In an empty classroom, Sammy placed his tablet on a desk and pressed play. The screen displayed an audio waveform, and the voices of Chase, Logan, and Brent filled the room: planning their fake mugging, admitting to previous pranks, discussing how to avoid consequences.
"I've been recording them," Sammy explained. "Twenty-seven incidents of targeted harassment, fourteen explicit admissions of guilt, eight instances of destroying or tampering with school property."
Yasmin stared at him. "How?"
"Micro-transmitters. I placed them in their usual meeting spots: the library corner, Chase's locker, the bench behind the gym." Sammy shrugged as if this were completely normal behavior. "I calculated a 97.3% probability that they would continue escalating their behavior. The logical response was to gather evidence."
Amara's expression softened. "Sammy, that's... that's incredible."
"It's just pattern recognition," he replied, though a hint of pride colored his voice. "They're very predictable."
"What are you going to do with this?" Yasmin asked, gesturing to the tablet.
Amara considered for a moment. "For now, nothing. They know I can defend myself physically. Let's see if that's enough to end this."
But as the day progressed, it became clear that Chase was not prepared to surrender. His humiliation had transformed into obsession. Between classes, Yasmin spotted him watching Amara from a distance, studying her movements with calculating intensity.
After school, Chase's silver Audi idled across the street from Park's Dojo. He sat alone, watching as students in white gis filed in for afternoon classes.
"What are you doing here?"
Amara's voice came from his open passenger window, startling him so badly he hit the horn.
"Jesus!" Chase gasped, hand over his heart. "How did you—"
"Your car has a distinctive engine sound," Amara replied matter-of-factly. "What do you want, Chase?"
For once, his usual arrogance deserted him. "I... I was just—"