They say the truth sets you free — but no one ever tells you how terrifying it is to chase it down first.
After everything that had happened, I didn't expect James to come back into our circle so easily. But then again… I should've known.
He always came back when it mattered.
It was after chemistry class when I saw him.
James.
Leaning against a column near the science block, backpack slung over one shoulder, a rare look of unease on his face.
He saw me too — and before I could look away, he walked over.
"Hey," he said softly. "Can we talk?"
I nodded slowly.
"I heard what's been going on… Zariah, Darby, all of it." His voice dropped. "I want to help."
That simple. No ego. No hesitation. Just James.
"Why?" I asked, arms crossed.
"Because Darby's gone too far. And because…" He glanced down, then up again. "I miss our trio."
As if summoned, Sophie came jogging around the corner with a bounce in her step and stopped abruptly at the sight of James.
"Are we friends again or is this awkward silence practice?" she quipped.
James chuckled. "Let's just say I'm ready to make things right."
We all looked at each other. And just like that, the unspoken rift began to heal.
That evening, the four of us — me, Sophie, James, and Zariah — gathered in the dorm lounge like a ragtag team plotting a mission.
Because we were.
"We need proof. Not just screenshots and stories," James said, pacing. "We need something undeniable. Something that turns people against Darby before she turns on Zariah again."
"She's too calculated," Zariah murmured. "She never slips."
"Everyone slips eventually," Sophie said, popping a lollipop in her mouth. "Especially when you poke the right nerve."
"Which is?" I asked.
"Her ego."
Our plan was risky — but brilliant.
We'd invite Darby to a fake "exclusive influencer panel" hosted on campus, organized under a fake club name we created: S.E.E. (Students for Ethical Empowerment) — ironic, really.
We'd have her record a promotional video for it, boasting about how she built her image, how people listened to her, followed her — all while pretending it was for a "female empowerment campaign."
Meanwhile, Sophie secretly looped in a few real journalism students to attend — and record.
The day of the panel arrived. Darby arrived in a blazing red designer set, hair perfectly curled, and ego sky-high. She stood before a camera and delivered lines we fed her through a fake script.
Lines like:
"Of course, if you want to be on top, you have to know how to control the story. Keep your enemies close, and your assets… even closer."
"Sometimes, you just have to ruin someone to rise. That's the world."
Sophie almost burst out laughing in the background. James gave me a look — both stunned and impressed.
She was digging her own grave.
Later that evening, Sophie anonymously posted a short video — just 45 seconds — to the campus forum. It had no name, no captions.
Just Darby.
Bragging. Manipulating. Smiling like a villain in a teen drama.
And by morning, it had over 10,000 views.
People were talking. Murmuring. Whispering in hallways. Professors frowning at her in class. Group chats exploding.
For once, Darby couldn't control the narrative.
And Zariah?
She finally walked through campus with her head high.
Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do isn't shout your story —
It's prove it.
And now that Darby's mask had cracked, the real war was just beginning.
But at least this time…
We weren't fighting alone.