Red Widow wasn't just watching the rooftop confrontation — she was recording it, cataloguing every word, every flicker of emotion between Sera and Kairo.
Her fingers moved across the keyboard with surgical precision, tagging expressions, analyzing tone.
It wasn't just surveillance. It was psychological warfare.
She zoomed in on Sera's smirk.
> "Then you better be ready to bleed hard, De León."
Red laughed under her breath.
> "Good girl."
She leaned back in her chair, surrounded by a spiderweb of monitors, wires, and notebooks filled with scribbled strategies.
But then—
The system glitched.
Just for a second.
The feed from Cam 7 — the one she never let anyone near — cut out, then came back.
Only now… she saw something.
**A figure. Watching her camera. Watching her.**
She froze.
Checked the logs.
> *No remote access granted.*
Red Widow's heart skipped.
Someone had slipped inside the system. Her system.
Impossible.
Unless…
Her eyes narrowed. She ran a trace.
The signal wasn't coming from outside the school.
It was coming from **within.**
From a forgotten storage room in the East Wing.
The only room she'd never tapped.
She activated the old blueprint overlay. The East Wing…
**used to be part of the Velasquez family archives.**
"Of course," she whispered. "Sera, what have you left behind?"
A low beep interrupted her thoughts — a single message blinked on her main screen:
> *"You're not the only one who knows how to play god."*
No signature.
No trace.
But Red Widow's blood turned cold.
Someone was watching her watch the game.
And they were already five moves ahead