Hellfire had just wrapped up the final session of their months-long campaign, and the room still buzzed with triumphant shrieks, crumpled character sheets, and the kind of victorious chaos only nerds armed with dice could produce.

*Eddie was in the center of it, basking in the afterglow like a rockstar on a tiny, poorly lit stage. His voice was hoarse from dramatic monologues, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline of orchestrating one last, glorious boss fight. The boys were high on victory, sugar, and the idea that—for once—they’d made it through a whole campaign without anyone crying."

They spilled out of the club room and into the hallway, still laughing, still retelling their favorite moments, still loud enough to summon demons.

Unfortunately, they summoned something worse.

That familiar, grating voice cut through the celebration like nails on a chalkboard. Jason Carver. Because the devil never rests, and apparently neither did his ego.

Eddie sighed—a long, weary exhale that said “of course.” He stepped forward automatically, placing himself between his boys and the looming threat of Letterman-jacket stupidity. If Jason wanted to pick a fight, it would be with him, not them.

Jason’s words weren’t worth repeating—just the usual cocktail of insults, football-fueled entitlement, and the smug certainty that no one would ever knock him off his golden-boy pedestal. Eddie, for his part, kept his chin up and his fists down. He hated fights. And Jason knew it.

But someone else arrived before things could escalate.

Her.

The new girl with the permanent storm-cloud glare. The one who’d somehow already built a reputation for arguing with Jason more than his own teammates did. The one Eddie had noticed—maybe a little too often—moving through school like she was always five seconds from setting something on fire.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

One moment Jason was smirking; the next he was folding to the floor with a strangled sound that could only be described as divine justice. Her boot had made brutal, unhesitating contact with the one place Jason Carver absolutely deserved to be humbled.

The hallway froze. Eddie blinked. The Hellfire boys stared. Jason wheezed.

She just adjusted her jacket, barely acknowledging the carnage she’d caused, and walked away as calmly as if she’d simply tossed something into a trash bin. No dramatics, no gloating. Just done.

Eddie hesitated for all of one second before slinging his guitar case over his shoulder and jogging after her.

“Hey—hey! Wait up!” he called, breathless as he caught up to her. His voice came out half stunned, half impressed. “Pretty sure you just saved me from getting my face used as a basketball.”

He slowed beside her, eyes flicking back toward the hall where Jason was still on the floor, then back to her.

“…You always hit like that, or was that a special occasion?”