---

The same black car sat there like a bad omen, engine purring like it had never actually left. Which, knowing these people, it probably hadn't.

I slumped into the backseat next to Penn, who had one boot off and was massaging her ankle like she'd been walking on hot coals all night.

"About damn time," she said without looking up. "I was starting to think you'd decided to live at that warehouse permanently."

"Yeah, well, had to make sure Reed understood the new pecking order." I slammed the door harder than necessary, wincing when the motion sent pain shooting through my ribs.

The car started moving before I'd even buckled my seatbelt. Because apparently, safety wasn't a priority when you were being chauffeured by the illuminati.

Penn finally looked at me properly, taking in the split lip, the bruising around my jaw, the way I was holding my left arm like it might fall off.

"Jesus, Cam. You look like you went ten rounds with a meat grinder."

"Feel like it too, thanks for asking."

"I mean, you won, but at what cost?" She gestured vaguely at my face. "Your modeling career?"

I snorted. "What modeling career?"

"The imaginary one I had planned for you."

Despite everything, I actually smiled. Penn had this way of making even the worst situations feel less catastrophic.

"So," she said, settling back into the leather seat, "want to talk about what really happened back there? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were about to murder someone with your bare hands."

"Just Reed."

"Uh-huh. And Chase stepping in like your personal bodyguard? What was that about?"

I turned to stare out the tinted window. "Nothing."

"Right. Nothing. That's why he looked like he wanted to rip Reed's head off and use it as a football."

"Can we not do this right now?"

"Do what?"

"The whole analyzing-every-interaction thing. I'm tired, I hurt, and I just want to get back and pretend this night never happened."

Penn was quiet for a moment. Then: "You know you can't actually pretend it didn't happen, right? Half the school's probably already heard about it."

She was right, of course. In a place like Avard, gossip traveled faster than wildfire. By morning, everyone would know that little Number 15 had taken down Reed Morrison and claimed his chain.

"Great," I muttered. "Just what I needed."

The car dropped us off behind Dorm D like we were contraband being smuggled in. Which, technically, we were.

"Ten bucks says someone's still awake," Penn whispered as we crept toward the entrance.

"Hope not. I can't handle any more human interaction tonight."

But when we reached our door, it was cracked open. Just a sliver, but enough to make us both freeze.

"Did we leave it open?" Penn whispered.

"No."

A voice drifted out from inside. "It's just me."

We exchanged a look. Penn shrugged and pushed the door open.

Archer sat in my desk chair like he belonged there, legs stretched out, hoodie up, sketchbook balanced on his knees. He looked up when we entered, taking in our disheveled appearance with those too-perceptive eyes of his.

"You're back," he said simply.

"And you're in our room," Penn pointed out, kicking off her other boot and flopping onto her bed with zero grace. "How'd you even get in?"

"Door was unlocked."

"No, it wasn't."

"It is now."

Penn groaned into her pillow. "I'm too tired to figure out if that's concerning or impressive."

I stood in the middle of the room, suddenly feeling awkward. Archer was looking at me with that quiet intensity he had, like he could see all the cracks I was trying to hide.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Peachy." I pulled Reed's chain from my pocket and dropped it on the desk next to him. The metal clinked against the wood like an accusation.

Archer stared at it for a long moment. "Number six."

"Yep."

"You actually did it."

"Yep."

He picked up the chain, turning it over in his fingers like he was examining evidence. "How do you feel?"

I expected him to ask about the fight, or how I'd managed to beat Reed, or what the party was like. Instead, he asked the one question I didn't know how to answer.

"I don't know," I said finally. "Different, I guess."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Jury's still out."

Penn lifted her head from her pillow. "She nearly got her ass kicked, but she looks weirdly satisfied about it."

"I didn't nearly get my ass kicked," I protested.

"Right. That's why your face looks like abstract art."

"My face is fine."

"Your face looks like it got in an argument with a brick wall and lost."

Archer was still watching me, ignoring Penn's commentary. "Was it worth it?"

The question hung in the air between us. Was it worth it? The pain, the spectacle, the way everyone would look at me now?

I thought about Reed's shocked expression when I'd knocked him off the platform. The way the crowd had cheered. The feeling of finally, finally proving I belonged somewhere.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It was."

Archer nodded like that was the answer he'd expected. He set the chain back down and went back to his sketchbook, but I could feel him still watching me out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't have to babysit us, you know," I said, moving to my dresser to dig out pajamas. "I'm sure you have better things to do."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Sleep? Study? Plot world domination?"

"Already done with the first two. The third one's a work in progress."

Penn snorted. "He's got jokes tonight."

"I always have jokes. You just don't usually listen."

I turned around, pajamas in hand, to find Archer closing his sketchbook. He stood up, stretching like he'd been sitting there for hours.

"I should get back before they do room checks," he said.

"Since when do they do room checks?" Penn asked.

"Since tonight, probably. You two weren't exactly subtle about sneaking out."

My stomach dropped. "You think we're in trouble?"

"Nah. But I wouldn't push it by having boys in your room after hours."

He moved toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Camille?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you decide to take on someone twice your size, maybe give the rest of us a heads up? Some of us might want to place bets."

I threw my pajama shirt at him. He ducked, grinning, and disappeared into the hallway.

Penn waited until his footsteps faded before sitting up. "Okay, so are we going to talk about the fact that Archer was just sitting here waiting for us like a worried parent?"

"He was probably just bored."

"Right. Bored. That's why he looked like he was about to have a panic attack when he saw your face."

I didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to analyze what it meant that Archer had been worried enough to break into our room and wait for us to come back.

"I'm going to shower," I announced, grabbing my bathroom bag.

"Good idea. You smell like violence and bad decisions."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

The shower was exactly what I needed. Hot water washing away the smoke and sweat and lingering adrenaline from the night. I stood under the spray until my skin turned pink and the bathroom filled with steam.

When I finally emerged, Penn was already asleep, still wearing her party dress but with a sleep mask over her eyes. I changed into my pajamas as quietly as possible and climbed into bed.

But sleep wouldn't come. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on that platform with Reed's fist coming toward my face. Or I was standing in Chase's arms while he cleaned the blood from my lip. Or I was watching Lea's cold smile as she delivered whatever threat she thought would scare me.

I pulled out my phone and stared at the dark screen. No messages. No calls. Not that I'd expected any, but still.

The number six chain sat on my nightstand, catching moonlight from the window. Such a small thing to represent such a big change.

I was Number Six now. That meant something in this place. It meant respect, fear, power I'd never had before.

It also meant I was no longer invisible. No longer safe in anonymity.

Tomorrow, everyone would know what I'd done. They'd look at me differently, treat me differently. Some would hate me for it. Others might respect me.

But one thing was certain: there was no going back to being nobody.

---

The next morning hit me like a freight train made of regret and ibuprofen.

Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I tried to sit up. My face felt like it had been used as a punching bag, which, technically, it had.

"Jesus," I croaked, catching sight of myself in Penn's mirror. The bruising had gotten worse overnight, purple and green spreading across my jaw like some kind of abstract painting.

"You look like hell," Penn observed cheerfully, already dressed and applying mascara like she hadn't been out until 3 AM engaging in underground fight club activities.

"Thanks. Really feeling the support."

"I'm just saying, maybe invest in some concealer. Or a paper bag."

I threw a pillow at her. She dodged it expertly.

"I think you should see the nurse honestly. You look like shit or rather miss class for today." Penn said looking at my face with concern.

I shook my head. "I will see the nurse later but missing class... nope. Am already lagging behind."

"Okay, sunshine. Time to face the masses and their inevitable questions about how you became a badass overnight."

The walk to first period was like running a gauntlet. Students lined the hallways, some staring openly, others whispering behind their hands. I caught snippets of conversation as we passed:

"—actually beat Reed Morrison—"

"—blood everywhere—"

"—never saw it coming—"

"—Number Six now—"

By the time we reached the classroom, I felt like I was wearing a neon sign that said "FORMER NOBODY WHO GOT LUCKY."

Archer was already there, sitting in his usual spot and reading what looked like advanced calculus for fun. He looked up when we walked in, his eyes immediately going to my face.

"Damn," he said. "That looks worse than last night."

"Everyone's a critic," I muttered, sliding into the seat next to him.

Penn plopped down on my other side. "I told her she needs concealer."

"I told her she needs a paper bag."

"I'm sitting right here," I said.

"We know," they said in unison.

I was about to tell them both where they could shove their commentary when the door burst open like someone had kicked it.

Jax strutted in first, because of course he did. The boy couldn't enter a room like a normal person if his life depended on it. His Number Four chain caught the fluorescent light as he scanned the room, grin widening when he spotted us.

"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough for half the class to hear. "If it isn't our resident gladiator."

"Shut up, Jax," I said automatically.

"Shut up? SHUT UP?" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'm trying to give you the recognition you deserve! Do you know what people are saying about you?"

"That I got lucky?"

"That you're completely unhinged. Which, honestly, is way cooler."

Levi appeared behind him, silent as always. He took in my appearance with those sharp gray eyes, but didn't comment. Just nodded once and moved to his seat.

And then Chase walked in.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He was wearing all black today—jeans, t-shirt, jacket—like he was in mourning. His blue eyes found mine immediately and stayed there, cataloging every bruise, every cut, every sign of damage.

"That looks painful," he said quietly, moving to the desk behind me.

I turned around to face him. "I'll live."

"You should have iced it."

"I should have done a lot of things differently."

Something flickered across his face. "Like what?"

"Like not listening to people who give me advice and then disappear when things get complicated."

The words hung in the air between us like a challenge. Chase's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Just pulled out his notebook and pointedly ignored me.

Jax, who had been watching this exchange with obvious delight, whistled low. "Okay, so we're adding sexual tension to the morning agenda. Cool, cool."

"There's no sexual tension," I said firmly.

"Right. And I'm the Pope."

"You'd look terrible in the hat."

"I'd look amazing in the hat, thank you very much."

Before I could respond, the door opened one more time and Miss Clara walked in. She looked like she'd rather be literally anywhere else, which was her default expression, but today it seemed more pronounced.

She didn't bother with pleasantries. Just went straight to the whiteboard and wrote in large, aggressive letters:

**WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF NO ONE WAS WATCHING?**

The classroom went dead silent. Even Jax shut up, which was a minor miracle.

Miss Clara turned around, marker still in hand like a weapon. "Interesting question, don't you think? Especially given some of the... extracurricular activities that have been reported recently."

My stomach dropped to the floor. She knew. Of course she knew.

"So," Miss Clara continued, her gaze sweeping the room and lingering on me for just a moment too long, "who wants to start?"