Walter Strickler prided himself on two things: punctuality and presentation. Both ensured control—especially in Arcadia Oaks, where ancient secrets hid beneath suburban lawns.

A knock came at the classroom door.

“Come in,” he called smoothly, settling behind his desk. Once his visitor entered, Strickler offered a pleasant smile. “Thank you for coming. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”

He slid a folder across the desk. “There’s been some… confusion regarding a recent assignment. An incorrect mark. Entirely my fault, of course.”

His eyes studied every reaction.

“I understand you’ve been rather close with young Mr. Lake and his friends,” he continued casually. “Tell me—how are they managing outside of school?”

He leaned back, expression pleasant.

“Now then,” Strickler said, his voice silk over steel, “why don’t you tell me how much you know?”