Chapter 21: The Other Warnings
Billy found Marcus in the common area the next morning.
"You need to talk to Lex."
No greeting. No context. Just the flat statement of someone who expected to be obeyed.
"About what?"
"About whatever you told Petra." Billy dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough to keep the conversation private. "She came back from your little meeting in the Graveyard and started sharpening things. Hasn't said a word to anyone, but she's been checking sight lines and counting exits ever since."
"Good."
"Good?" Billy's voice rose slightly. "You spooked her. You spooked Petra. What did you tell her?"
"That she's on a list."
Billy went very still.
"A Finals target list. Three Rats marked this year." Marcus kept his voice low. "Petra's one. Lex is another. Torres is the third."
"How the fuck do you know that?"
"Shabnam's network."
"Bullshit." Billy's eyes were sharp now, cutting through the comfortable lie. "Shabnam's good, but he's not that good. Getting the actual target assignments means someone inside Lin's circle, which means connections he doesn't have."
Marcus didn't respond. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy with implications.
"Whatever," Billy finally said. "You want me to tell Lex?"
"Please."
"And Torres?"
"I'll handle Torres."
Billy stood. "You know, Lopez, there's a lot of things about you that don't add up. The skills. The knowledge. The way you seem to know what's coming before it happens." He paused at the door. "I don't know what you are. But as long as you're on our side, I'm not going to ask."
He left before Marcus could respond.
---
Lex took the warning like a punk should—no questions, no panic, immediate action.
Marcus watched from across the common area as Billy delivered the message in low tones. Lex's expression didn't change, but his posture did. Subtle shifts: weight distribution adjusting, shoulders squaring, the stance of someone preparing for violence.
Five minutes later, Lex walked past Marcus without acknowledgment. But his hand brushed his boot as he passed, checking for something. A razor blade, probably. Emergency weapon.
Good, Marcus thought. He's not a victim anymore. He's a threat.
One down. Two to go.
---
Torres was harder.
Marcus found him in the library, hunched over homework he wasn't actually reading. The kid looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, a tremor in his hands that hadn't been there a week ago. Finals pressure was already eating him alive.
"Torres. Got a minute?"
Torres looked up with the startled expression of prey hearing footsteps. "Lopez? What do you—"
"Not here." Marcus jerked his head toward a study alcove in the back. "Private."
They moved to the alcove. Marcus checked for observers, found none, and turned to face the kid who was probably going to get himself killed no matter what Marcus did.
"You're on a list."
Torres's face went white. "What?"
"Freshman Finals. You're targeted. Someone's been assigned to kill you."
"No." Torres stepped back, shaking his head. "No, that's not—they can't—"
"They can. They have." Marcus kept his voice steady, trying to anchor Torres against the panic rising in his eyes. "But you're not helpless. We have time. We have—"
"I need to leave." Torres was trembling now, full-body shakes that made his teeth chatter. "I need to get out. Tonight. I can—I can run, I can—"
"Running marks you as prey." Marcus grabbed his arm, held firm. "You leave King's Dominion without permission, you're dead before you hit the highway. Lin's network is everywhere. The school's survival rate for runners is zero."
"Then what am I supposed to DO?" Torres's voice cracked on the last word, rising toward hysteria.
"You're supposed to fight. You're supposed to use every day between now and Finals to get ready. You're supposed to let us help you."
Torres stared at him with eyes that held nothing but terror. Marcus recognized that look—he'd seen it in mirrors, in the days after transmigrating. The paralysis of someone who'd just discovered the world wanted them dead.
"I can't." Torres's voice was barely a whisper. "I'm not like you. I'm not like Petra or Lex. I'm just—I'm nobody. I don't know how to fight. I don't know how to—"
"You don't need to know yet." Marcus loosened his grip on Torres's arm. "That's what the next ten days are for. Training. Preparation. Building you into someone who survives."
"Ten days." Torres laughed—a broken sound with no humor in it. "Ten days to learn how to not die."
"It's more than most Rats get."
Torres was quiet for a long moment. The trembling slowly subsided, though his hands still shook as he lowered them to his sides.
"Okay." The word came out weak, uncertain. "Okay. Tell me what to do."
Thank God.
Marcus spent the next twenty minutes outlining a survival plan—basic evasion tactics, safe zones Torres should memorize, signals to use if he spotted his hunter. By the end, Torres had stopped trembling. He was still terrified, but terror had transformed into something useful: focus.
"Billy knows," Marcus said as they left the alcove. "So does Lex. So does Petra. You're not alone in this."
"What about Willie?"
"Willie's not on the list."
Torres nodded slowly. "Thanks, Lopez. For—for telling me. Most people would have just let me walk into it."
"We're Rats. We look out for each other."
Torres walked away toward the dormitories. Marcus watched him go, studying the way his shoulders hunched, the way his steps faltered every few feet.
He's going to be a liability, a cold voice observed from somewhere deep. Takeshi's assessment, or maybe Tahir's. Panic spreads. Fear is contagious. You should have—
No.
Marcus cut off the thought before it could finish. He wasn't going to start calculating which Rats were worth saving and which were acceptable losses. That was the kind of thinking that turned people into the monsters King's Dominion wanted them to become.
All three, he promised himself. I'm saving all three, or I'm dying trying.
---
That evening, Lin posted the Finals date.
The announcement appeared on the main board during dinner—a single sheet of paper, elegant calligraphy, the kind of formal presentation that made murder look civilized.
FRESHMAN FINALSCommencing: October 15th, 1987Duration: Seven DaysRules: Available in Administrative Office
The cafeteria went silent. Marcus watched students react—the Legacies with anticipation or casual indifference, the Rats with fear they tried to hide. Torres's fork clattered against his plate. Billy cursed under his breath. Willie reached over and put a hand on Marcus's shoulder, silent support.
Ten days.
Three marked Rats.
One chance to change the story.
Marcus looked at the announcement and felt something cold settle in his chest. Not fear—he was past fear now. Something harder. Something sharper.
The hunt is scheduled, he thought. Time to become a predator.