The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 310: 310 | Media Circus [CASTLE BONUS]

The morning fog hadn’t burned off yet when Felicity found me outside the dormitory, her blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail that bounced with each step. She wore the standard Halloran training uniform, navy shorts and white compression shirt, but somehow made it look like designer athleisure that cost more than my monthly food budget from my previous life.

"You look like death warmed over and then microwaved for good measure," she announced, falling into step beside me.

"Good morning to you too."

"I’m serious. Did you sleep at all?"

"Define sleep."

"The thing normal humans do for approximately eight hours where their eyes close and their brain stops doing whatever yours is constantly doing."

"Then no. Not really."

She linked her arm through mine with the casual possessiveness that I was starting to recognize as her default setting. The contact sent warmth through the cool morning air, her body heat bleeding through the thin compression fabric where our arms pressed together.

"Percy keeping you up?"

"Documentation fraud keeping me up."

"That’s lowkey way less fun than most of your other problems." She tilted her head, studying my face with the kind of attention that made me wonder exactly how much she’d already pieced together. Her eyes tracked the micro-expressions I couldn’t fully suppress after three hours of sleep, cataloguing them with the same methodical precision she applied to everything else. "Though I suppose academic paperwork dread is its own kind of connection, bestie."

We walked across the campus quad, past the fountain that marked the center of the residential district, the fog giving everything a soft-focus quality that reminded me of old film photography. Colors bled at the edges. The sharp geometry of Halloran’s white concrete buildings looked gentler in the filtered morning light, almost forgiving in their lines. The whole campus had taken on a dreamlike texture, as if someone had breathed warm air across a cold lens and caught the moment before it cleared.

Other students moved through the fog in loose groups, most heading toward the dining hall or the early conditioning circuits. Caden emerged from the haze on the far side of the quad, his grin cutting through the gray morning like a spotlight. Marco walked beside him, gesturing at something with both hands that made Caden throw his head back with the kind of full-body laugh that carried across open space. Several nearby students turned to look. Marco said something else. Caden doubled over.

Felicity tracked their movement with the automatic awareness of someone who filed information about people without conscious effort, then returned her attention to me. Her expression shifted into something more focused, the warmth pulling back to reveal the intelligence that usually ran underneath it.

"So," she said, her voice dropping into a more serious register, "have you actually figured out what you’re going to do about it?"

"About what?"

"The Percy situation specifically. The documentation stuff generally. The thing that kept you staring at your ceiling for like eight consecutive hours with your brain doing whatever extremely extra processing thing your brain does."

I considered how much to tell her. Felicity had been circling my various complications since day one, collecting information with the patient dedication of someone building a comprehensive file. She already knew about Camille and Petra’s midnight visit. She already knew something was off about my Aspect presentation. Adding the regulatory implications to her knowledge base felt like handing her ammunition I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t use.

But she’d also proven herself trustworthy in ways that mattered. She hadn’t gossiped about what she’d observed. She hadn’t leveraged information for social currency. She just watched, catalogued, and occasionally offered commentary that was more accurate than comfortable.

"Working on it," I said.

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only answer I have right now."

She squeezed my arm, her grip shifting from casual to genuinely supportive. "You know I’d help if you asked."

"I know."

"You’re not going to ask though."

"Not yet."

"The ’yet’ is noted and appreciated." Her smile returned, warmer this time. "When you’re ready to ask, I’ll be ready to help. Until then, I’ll just keep pretending I don’t notice all the extremely obvious things happening around you."

"You’re terrible at pretending."

"I contain multitudes."

We rounded the corner of the academic building, moving toward the main entrance where students typically gathered before morning classes. The fog was beginning to lift, sunlight breaking through in golden shafts that promised a warm afternoon and probably meant the training grounds would be miserable by third period.

That’s when I noticed the crowd.

Not students. Adults. At least thirty of them, clustered around the main entrance with the specific energy of people who were waiting for something and growing increasingly impatient about the wait. They carried equipment that looked expensive and professional. Cameras. Microphones. Recording devices with brand names I recognized from the media equipment Diane’s agency used for press conferences.

The specific configuration clicked into place before I consciously processed what I was looking at.

Reporters.

"Well," Felicity said, her tone shifting from playful to analytical, "that’s new."

The crowd noticed us approaching at roughly the same moment I noticed them. Several heads turned. Cameras swung in our direction with the synchronized movement of predators spotting prey.

"Students approaching from the south quad," someone called out, and suddenly the entire mass of them was moving toward us with the kind of focused intention that made my skin prickle.

Steele stood near the entrance, her tall frame visible even through the crowd. Her expression had the quality of someone who was approximately three minutes from committing violence and was seriously considering whether the paperwork would be worth it. Her pink eyes tracked the reporter movement with increasing irritation, her jaw tight and her posture rigid.

"Ms. Steele, can you confirm that Radiant is teaching first-year students?"

"Is it true that America’s number one hero has taken a personal interest in this year’s cohort?"

"Can you comment on reports that Radiant has been spotted on campus multiple times this week?"

Steele’s voice carried across the crowd, sharp enough to cut glass. "All media inquiries go through the academy’s public relations office. You are not authorized to be on student grounds without prior approval."

"The public has a right to know what their tax dollars are funding!"