Mira Toh walked the halls of Brackley Academy like a shadow.
The nickname "Mouse" still clung to her like static, but the students were starting to look at her differently — not with cruelty, not yet — but with something close to unease.
She noticed the change in their silence.
The way heads tilted just slightly when she passed.
How whispers stopped just a second too late.
Something had shifted.
Not enough to expose her.
But enough to confirm what she already knew:
The wolves were starting to smell blood.
And they were turning on each other.
Josh hadn't spoken to anyone since the recording dropped. His friends avoided him, unsure if he was a victim or a traitor. Rika barely acknowledged his existence. When they crossed paths, it was icy, performative — like strangers in a courtroom.
Mira watched them from afar.
She didn't need to interfere.
They were unraveling beautifully.
She just needed to push the next domino.
That evening, Mira returned to her dorm, locked the door, and powered up her workstation. Screens bloomed to life — text logs, audio files, VPN tunnels. Everything illuminated in cold, clinical light.
She opened a new file titled:
Subject: Mara Villareal
Target Profile Summary:
Weakness: Obsession with social image, vanity, addiction to online validation.
Crime: Publicly mocked Lyra's trauma, leaked therapy records, turned pain into entertainment.
Protection: Mother's PR network, influencer sponsors, private school media ties.
Mira leaned forward, fingers tapping keys in a slow rhythm.
She knew exactly where to begin.
Phase One: Disruption
Mira created a duplicate of Mara's private vlogging folder — one Mara kept on an encrypted drive only connected at home. She had accessed it three weeks ago via a hidden backdoor on the dorm router.
Inside were hours of footage:
Mara mocking classmates.
Fake charity shoots.
A rant where she called a Black scholarship student "diversity bait."
Another where she faked tears for a "mental health awareness" campaign — then laughed between takes, calling it "brand gold."
Mira stitched the clips together into a highlight reel.
No commentary. No edits.
Just Mara, exposed by her own face, her own voice, her own greed.
The video file was titled:
"Unfiltered. No Filters. No Excuses."
But she didn't post it.
Not yet.
Instead, she sent an anonymous email to Mara's sponsor brand, using a burner address linked to a fake parent watchdog group:
"Before you renew your contract with Ms. Villareal, you might want to see how she treats your causes behind the scenes. No edits. No AI. Just truth."
Attached was a 23-second teaser clip.
She knew how fast wildfire traveled.
Phase Two: Paranoia
At the same time, Mira uploaded subtle changes into Mara's social calendar:
Her Instagram insights glitched — followers dropping in sudden waves.
A fake fan account posted side-by-side comparisons of her unedited photos vs. her FaceTuned ones, sparking comment wars.
Her email received "notifications" that someone from the same IP had requested password resets.
All faked.
All intentional.
She wanted Mara to feel it — the loss of control.
The crumbling of image.
The way Lyra must have felt, watching her own therapy sessions become punchlines.
But Mira didn't just strike and vanish.
She watched.
At exactly 1:44 a.m., Mara posted a shaky Instagram story:
"Y'all seriously need to stop hacking me, or I will find you. I don't care how 'woke' you think you are. Don't fck with my life."*
The video was deleted in less than 10 minutes.
Too late.
Mira had already screen-recorded it.
She added it to a folder titled:
M_Villareal_Reversal
Then paused.
She stared at the wall above her desk — a collage of printed screenshots, ID photos, red thread patterns. In the center, still warped from water damage, was one of Lyra's final sketches:
A girl standing alone in a crowd of melting faces, holding a match.
Beneath it, Mira had scribbled in pen:
"If the world won't burn for her, I will."
She took a breath.
Then opened the file for Camille Yu.