The stairwell was quiet. Too quiet. I took the steps two at a time, my legs burning, my chest feeling lighter with every stride.

  "Second floor," Handy chimed in my ear. "Turn left. Room 204. The maintenance logs show the door was accessed twenty minutes ago by keycard."

  "Mr. Baklin?" I thought.

  "Presumably. He’s the head custodian."

  I rounded the corner. The north corridor was empty, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Room 204 was at the end of the hall, an unassuming door painted a drab, industrial beige.

  "Scan it," I ordered.

  "No heat signatures inside," Handy reported. "The room is clear."

  I tried the handle. Locked.

  "Unlock it," I whispered.

  "Bypassing mag-lock... done."

  The mechanism clicked, a sound like a dry bone snapping. I pushed the door open and slipped inside, letting it close softly behind me.

  The air burned my nose. Bleach and rust. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with paper towels and cleaning solvents. In the center sat a heavy metal desk cluttered with work orders.

  "Where is it?" I scanned the room.

  "According to the log, the debris was placed in the hazardous materials bin. Bottom shelf, far left."

  I dropped to my knees, shoving aside a box of latex gloves. There was a gray plastic bin labeled ELECTRONIC RECYCLING.

  I peered inside.

  Empty.

  "Handy?"

  "I see it," the AI said, his voice tightening. "Or rather, I don't."

  I stood up, frantically checking the other shelves. I checked the trash can. I even checked inside a mop bucket.

  Nothing. The drone wreckage was gone.

  "Scan for prints," I commanded. "If someone took it, they had to touch it."

  A blue light washed over the bin, projected from my contact lens.

  "Clean," Handy said. "Too clean. No fingerprints. No fibers. The dust on the shelf hasn't even been disturbed."

  "Pandora?"

  "Or worse," Handy murmured. "Someone who knows how to clean up a mess without making one."

  "Hey!"

  The boom of a voice made me jump. I spun around, my hand instinctively going to the strap of my bag where the knife was hidden.

  Mr. Baklin stood in the doorway. He filled the doorway. I had to crane my neck to see his chin. He held a mop handle like a bo staff.

  "What are you doing in here?" he demanded, stepping into the room. "Students aren't allowed in maintenance."

  I forced my hands to relax. I let the 'confused student' mask slip over my face.

  "I'm so sorry, Mr. Baklin," I said, putting a tremor in my voice. "I left my... my earring. In the hallway. I thought maybe someone turned it in?"

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  "In here?" He scowled. "This ain't lost and found, Miss Nova."

  "I know, I just..." I looked at the empty bin. "Actually, I was looking for the drone. The one that crashed in the courtyard? I heard you brought it up here."

  Mr. Baklin’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. He looked at the bin. Then he looked closer.

  "What the..." He walked past me, peering into the empty gray container. "I put that junk in there myself not an hour ago. Told the Principal I'd lock it up until the police could look at it."

  "Did you give it to anyone?" I asked carefully.

  "No!" He scratched his head, looking genuinely baffled. "I’ve been mopping the cafeteria. Nobody’s been in here but me."

  "Maybe you left the door unlocked?"

  "Never," he grunted. "And I got a camera right outside the door."

  He marched to his desk and tapped the keyboard of a bulky computer monitor. Grainy black-and-white footage flickered on the screen.

  "Look," he pointed. "That's me leaving at 2:30. That's the door closing."

  He fast-forwarded the footage. The hallway remained empty. The time stamp ticked by. 2:40. 2:50. 3:00.

  "Nobody," he muttered. "Nobody went in. Nobody came out. Until you showed up just now."

  I stared at the screen. The time stamp jumped. A skipped frame.

  "Someone edited this," I whispered.

  "It's like a... glitch," Mr. Baklin whispered, crossing himself. "Cleaned it right out."

  "A glitch," I repeated.

  Or someone with a loop-emitter. Someone who could hack a camera feed in real-time and edit themselves out of reality.

  Someone like me.

  Or someone like Danny.

  "I should go," I said, backing away. "Sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Baklin."

  "Yeah," he murmured, still staring at the empty bin. "Go on. Get to practice."

  I hurried out of the office and down the hall.

  "Handy," I thought. "Continuous scan."

  "Scanning... Clear," Handy replied. "I don't like this, Nikki. That wreckage was our only lead on the pilot. Now the evidence has been erased."

  "Not erased," I said, hitting the stairwell. "Recovered."

  I went to practice. I forced myself to go through the motions. I caught Tessa in the air during the basket toss. I smiled when the pyramid held. I chanted the cheers.

  But my mind was miles away, dissecting the empty bin and the looped security footage.

  When the final whistle blew, I didn't stay to gossip. I didn't wait for Tessa or Cody to ambush me with questions about my love life.

  I ran to the boys' locker room entrance. I waited until a freshman walked out.

  "Hey," I grabbed his arm. "Is Danny Troy in there?"

  The kid blinked. "The new guy? Nah. He left ages ago."

  "Left?"

  "Yeah. Like, right after school. He looked... I dunno. Spooked. He grabbed his stuff and bailed before practice even started."

  I let go of the kid's arm. "Thanks."

  I walked out of the school, pushing through the double doors into the cooling afternoon air. The student parking lot was thinning out.

  I scanned the air bike rack.

  Empty. Just oil stains on the concrete. He didn't just leave; he vanished.

  "He's not on the local grid," Handy updated me. "His phone is off. No ping from the scrambler either. He’s gone dark."

  I stood on the sidewalk, watching the cars filter out onto the main road.

  He had listened.

  Maybe I hadn't needed to break his heart face-to-face after all. Maybe the drone crash, the attention, and the unspoken danger had been enough. He realized he was a target. He realized he was a danger to me.

  So he ran.

  I touched my sternum. It felt bruised. I wanted to chase him. I wanted to find him and make sure he was okay.

  But I didn't move.

  "He’s gone," I whispered.

  "It’s for the best, Nikki," Handy said gently. "The threat level at the school has dropped significantly with his departure. You are safer. He is safer."

  "I know," I said.

  And I did know. It was what I wanted, right? No more distractions. No more rogues dive-bombing the courtyard. No more boys with sad eyes making me question my mission.

  The board was clear. The pieces were reset.

  I adjusted the strap of my bag, feeling the weight of the pom-pom knife against my hip.

  "Okay," I said. "He’s gone. Good."

  I turned away from the empty spot where his bike used to be. The sun was dipping low, casting long, sharp shadows across the pavement.

  "Threat level reduced," Handy said.

  "Yeah. Reduced to zero," I replied.

  I walked away. One foot in front of the other. Don't look back.