Greg Veder stared through the back wall of the classroom like he could see something the rest of us were too small-minded to notice.
I was supposed to be taking notes—U.S. History, westward expansion, Mr. Gladly droning at the front—but my pencil hovered half an inch above the page, unmoving. Greg sat one row over and one seat up, lean profile crisp against the morning sun. He wasn't blinking. He wasn't doodling. He wasn't even pretending to pay attention the way any halfway-decent slacker would. Just… waiting. Like the second hand on the wall clock clicks for everyone except him.
It was unnerving.
Two days ago, that same boy strolled into the Undersiders' lair and, without so much as an introduction, told Lisa he'd kill her if she refused to work for him. A flat statement, offered the way a person might comment on the weather, or a particularly tedious chore that needed doing.
And Lisa believed him.
She wasn't stupid, nor was she naive or easily frightened. She took offence whenever anyone even suggested she was. But Greg made her afraid, so much so that she hadn't even bothered with maintaining appearances.
Now he was back to being the forgettable kid who once cornered me after class to talk about his comic book collection like we were friends. Same rumpled hoodie, same shoes with a split sole, same acne scar on his left temple. Only the stillness was different, coiled around him like something alive.
My swarm was restless in the vents where I hid them in case I needed a quick supply. A dozen houseflies drifting through the class gave me a jittery, composite view of the room: Madison Clements whispering to Emma in the corner, Sophia absent (track meet, most likely), Gladly's laser pointer swooping across a map, sunlight motes drifting in the air. Minute by minute, my tension wound tighter.
What am I supposed to do with someone who out-schemed a schemer like Coil?
My thoughts wandered back to the events of the previous day. When I'd checked in yesterday morning to the new, worryingly upscale safehouse Greg had provided, the first thing I did was comb the PHO for leaks and rumours regarding the matter. Coil, or Thomas Calvert as the news was now screaming, was every bit the scumbag I had expected him to be, and then some. Kidnapping, blackmail, manipulation on a city-wide scale. Normally, I'd have been ecstatic to see a villain like that taken down. But this time, the victory felt tainted, soured by the identity of the victor. Was Greg Veder truly any better? I didn't know him, not really. However, the Greg from school seemed so much like a caricature now, a mask. The Greg who'd calmly threatened Lisa… he was of a different thing entirely. I trusted Lisa's fear, her raw, instinctual judgment. Beneath that familiar, almost harmless veneer of Greg Veder lay someone incredibly dangerous.
More than once, the thought had slithered into my mind: take this to the PRT. Not Armsmaster, he was a dickbag, and I still felt a knot of anger tighten in my chest whenever I thought about our last meeting, his dismissive arrogance. But maybe Miss Militia. She seemed… reasonable. Fair. Greg was clearly too dangerous to be left to his own devices, operating in the shadows, pulling strings no one even knew existed.
But each time, Greg's own words echoed back, cold and measured. "We both have families we would rather keep out of harm's way. Any rash actions on your part would be… regrettable for all involved." It felt like he'd been looking through me when he said it, that strange, unreadable expression in his eyes. A direct threat against Dad. It could be nothing else. I wasn't certain he'd follow through if I exposed him, but the uncertainty was a vice around my heart. Could I risk Dad's safety on a gamble?
Lisa hadn't helped quell those fears. Her power, usually so reliable, apparently malfunctioned around Greg, giving her painful headaches and disjointed, often inconclusive, information. But one thing she'd been clear on was her suspicion that Greg's reach was extensive. If that even half of what she said about his newfound influence and connections following the usurpation of Coil's organisation was true, then witness protection for Dad would be a joke. A flimsy shield against a man who could seemingly topple criminal empires overnight.
And the resources… The speed and efficiency with which he'd moved the Undersiders out of the old lair was staggering. In a matter of hours, the team had been discreetly relocated to a secure, well-furnished location in a surprisingly decent part of town. Worst still, he'd provided all of that before we'd even officially agreed to work for him. A gesture of goodwill, he'd called it. Or maybe a demonstration of capability. With that kind of money and manpower at his disposal, putting a hit on a civilian like Dad would be laughably, terrifyingly easy.
I'd even considered abandoning my original plan – the whole undercover stint with the Undersiders to unmask their villainous boss. That mission was now defunct, with Coil now unmasked and apprehended. But then what? My powers, my control over insects, were too distinctive. Walking into a PRT office and attempting to join the Wards program was simply declaring myself as the villain Skitter, who had participated in a bank robbery that had seen two other Wards injured. Doing that would immediately paint a target on my back, and by extension, on the Undersiders. They'd pressure me for their identities, their secrets. And that, undoubtedly, would bring Greg's wrath down on me, and on Dad.
So, I was stuck. Trapped in the villainous persona I'd reluctantly adopted, bound by threats and the terrifying unknown of Greg Veder's true capabilities. Lisa's inability to get a clear read on him was the most inconvenient part. Her power was our early warning system, our best defence against manipulation. Around Greg, it was like trying to navigate by a compass spinning wildly. We couldn't claim to know the full extent of his powers, his resources, his ultimate goals. Yet, he seemed to know everything about us. Our identities, our power, our weaknesses. It was an imbalance that left us vulnerable.
A sigh escaped my lips, quiet and unnoticed in the classroom's low hum. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be a hero, or at least trying to be one. Not… this.
The bell shrieked, a piercing sound that jolted me from my thoughts. Students began to stir, the scraping of chairs and rustling of backpacks filling the air. I started packing my own bag, movements slow, mechanical. My mind, however, was still churning.
Why hadn't I just left?
When Greg had made his 'offer' of employment, he'd given me an out. "Your situation is more unique," he'd said to me specifically. "Less compromised… If not, you are free to do as you like." I could have walked away. Hung up the Skitter costume for good. Maybe even tried to be a rogue if I still wanted to be a hero, picking my own battles, operating on my own terms, however difficult that might be.
But Brian, Alec, and Rachel, to their credit, hadn't even considered abandoning Lisa to her new employer. They'd accepted Greg's terms as a group. Loyalty, however dysfunctional, ran deep in the Undersiders.
And I… I'd stayed too. It felt stupid, dangerously emotional. But the thought of leaving Lisa to face Greg alone, or walking away while the others were essentially press-ganged… I couldn't do it. So now, I agreed to work for the new boss; Greg Veder.
The sheer cognitive dissonance of it was still enough to give me a headache.
My thoughts were so tangled that I didn't register the approaching footsteps until it was too late. A sudden jarring impact, a sloshing sound, and then a lukewarm syrupiness blooming across my lap before I could brace.
Grape juice.
I bit down on a reflexive curse. A sticky wave rolled from my waist to my knee, soaking the new jeans Dad bought last weekend, darkening denim to bruise purple.
"Oops," Madison chirped, standing over me, a half-empty plastic bottle clutched in her perfectly manicured hand. Her expression was a carefully crafted mask of faux surprise. "Oh my god, Taylor! I am so sorry! I totally didn't see you there."
Emma stood behind her like a stage mom, lips curved in practised sympathy. One step farther back, two girls from the soccer junior varsity hovered, waiting like a pair of stage props to laugh at the punchline.
My swarm response is instantaneous: wasps in the ceiling tiles buzzed, micro-wingbeats eager in tune with my emotions. I reined them in by habit, knuckles whitening around the strap of my bag. Civilian life, civilian rules. No bugs. No powers.
My textbooks were ruined for the second time this month. Breath-by-breath, my anger grew—at Madison, at Emma, at everything I haven't been able to solve—but I kept my face blank. My gaze lifted then, meeting Madison's challenging stare. I scanned the room. Mr. Gladly was gone, already retreated to the safety of the teacher's lounge, oblivious or indifferent. We were alone with the dregs of the classroom, the other students already making their escape.
"Clumsy me," Madison giggled, and the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. She and her shadows then sauntered off, their laughter trailing behind them, leaving me sitting there, dripping and furious.
I exhaled slowly, trying to vent the hot surge of anger stuffing my chest. Truthfully, with everything that had happened in the last few days – Coil, Greg, the constant low thrum of fear and uncertainty – I'd almost forgotten about them. About the daily torment, the petty cruelties. I'd been careless, lost in my own world, and I'd let my guard down. I should have been more attentive, more aware of my surroundings.
I was still seething, staring at the ruined books, when another shadow fell over me. I looked up, startled.
Greg.
He stood beside my desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. In his outstretched hand, he held a neatly folded handkerchief—white linen, not cafeteria stock.
My surprise must have shown on my face. For a moment, I just stared. Then, hesitantly, I reached out and took it. "Thanks," I mumbled, the word feeling awkward and inadequate. I started dabbing uselessly at my soaked jeans, then at the backpack. The act did little except smear purple deeper into cotton. The books were a lost cause. I'd just have to find a trash can for them later.
Greg's voice was mild. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I lie, then added, the word out before I could properly process it, "Don't". Greg hadn't moved, hadn't said anything, but I felt a sudden, urgent need to stop him from… whatever he might be considering. "Don't get involved. Please." My voice was stronger this time. The last thing I needed was him stepping into this matter.
He regarded me for a long moment, that unnerving stillness about him. Then, he gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. "I had no intention of doing so," he said, his voice the same quiet monotone he'd used in the classroom earlier when Mr. Glady had asked him a question. "It's not my concern and you clearly don't want me to. Besides, I am sure if you wanted to resolve this particular matter with… enhanced methods, you would have done so already."
He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at me over his shoulder. The casual neutrality was gone, replaced by something unreadable. "A word of advice, however. Resolve this. Soon. However you deem appropriate." His gaze flickered towards the door through which Madison and her friends had departed. "Their… antics will get to you at some point. You are only human. You will make a mistake, and eventually, you will do something foolish. If so, given the fact that you are now connected to me by means of your employment—and my interest in avoiding undue scrutiny here—I might be forced to intervene."
He let the sentence hang for a moment, the unspoken implications chilling the air. "You don't want me to intervene, Taylor. Trust me, you don't."