Chapter 30
Raven
I entered the cafeteria with Leo and Maya flanking me like eager bodyguards. The smell hit me first—a chaotic blend of fried foods, sugary desserts, and some unidentifiable cafeteria staple that was probably trying to pass itself off as meatloaf.
"Grab whatever you want," Leo said, nodding toward the food line. "I recommend avoiding anything labeled 'surprise.'"
I stared at the buffet spread before me, a feast compared to what I'd survived on during missions. People didn't realize how much of a spy's life involved hunger—days of stale bread and room temperature water, surviving on nutrient pills while monitoring targets. Once, I'd gone six days with nothing but beef jerky and rain water while waiting for a mark in Siberia.
"I'm getting everything," I announced.
Maya laughed. "The portions here are bigger than they look."
"Watch me."
I grabbed a tray and began my assault on the food line. Cheeseburger with extra bacon. Fries drowning in ketchup. Three slices of pizza—pepperoni, cheese, and something vaguely vegetable-related. Mac and cheese that glowed an unnatural orange. Chocolate pudding. Two brownies. An apple for the illusion of health.
When I finally reached our table, Leo's eyes bulged.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "Are you feeding an army?"
I sat down, arranging my feast like a general organizing troops. "I'm hungry."
Maya stared at my tray. "That's not hungry. That's famine preparation."
I bit into the cheeseburger, the greasy, salty explosion of flavor making me close my eyes briefly. I'd forgotten how good bad food could taste when you weren't worrying about someone putting a bullet in your skull.
"You know there's no food shortage, right?" Leo asked, watching me demolish the burger in record time. "The cafeteria will be here tomorrow too."
I swallowed, already eyeing the pizza. "Tomorrow's not guaranteed. Food is."
My attention shifted as Tyler and Maddie entered the cafeteria, their royal court trailing behind them. They chose a table diagonally across from ours—close enough to monitor, far enough to pretend indifference.
Leo tensed. "Great. Just what we needed."
"Those thumbtacks in your chair this morning?" Maya whispered. "Tyler's football buddies put them there. And Becca told everyone she's going to get you expelled for 'threatening' her in French class."
I shrugged, moving on to the pizza. "They won't approach. Today's all about posturing."
Leo glanced nervously in their direction. "How can you be so sure?"
"Body language." I licked tomato sauce from my thumb. "They're shaken. Regrouping."
I caught Tyler staring at me, his gaze different from yesterday. There was fear there, yes, but also something else—a glimmer of interest, almost... appreciation. The way he'd looked at the mysterious driver who'd beaten Jax Crowe, before he knew it was me.
Every few seconds, Maddie would dig her nails into his thigh under the table, noticing his wandering eyes. Tyler would wince, look away briefly, then inevitably drift back to me.
"What's so funny?" Maya asked, noticing my smirk.
"Relationship dynamics," I replied, popping a fry into my mouth. "Maddie's about to draw blood if Tyler keeps looking at me like I'm his next conquest."
Leo choked on his soda. "Tyler's into you now? That's twisted."
"Men are predictable," I said, demolishing my second slice of pizza. "Danger attracts them. They can't help themselves."
Maya shook her head. "Normal people are repelled by danger."
"No one in this room qualifies as normal," I countered. "Least of all me."
The overhead television suddenly switched from ESPN highlights to breaking news, the volume automatically increasing—a feature for emergency broadcasts.
"We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news," the anchor announced, her expression unnaturally grim. "In what authorities are calling an unprecedented series of coordinated deaths, 132 people have died across four continents in what appears to be unrelated incidents—all within the same 30-minute window."
The cafeteria fell silent.
"According to FBI sources, every victim died precisely at 9:47 AM Pacific Time, despite being in different time zones. All victims were passengers on TransPacific Flight 823 just two weeks ago."
The anchor continued, voice tight with barely concealed shock. "The deaths appear to be from various causes—heart attacks, car accidents, drownings, falls—all appearing as tragic accidents. However, the statistical impossibility of these coincidental deaths has authorities suspecting foul play on an unprecedented scale."
Conversations exploded across the cafeteria. Students pulled out phones, searching for more details, sharing theories. Even the lunch ladies had stopped serving to stare at the screen.
"That's insane," Leo whispered. "How could someone kill that many people simultaneously across the world? That's like... impossible, right?"
Maya nodded vigorously. "Absolutely impossible. The coordination alone would be a logistical nightmare. Plus, killing people isn't easy. It's not like movies."
"Simple," I said, casually stirring my chocolate pudding.
The word dropped into our conversation like a stone in still water. Leo and Maya turned to stare at me.
"What did you just say?" Leo asked.
"I said it's simple," I repeated, my voice carrying just enough to reach nearby tables. "Killing people, I mean."
The conversations around us faded. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Tyler and Maddie had gone silent, both leaning slightly to hear better.
"Raven," Maya hissed, "that's a seriously messed up thing to say."
I shrugged. "It's just logistics. One coordinator, multiple operatives with specialized training, synchronized watches, and targets who follow predictable patterns." I scooped a spoonful of pudding. "Child's play for a professional organization."
"How would you know?" came Maddie's voice from nearby. She'd abandoned all pretense of not listening. "You're full of shit."
Tyler grabbed her arm. "Maddie, don't," he muttered.
I smiled slowly, setting down my pudding. "You think so? Consider this a theoretical exercise, then."
I picked up my soup spoon, turning it slowly between my fingers.
"A simple soup spoon. Harmless, right?" I pressed my thumb against its edge. "But press the edge against the carotid artery with exactly 7.2 pounds of pressure, and your target blacks out in four seconds. They're dead in under two minutes."
The table had gone completely silent. Even Leo was staring at me, wide-eyed.
I picked up my fork next. "Four-pronged dinner fork. Jam it into the space between the third and fourth ribs, angled upward, and you puncture the heart. Death in approximately 30 seconds."
I pulled out my phone, quickly bringing up diagrams of the human body. "See these pressure points?" I zoomed in on a neck diagram. "Hit this one hard enough, and you trigger an aneurysm that appears entirely natural. This one"—I swiped to another image—"causes cardiac arrest that mimics a heart condition."
"That's bullshit," Maddie said, but her voice wavered.
I smiled. "Is it? Ever wonder why certain 'accidents' happen? The businesswoman who inexplicably walks into traffic? The healthy athlete who drowns in a shallow pool? The politician who suddenly develops a fatal allergy?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small nail clipper. Several people actually flinched.
"This?" I held it up. "Remove the file, snap the lever, and you have two sharp metal pieces. Insert the sharper end under the base of the skull, apply pressure, and sever the medulla oblongata. Death is instantaneous and nearly undetectable in standard autopsies."
Maya was pale now. Leo looked like he might be sick. But I couldn't stop—something dark and buried was surfacing, something that wanted to be known.
"The human body is remarkably fragile," I continued, my voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried across the now-silent section of the cafeteria. "Anything can be a weapon in the right hands. Pens. Shoelaces. Credit cards. Paperclips."
I looked directly at Maddie. "The real trick isn't killing. It's knowing which targets deserve it. Especially those who don't know when to back down."
Maddie suddenly gagged, one hand flying to her mouth. Her face had gone green. Before Tyler could react, she vomited spectacularly onto their lunch trays.
"Jesus Christ, Maddie!" Tyler jumped up, grabbing napkins.
Students nearby recoiled, some laughing nervously, others looking disgusted.
"Get her out of here," someone called.
Tyler glared at me as he helped Maddie to her feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he hissed.
I met his gaze steadily. "Nothing at all. Just sharing some creative writing ideas. For my thriller novel."
"You're fucking psycho," he muttered, guiding a still-heaving Maddie toward the exit. "Come on, Maddie, let's get you to the nurse."