Fighting My Demons

Spy

Chapter 10

Felix

There is something deeply wrong with David.

I have known it since the first day I laid eyes on him. People like Boma see a brooding, intelligent best friend who has been by her side since childhood. What I see is something else entirely. Something that sits just beneath the surface of all that quiet intensity and watches. Calculates. Waits.

I do not like him. And more than that, I do not trust him anywhere near Boma.

After she left for lunch and Becky disappeared to wherever Becky had disappeared to, I walked over to David. I wanted to look him in the eye and take his measure properly, up close, without Boma between us softening everything.

"Who exactly are you?" I asked him.

"Someone who does not like you," he said, without missing a beat.

For a boy, his mouth is impressively sharp.

"Why do you give me every reason to want to protect Boma?" I pushed. "What are you hiding? What are you actually up to?"

He looked at me then. Really looked at me. And what I saw in that look stopped something in my chest cold.

It was not anger. It was not irritation. It was something far older and far darker than either of those things. His eyes held a vengeance so deep and so settled it did not even feel like emotion anymore. It felt like purpose. Like something that had been decided a long time ago and was simply waiting for the right moment to move.

Then it was gone, as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual unreadable composure.

"Good luck with that," he said, smiling in a way that had nothing warm in it. He held my gaze for one more second, then turned and walked away.

I stood there watching him go.

I wanted to call after him. To tell him that I would find out exactly what he was planning, whatever it cost me. But I held my tongue. David is not careless. If I put him on alert now, if he senses that someone is watching him closely, he will simply bury whatever he is hiding deeper and we will lose the only advantage we have, which is that he does not yet know what I know about him.

So I let him walk.

But I am coming for him. Quietly, carefully, and soon.

Boma has no idea what her best friend is. And that gap between what she believes and what is actually true is the most dangerous place she could be standing right now.

I had other things to attend to.

The school basketball championship was coming and there was one spot left on the international college team. I needed that spot. Not just for the game. For other reasons that I was not yet in a position to explain to anyone in this building.

The person standing between me and that position was Madam Gregson. Dean of sports, terror of the corridors, a woman whose reputation preceded her like a weather warning. I had heard enough about her in the two weeks I had been at this school to know that walking into her office unprepared was roughly equivalent to walking into a courtroom without a lawyer.

I gathered my certificates, straightened my jacket and headed for the sports block.

The corridors of this school never stop unsettling me, if I am being honest. It is too beautiful for what it actually is. All gleaming floors and high ceilings and light pouring through wide windows, and underneath all of that, something rotten moving quietly in the walls. I have been in enough places like this to recognise the particular smell of a beautiful building with ugly things happening inside it.

I have started calling it Glamorous Evil in my head. It suits the place perfectly.

I was three steps from Madam Gregson's door when I heard voices from inside.

I stopped.

One voice was Madam Gregson's. Clipped, precise, authoritative. The other was Vivian's. I would know that voice anywhere at this point, smooth and deliberate and always carrying something underneath the surface that the words themselves never quite say.

I pressed myself against the wall and listened.

They were not discussing basketball.

They were discussing Becky.

I will not repeat exactly what was said. What I will say is that by the time I had heard enough, my blood had gone very cold and my hand was already on my phone, the recorder running silently in my pocket.

I took ten careful steps backward, the way you move when you are retreating from something dangerous and cannot afford to make a sound.

Vivian came through the door on my third step back.

We met in the corridor, face to face, seven seconds of silence stretching between us like a held breath.

"Hey. Hello, Felix." She looked at me the way she always does, like I am something she has already decided she wants and is simply waiting to collect.

"Do not get used to saying my name like that, Vivian," I said.

She tilted her head and smiled. "Let us see how long you manage to keep that attitude."

She moved closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off her, her voice dropping to something that was clearly designed to dismantle people.

I stepped back.

She laughed softly, the kind of laugh that is more threat than amusement, and walked away down the corridor, unhurried, completely certain of herself.

I watched her go and made a mental note that I needed to be very, very careful around that girl. She is not simply a bully or a spoiled rich student with too much influence. She is something more deliberately dangerous than that. The black widow comparison came to my mind and I could not shake it.

I knocked on the door and walked in.

The office was extraordinary. Trophies and cups lined every shelf, certificates covered every wall, and the carpet underfoot was thick enough to make you feel like you were walking on something that cost more than most people's cars. Madam Gregson sat behind her desk like a woman who had designed the room specifically to make people feel small the moment they entered it.

Looking at her, you understood immediately why she had never lost. She was built entirely from the expectation of winning.

I also noted there was no ring on her marriage finger. Not relevant. Simply noticed.

"Good morning, Miss Gregson."

She looked up from her papers and fixed me with a stare that could have stripped wallpaper.

"You are three minutes late, Felix."

"With respect, Miss, I am one minute late. A student was just leaving your office when I arrived."

She held my gaze. I held hers.

I was not going to let her rattle me. I had sat across from people far more intimidating than a school sports director, in rooms far less comfortable than this one. But I kept that thought carefully behind my eyes and let my expression stay respectful. The last thing I needed was this woman deciding I was a problem.

"I received your request to join the basketball team for the championship," she said finally.

"Yes. I have brought all my credentials." I placed the folder on her desk before she could ask. "National level. Multiple wins across three categories."

She picked up the folder and opened it. I watched her eyes move across the pages, quick and precise, the way someone reads when they actually know what they are looking for.

"Impressive." She closed the folder and looked at me. "You are the final team member. But hear me clearly. There is no room for failure in this team. Not one match. Not one performance below standard. Win, and you belong here. Anything less and you will not enjoy the consequences."

It was a threat dressed in the language of expectation. Nicely done, I thought.

"Understood, Miss Gregson." I smiled and nodded once. "Thank you."

She lifted her left hand toward the door without another word.

I turned and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut behind me I exhaled slowly, letting the tension release from my shoulders.

Then I took out my phone and looked at the recording.

It was all there. Every word. Crystal clear.

Someone had to warn Becky.

And I needed to figure out exactly how deep this went before anyone else got hurt.