
"That skank is totally sleeping with him," one of the girls whispered loudly. "She's probably putting out for the whole group. Gross."
"Isaac's definitely pimping her out," Madison murmured, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Why else would he suddenly start playing bodyguard?"
He glanced at the teacher, Mr. Gladly, who was animatedly explaining the formation of the Protectorate to a half-asleep room. Gladly was either dutifully ignoring the gossip or pretending not to hear it. Given the man's track record, Isaac suspected the latter was simply more convenient.
His irritation at having his thoughts interrupted by them flickered briefly before fading. If anything, their yapping gave him an excuse to abandon his spiral of thought about the Void entity. Trying to understand it was pointless.
He turned slightly.
Taylor sat beside him, eyes fixed on her textbook, but he could tell she wasn't reading. The slight tilt of her head gave her away—she was listening to the girls.
He nudged her elbow, just a little harder than necessary.
She blinked, startled, irritation flashing across her face. "What?"
"You alright?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine." She rubbed her arm. "Just… a lot on my mind this morning."
Before Isaac could respond, Brandon leaned over from his seat, a grin plastered on his face.
"Lot on her mind, huh?" Brandon waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I bet I can guess who 'a lot' actually is."
Taylor's face flushed a dull red. She scowled at him. "Shut up, Brandon."
Nate, sitting beside Brandon, reached out and grabbed Brandon's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. It looked like a restraining gesture, but the smirk on Nate's face betrayed him.
"Ease up, man," Nate said, though his tone was purely theatrical. "Don't embarrass her. She's not the only one thinking about Bruce Wayne here."
Isaac raised an unimpressed brow. "Really, guys? I thought you dropped that nickname."
"No way," Nate shook his head. "We're spreading it, and it's catching on. People are calling you the 'Dark Knight of Winslow.'"
Isaac pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me they aren't."
"It's because you've been stepping in to break up bullying all over the school for the past few days," Henry chimed in from his seat. He was a tall, lanky Black kid with a towering afro and glasses that made him look like a hipster professor. He was also one of the newer members that had joined Lookout. "It's very vigilante justice."
Brandon and Nate nodded as if their point had been proven.
"So it's an accurate comparison," Henry added, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Even if it is vaguely racist."
"It's inaccurate," Isaac said flatly. "I don't play dress-up and beat up criminals."
He wasn't lying either. He didn't so much wear Warframes as possess them, and judging by his record—captures versus kills… Well, let's just say if he was a typical hero like Batman, he would be very bad at his job.
"We have gangsters in school, so it still counts," Nate countered. "You're a hero without powers, man. Embrace it."
Isaac sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth from how funny it was that they were all so wrong, yet right. He looked at Taylor, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of confusion and amusement. The flush had faded from her cheeks, replaced by the faintest hint of a smile. More importantly, her attention had shifted completely away from the whispering girls across the aisle.
"Bruce Wayne," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'm not into comic books, but if Isaac's supposed to be Batman, who's that make us?"
"I guess that makes us Alfred?" Henry looked at the others, a brow raised.
"Speak for yourself," Nate said, puffing out his chest. "I'm clearly Lucius Fox."
Isaac smirked, settling back in his chair. He let the friendly banter wash over them, drowning out the malicious whispers of Madison's clique.
"Operator." Ordis' voice echoed in his mind. "The PRT ENE have sent a request for a meeting. They are specifically requesting the presence of Khora and Umbra."
Considering the recent intelligence Ordis had forwarded to them, it was almost certainly about the ABB. The Protectorate likely wanted to coordinate a sweep to finish the gang off before they could rally or attempt to break Lung out. It was a sensible strategic move to have Ten-Zero publicly participate in order to keep the other gangs docile and prevent outside powers from filling the vacuum too soon.
He had hoped to avoid a public partnership in Brockton Bay until he had trained Taylor up some more, but he wouldn't waste an opportunity to build up more reputation with the PRT.
"Tell them we'll be there at five," Isaac projected back.
"Yes Operator!" Ordis chirped. "Shall I also prepare the Liset for transport?"
"Do it," He confirmed. "And Ordis? Start the paperwork to register Taylor as an independent hero."
"Oh! A fantastic initiative, Operator!" Ordis praised, the sound of digital clapping echoing faintly. "It is a necessary step if she hopes to work in any official capacity with the PRT. I will prepare the documents for her immediately."
Isaac tuned the Cephalon out as Brandon nudged him again, pulling him back into the conversation about who would be the best Robin.
The minutes ticked by until the shrill ring of the bell cut through the air. The classroom erupted into movement, chairs scraping against the floor and bags being zipped up.
"Alright, meet you guys in the cafeteria," Isaac said, standing and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "I've got some business to take care of at the Principal's office."
"Trouble?" Nate asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nah, just need to check on a few things," Isaac replied vaguely.
He watched as Taylor gathered her things, moving to join Henry, Nate, and Brandon. As they filed out the door, Isaac's gaze swept the hallway.
Down the corridor, a familiar trio was assembling. Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, and Madison Clements. Their eyes initially locked on Taylor, but as they drew closer, their attention shifted.
They looked at him.
Isaac met their gazes.
They had been quiet for the last few days, limiting themselves to cowardly whispering campaigns. But the look in their eyes—the frustration, the pent-up malice—told him they wanted to do more than talk.
He could intervene. He could change plans and walk with the group to lunch. He knew the Trio was only holding back their more aggressive bullying because he could fight anyone in the school they might convince to jump him. Not that anyone in Winslow—with the exception of the E88—was eager to test him after his first day. That reluctance had only been cemented by the aggressive rumors Lookout was spreading about his strength.
But playing guardian angel was never his true plan and he made that clear from the start.
If Lookout was going to work, it couldn't just be a cult of personality centered around Isaac. It had to be a proper support network.
So he needed to know: if he left now and the Trio attacked, would the group crumble or rally?
Isaac suspected that most would rally, but the difference between hunches and facts was confirmation. So he needed to confirm that the current members truly intended to live up to the ideals of the group.
Besides, he was sure they'd be fine. Taylor was tough and the group gathering around her as they made their way towards the cafeteria should dissuade any notion of outright violence.
His mind made up, Isaac turned away from the hallway, leaving Taylor and the others to their own devices. He had his own businestraps to attend to, and they had theirs.
He navigated the stream of students flowing toward the cafeteria, cutting against the current toward the administrative wing. The trip was short, but the atmosphere shifted the moment he passed through the double doors. The chaotic buzz of the hallway faded, replaced by the hushed, sanitized quiet of the front office.
The receptionist—a weary-looking woman who usually spent her days ignoring complaints about broken lockers—looked up as he approached. Her eyes widened fractionally. The apathy she wore like armor melted away instantly.
"Mr. Dax," she said, her voice pitched a little higher than normal. "Go right in. Principal Blackwell is expecting you."
Isaac offered a polite nod and stepped past the waiting area entirely.
When he pushed open the door to the inner office, the first thing he noticed was the smell.
The stale, bitter scent of old coffee that had once defined the room was gone. In its place was the faint aroma of lemon polish and a newer, sharper smell—freshly printed paper and ink. The room looked better, too. The clutter on the shelves had been organized, the windows had been cleaned, and the worn rug had been replaced with something that didn't look like it had been salvaged from a dumpster.
Isaac sat in the same chair as before, but the posture was different—less slouched, more settled.
Principal Blackwell sat behind her desk, but this time she wasn't red-faced or ranting. In fact, she looked almost… pleasant. She offered him a tight, professional smile, her hands folded neatly over a thin stack of documents.
"Thank you for coming in on such short notice," she said, her tone smooth and respectful. "I wanted to give you an update personally before the end of the school day."
Isaac nodded, his expression neutral. "I appreciate the initiative, Principal Blackwell. I trust the verification went smoothly?"
"It did," she confirmed, a hint of relief in her voice. "The district verified the funds yesterday morning. I've never seen the board approve a designated improvement fund that quickly, but then again, they've never seen a donation of this magnitude."
She tapped the stack of papers. "I've already submitted the preliminary spending outline to the district for approval. We're prioritizing security updates and equipment replacement. The new computers are on the procurement list, and we're looking at a tentative delivery window of three to four weeks."
"Three to four weeks?" Isaac raised an eyebrow. "That seems a bit long for a delivery."
"Bureaucracy, I'm afraid," Blackwell sighed, taking off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "The district has preferred vendors, and there are requisition forms that need to be processed in triplicate. But that is the fast track. The equipment is the easy part."
She paused, looking a little more hesitant. "Staffing, however, is a different beast."
"Please, elaborate."
"We are actively looking to hire more hall monitors and support staff," she explained. "But the process… it moves slowly. The job postings need to be reviewed by the district, then we have the interview process, background checks, and HR onboarding. We're looking at months, potentially, before we see new faces in the halls. Sometimes longer depending on the candidate pool. Which, as you can guess, is slim considering the prevalence of gang activity in this city and its overall economic state."
Isaac stared at her for a moment, processing this.
In his head, he could hear Ordis scoffing at the inefficiency.
Months, the Operator thought, barely suppressing a sigh. Months to hire a few hall monitors.
He found himself lamenting the sluggish pace of Earth-Bet's institutions. It was a stark contrast to the Origin System. If this were a Corpus affair, a Board member like Nef Anyo or Frohd Bek would have simply flashed a stack of credits, and within the hour, a legion of debt-bound contractors or security MOAs would be patrolling the corridors.
"It is frustrating, I know," Blackwell added, misinterpreting his silence as displeasure. "But I assure you, we are doing everything we can to expedite the process. We've already reached out to a few local security firms for temporary contracts to bridge the gap."
Isaac leaned back, offering a small, magnanimous wave of his hand. "I understand. Bureaucracy is a beast. As long as the wheels are turning, I'm content."
He stood up, signaling the end of the meeting.
"Just keep me in the loop," he said, heading for the door. "I'm looking forward to seeing the changes."
"Of course," Blackwell replied, standing as well. She seemed genuinely eager to please now. "Have a good rest of your day, Isaac."
Isaac stepped out into the secretary area, the door clicking shut behind him.
"Three weeks for computers," he muttered to no one. "Months for staff. You'd think with the state of this school, they'd be a little faster."
Still, it was progress. Slow, agonizingly inefficient progress. But progress nonetheless.
Isaac stepped into the hallway from the office, adjusting his backpack strap. His mind was already turning toward the cafeteria.
He didn't make it two steps.
The door to the administrative wing burst open, slamming against the wall with a resounding bang. Mr. Gladly stumbled through, looking more haggard than usual. His tie was askew, his hair disheveled, and there was a frantic edge to his movements that instantly pinged the Tenno's instincts.
Isaac pivoted on his heel, stepping silently to the side of the doorframe, pressing his back against the wall just out of sight.
He listened.
"Principal Blackwell!" Gladly's voice was breathless, panic cracking through his usual "cool teacher" facade.
There was a startled sound from inside the office, followed by the shuffle of papers. "Mr. Gladly? What on earth—"
"You're needed. Now," Gladly interrupted, gasping for air. "Another fight broke out. It's bad."
There was a heavy sigh, followed by the distinct, harsh scrape of Blackwell's chair pushing back against the floor.
"Who is it this time?" Blackwell demanded, her voice tight with exhaustion. "If it's the Empire kids again, I swear—"
"No, not them," Gladly cut in. "It's Hebert. Barnes. Clements. Hess. And a few others. A whole group."
Isaac's eyes narrowed.
"They're in the hallway near the cafeteria," Gladly continued quickly. "It's turning into a mob scene. I tried to intervene, but—"
"Get back there," Blackwell snapped. Footsteps hurried toward the door. "I'll use the P.A. system to call for support."
Isaac didn't wait to hear the rest.
He pushed off the wall, his casual demeanor evaporating instantly. He moved fast, his sneakers silent on the linoleum as he sprinted down the corridor toward the cafeteria.
The moment Isaac turned the corner, heading toward the front office, the atmosphere in the hallway shifted.
Taylor felt it instantly—a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, a heaviness in the air. She looked up and saw them.
Down the corridor, leaning against the lockers like they owned the place, were Emma, Sophia, and Madison. And they weren't alone. A loose semicircle of sycophants and hangers-on had formed around them, their eyes tracking the movement of Taylor's group like wolves watching a herd.
Taylor stopped, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The easy atmosphere of the walk vanished, replaced by the stifling, familiar pressure of a trap closing.
"Guys," she said quickly, turning to the others. "You should go on ahead. I'll catch up."
Nate and Brandon, who had been joking about who would play Robin in Isaac's theoretical Batcave, stopped. They looked at Taylor, then followed her gaze toward the Trio.
"Not a chance," Nate said, his playful demeanor hardening instantly.
"You're out of your mind if you think we're leaving you alone with those three," Brandon added, stepping up beside her.
A few of the girls from Lookout—Samantha, a tall, heavy-set girl with a fierce protective streak, and a couple of others who had fallen into step with them—moved closer. Samantha hooked her arm through Taylor's, tugging gently.
"Yeah," Samantha chimed in. "We're a team, right? Lookout sticks together."
"We're just trying to get lunch," Jess added, nervous but stubborn. "They can't just stop us."
Taylor felt a swell of gratitude, but it was drowned out by a wave of anxiety. "Guys, really, you don't have to—"
Before she could finish, two boys from Emma's group—jocks Taylor vaguely recognized as regulars at Sophia's track practices—sidled up to Brandon and Nate. They threw heavy arms over the boys' shoulders, their grins too wide, their body language intentionally crowding.
"Yo, Nate! Brandon!" one of them said, his voice booming with fake camaraderie. "Haven't seen you guys since the game. What's the rush?"
Nate flinched, his face tightening. He tried to shrug the arm off. "Get off me, man."
The boy didn't budge. His grip tightened, his smile turning sharp. "We're just talking, man. Chill."
Taylor's pocket buzzed. She didn't need to check it to know someone had just sent a text to the group chat.
They were surrounded.
Emma stepped forward, separating herself from the pack. She looked at Taylor with a smile that was all teeth, her green eyes glittering with that familiar, predatory malice.
"Taylor," Emma cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I see you've made some new friends. That's so cute. You finally found people desperate enough to hang out with you?"
"Leave us alone, Emma," Taylor said, her voice tight.
She wondered why she was like this. She had faced down Lung. She had been hunted through a forest by a giant murder cat just this morning. Yet in the face of Emma, she felt like none of that mattered. That no amount of training or shields could protect her from the girl who used to be her sister.
"Or what?" one of the girls behind Emma sneered. She was a sharp-featured blonde Taylor didn't know by name. "You'll sick your new little boyfriends on us?"
"Back off, pig," Samantha snapped from beside Taylor.
"Excuse me?" the blonde retorted, stepping forward aggressively. "Who are you calling a pig? Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."
"Everyone, quiet!" Emma clapped her hands together, playing the peacemaker with an acting performance worthy of an Oscar. She stepped between the groups, hands raised. "God, you guys are so loud. We're making a scene and Taylor hates scenes."
Taylor stayed silent, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
Emma leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that everyone could hear. "She gets so uncomfortable when things get loud. It makes her... emotional. And when she gets that way, she calls for her mommy. We wouldn't want that right? I mean, her mom could be doing something important right now, like driving."
The words hit Taylor like a physical blow.
The noise of the hallway seemed to drop out, replaced by a sudden, ringing silence.
She felt the blood drain from her face. Her throat tightened as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and humiliating. She couldn't stop them and soon fragments of memory came to mind without her asking. She could remember overhearing her dad berating her mom's body in the morgue, his voice cracking as he raged about how she'd been texting while driving, that she was the only one to blame for leaving them.
Emma laughed, tilting her head. "Oh my god. Are you really crying? Right now?"
Samantha, standing next to Taylor, exploded.
"You bitch!" Samantha lunged forward, arm drawn back for a slap.
She didn't make it.
Sophia stepped between them and shoved Samantha backward hard. The larger girl stumbled, nearly falling into Jess.
"Watch it," Sophia warned, her voice low and dangerous. She wasn't smiling. She looked bored, like she was dealing with an annoying insect.
Emma didn't even glance at the scuffle. Her eyes were fixed on Taylor.
"Don't get so worked up," Emma said casually, waving a hand. "Taylor cries all the time. It's practically her superpower. Did you know she once cried for a whole week? Over nothing?"
It was easy to recall what Emma was referencing.
The moment of weakness where Taylor had admitted to her best friend on a playground a month after the funeral that she wasn't as strong as she looked. She could remember the admission clearly. "I'm not resilient. I can hold it together during the day, but I've cried myself to sleep for a straight week."
And now Emma was throwing it in her face. Along with the memory of her dead mother.
The woman who had looked at Emma like a daughter.
The woman Emma was now saying was nothing.
Something inside Taylor snapped.
The fear, the anxiety, the hesitation to commit to violence—all of it vanished.
Taylor didn't think. She didn't use her power. She didn't strategize.
She swung with the same form that had once broken her nose.
The punch landed poorly—clumsy, driven by adrenaline and fury—but it connected. Her knuckles clipped Emma's cheekbone and slammed into the side of her nose.
Emma shrieked, stumbling back, blood already spilling between her fingers.
Taylor didn't stop. She pressed forward, throwing another punch, then another—wild, unrefined, and relentless.
The hallway erupted as Taylor followed up the first punch with more of them. But Emma, despite the blood, didn't cower. She launched herself forward, tackling Taylor around the waist.
They hit the floor hard, the wind knocking out of Taylor as they crashed onto the linoleum. Emma was smaller, but she was scratching and clawing like a feral animal, her nails raking across Taylor's cheek.
"You psycho!" Emma screamed, straddling Taylor and grabbing a fistful of her hair, slamming her head against the floor. "You broke my nose!"
Taylor gasped, the taste of copper filling her mouth, but the pain only fueled the fire. She didn't try to defend herself; she attacked. She grabbed Emma's blazer, pulling her down while simultaneously snapping her forehead up.
Crack.
Headbutting Emma's already broken nose.
Emma howled, reeling back, and Taylor used the opening to flip her over. They rolled across the floor, a tangle of limbs and violence. Taylor threw a wild punch that caught Emma's jaw, but Emma retaliated, raking her nails down Taylor's neck, leaving burning trails of fire.
"You're dead!" Emma screeched, spitting blood. "You are so dead!"
To her left, Taylor dimly registered Nate tackling the jock who had been crowding him, the two of them crashing into the lockers with a metallic bang. Brandon was holding his own against another boy, blocking a wild swing and shoving him back.
"Taylor move!" Samantha roared, grabbing Taylor by the back of her shirt and hauling her off Emma just as Sophia lunged for her.
But Taylor didn't stop. She couldn't.
Not until she fought back with everything she had.
So she swung on Sophia too.
Her punch was a wild, reckless haymaker—the kind Tenno had spent days training out of her. Sophia didn't even flinch. She ducked under the swing with ease, stepping inside the taller girl's guard.
Fast, Taylor's mind registered, just before a fist buried itself in her stomach.
The air left her lungs in a painful rush. She doubled over, gasping, but the assault didn't stop. A hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head down just as a knee rocketed upward.
It connected with her jaw. Stars exploded in her vision, and she tasted copper.
Taylor stumbled back, disoriented, her legs threatening to give out. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Madison shrieking, "Sophia! Stop! I just saw Gladly! Teachers are gonna be here any minute."
But Sophia didn't stop. She bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes bright with a predatory gleam.
"Then we got time. Come on, Hebert," she taunted, circling. "Fight back. I thought you were tough now."
Taylor forced herself upright, wiping blood from her lip. It was a mistake to treat this like a brawl with Emma. Emma was a bully, a sadist, but she wasn't a fighter. She used words to hurt others. Sophia was different. Her movements reminded her of Tenno, so she definitely had some training. Or at least more than her.
The best way to catch a more skilled opponent off guard is to fall into a pattern and then break it when they least expect it.
His lesson echoed in her memory, and it seemed like now was the right time to apply that advice. Taylor raised her fists—a sloppy mimicry of a boxing stance she'd been taught—and lunged into a punch.
Sophia deflected the blow effortlessly, but this time, Taylor didn't just fall. She used the momentum, stumbling but managing to stay on her feet. She threw another punch, then another. Sophia dodged, weaved, and blocked with casual disdain, toying with her.
But Taylor kept coming.
She may have been outmatched and outclassed, but even when Sophia started throwing in her own punches, she never went down. Pain was just noise to her when the swarm could take away any emotion that would get in the way of beating Sophia's ass.
So when Sophia threw a jab that snapped Taylor's head back, splitting her lip further, Taylor staggered, exaggerating the effect of the hit. Then she purposely threw another wild haymaker that Sophia dodged easily, but this time, she followed up with a quick backfist that landed squarely on the other girl's cheek.
Sophia stumbled back from the blow, eyes narrowed and smirk gone. The game was losing its fun.
It made Taylor smirk, proud to have landed a hit instead of just being a glorified punching bag.
Sophia growled like some kind of wild animal, feinted left, then drove a brutal hook into Taylor's ribs.
Taylor cried out, her knees buckling as her legs refused to support her body weight. She hit the floor hard.
"Stay down, Hebert," Sophia hissed, standing over her.
Taylor ignored Sophia and her screaming body as she tried to push herself up, but her arms shook. The world swam in and out of focus.
Get up, she screamed at herself. GET UP.
The squeak of sneakers on tile echoed from the hallway behind them.
"What the hell is going on?!"
Taylor recognized the voice. It was one of the members of Lookout—a freshman who sat near the back of the cafeteria with them yesterday.
Then came more voices.
"Shit, they're fighting!"
"Don't just fucking stand there, break them up before the teachers get here!"
Within seconds, a tide of bodies surged around the corner. At least ten members of Lookout, drawn by the text, rushed the hallway and plowed into the fray.
Two boys tackled the jock Brandon was fighting. Samantha, who had been scuffling with the blonde a moment ago, grabbed Madison by the collar and hurled her backward into the lockers. Others swarmed the hangers-on, pulling them off Nate and the girls.
It was even more chaotic than before.
BZZZZT.
The crackle of the PA system cut through the noise like a knife.
"ATTENTION," Blackwell's voice announced. "James, Rogers, and Knott, please report to the B-Hall corridor immediately. Students involved in the disturbance, stop what you are doing this instant or detention will be the least of the punishments."
Sophia looked up from Taylor, her head snapping toward the approaching reinforcement of students, then back to the hallway where the teachers would be coming from.
Taylor used the distraction. She pushed herself up to her knees, spitting a glob of blood onto the floor.
But before she could rise, Sophia moved and kicked her square in the chest.
Taylor crashed into the lockers with a metallic bang. She slid down to the floor, gasping, her vision blurring.
Sophia raised her foot for another stomp—
A hand shot out, catching the leg mid-motion.
Sophia froze. She looked up, her eyes widening.
Isaac stood there, his grip like a vice around her leg. He wasn't sporting that usual borderline cocky smirk. He didn't even look mad. His face was blank, his eyes cold and hard.
He shoved the leg away, making Sophia stumble back. The bully barely caught her balance, her expression shifting from surprise to a sharp, angry glare.
"That's enough of that," he shouted, projecting his voice over the chaos.
As if he had some sort of Master ability, half the fight in the hallway died. The moment the other students recognized Isaac, most of the sycophants and hangers-on scrambled back. They melted into the crowd that'd grown around the brawl, suddenly finding elsewhere to be. The ones who didn't hear or refused to stop were held down by the numerical superiority of Lookout.
Only Sophia remained.
She stood her ground, eyes locked on Isaac with a sneer. She looked like a coiled spring, ready to snap.
"Come to save your little girlfriend?" She mocked, her voice dripping with contempt. "Good. I've been waiting to put you on your ass, you arrogant prick."
Isaac didn't say a word. He simply stepped further away from Taylor and lowered himself into a casual fighting stance, hands open, knees bent.
"Come on then," he challenged, his voice low and flat. "I'll even let you get the first shot."
Sophia didn't hesitate.
She exploded forward, faster than she had been in her fight with Taylor, and threw a brutal right hook aimed directly at Isaac's jaw.
"Amateur," he scoffed, tilting his head just enough for the punch to miss by a fraction of an inch.
Before Sophia could even process the miss, Isaac's open palm clenched into a fist. He drove it forward before she could react.
It buried itself deep into her solar plexus.
The impact was a sickeningly loud, heavy thud that echoed in the sudden silence.
Sophia's eyes bulged. Her mouth opened in a silent, gasping scream. All the air in her lungs was violently expelled as she collapsed to the floor.
She hit the ground in a heap, clawing at her chest, her face twisted in agony as she struggled to draw a single breath.
"Sophia!" Emma, cradling her broken nose and covered in blood, scrambled toward her friend. Madison, looking relatively unharmed despite the fighting, followed close behind.
Isaac ignored the wheezing girl on the floor. He turned his back on Sophia as if she didn't exist.
He walked over to Taylor, who was still slumped against the lockers. He spotted her glasses on the floor a few feet away. He picked them up, inspecting them for a second to ensure they weren't cracked, then crouched in front of her.
He gently slid the glasses onto her face, adjusting the frames so they sat straight.
"Good work," he said quietly. "Rest up."
He patted her shoulder—a brief, reassuring gesture—then stood and turned toward the rest of Lookout.
He found Nate and Brandon leaning against the lockers. Nate looked rough—a split lip, a rapidly bruising eye, and a torn shirt. Brandon was better off, sporting a swelling cheek and a few scratches, but he was standing upright.
"You guys good?" Isaac asked.
Nate spit a wad of blood onto the floor and grinned, despite the swelling. "Peachy."
"I've had worse," Brandon admitted, touching his cheek.
Isaac nodded. He looked over at Samantha and the girls, who were huddled near the other boys, looking like they had just gone ten rounds with an alley cat.
"Check on Taylor," he instructed them. "Help her up."
Samantha moved to do just that, but Brandon looked at Isaac like he'd grown a second head.
Brandon sighed, wiping a smear of blood from his chin. He put a hand on Isaac's shoulder, stopping him from turning away.
"Dude, stop playing the stoic leader for one second," Brandon said, his voice becoming serious. "We're a group, yeah, but you guys have been tighter than most. No offense to the girls…"
"None taken," Jess drawled from the side, pressing a tissue to her nose.
"But I'm sure Taylor would appreciate seeing you more," Brandon continued. "So stop being dense and go help her yourself."
Isaac paused, glancing back at Taylor. She was being hauled to her feet by Samantha, but her eyes—behind the slightly crooked glasses—were staring directly at him.
The sound of heavy footsteps thundered from the adjoining hallway, cutting the moment short.
Mr. Gladly, Mrs. Knott, and two other teachers rounded the corner, Principal Blackwell bringing up the rear, her face purple with fury.
"STOP THIS IMMEDIATELY!" Blackwell roared, her voice cracking.
Isaac stepped forward, placing himself between the approaching adults and his friends. He crossed his arms, looking calm and collected. Blackwell turned to Isaac, her expression shifting. The purple-faced fury dimmed, replaced by a strained, professional tightness. She smoothed the front of her blazer, reverting to the respectful tone she'd used in her office, though the authoritarian edge remained.
"Mister Dax," she said, her voice clipped. "What happened here?"
Isaac jerked his thumb toward the group behind him. "I heard some of my friends were involved in a disturbance, so I came to check it out. I arrived just in time to see Sophia Hess kicking Taylor while she was down. I intervened. That is where the fighting ends. If you want the rest of the story, you'll have to ask everyone else."
Before Blackwell could answer, Emma Barnes shoved herself forward, one hand pressed to her bloodied nose, the other shaking as she pointed at Taylor with theatrical outrage.
"Lies!" Emma cried, voice thick and nasal through the pain. "We were just talking! Taylor just went crazy and punched me for no reason! Sophia was trying to protect me!"
Madison, hovering at Emma's elbow with a look of wide-eyed innocence, nodded vigorously. "It's true! Taylor attacked her! We didn't do anything wrong!"
Isaac narrowed his eyes. He didn't buy it. He hadn't known Taylor long, but he knew her well enough. She was cautious, defensive, and deeply averse to starting trouble. She wasn't the type to initiate a physical altercation without severe provocation.
"Bullshit!" Samantha shouted. "That bitch made her cry!"
"Yeah! They cornered us!"
"Emma started it!"
The chorus of voices overlapped, the girls from Lookout talking over one another in their defense of Taylor.
Blackwell held up a hand, silencing them with a sharp glare.
"Quiet!" she barked. "All of you. I will sort this story out once all your parents have been informed about this altercation." She gestured toward the back of the hallway. "And you boys—let them go. Now. I want you all separated, back to the walls."
She was addressing the Lookout members who were still pinning the few sycophants who had refused to stop fighting. The boys released their holds, stepping back as the other students scrambled to their feet, looking chastened.
Near the lockers where Madison and Emma had managed to drag Sophia, she had finally managed to sit up, though she was still hunched over, one arm wrapped around her stomach as she sucked in ragged, whistling breaths. Emma and Madison immediately rushed to her side, helping her stand, though Sophia's glare promised violence the moment the teachers weren't looking.
"Mr. Gladly," Blackwell said briskly, "take Miss Barnes and Miss Hess to the nurse's office. Miss Knott, you will take Taylor and the most visibly hurt. I and the others will begin taking names and calling parents."
She pulled a notepad and pen from her pocket, already writing down the names of the faces she knew as Knott and Gladly began ushering off the two groups.
He looked at Taylor. She was in rough shape. Her lip was split, she was sporting scratch marks, her jaw was already bruising, and she was holding her ribs. Out of everyone involved, she had clearly taken the worst of it.
Brandon's advice echoed in his head. Stop being dense.
In a weird way, it almost lined up with Drifter's pestering. But unlike the agenda Drifter was trying to push on him, his friend just wanted him to show more care for their most vulnerable member.
So Isaac decided to respond to this critique of his leadership with action.
"Principal Blackwell," he started, keeping his tone deferential to not appear as if he was trying to assert control over her. "Since you already have my statement, would you mind if I escorted my friends to the nurse?"
The principal looked at him consideringly, before giving a simple nod of the head. "Stay with the group. Understood?"
"Of course and thank you," Isaac said and turned away from the administrative bustle and walked over to Taylor.
"Hey Samantha, I'll take it from here." He stepped in as Samantha stepped back, slid one arm under Taylor's knees and the other around her back, and lifted her up in a princess carry.
Taylor stiffened for a second, her breath hitching, but she didn't protest. She looped her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely, burying her face in his shoulder. She was quiet, but her grip was tight, as if she was afraid he might drop her.
Isaac looked at the rest of the small group of injured. "Anyone else need a lift to the nurse?"
Samantha waved him off. "These boys have legs. Just get her out of here."
"Yeah, move it along, loverboy," Brandon smirked as he held Nate up. "We're fine."
Isaac nearly rolled his eyes as he adjusted his grip on Taylor, holding her securely against his chest, and began the slow walk toward the nurse's office behind Miss Knott.
Nevermind.
Maybe they were just like Drifter.