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Preview from chapter one
CHAPTER 1
Nari Vexley’s fingers glided across the keyboard, each keystroke precise, purposeful. The quiet computer lab was filled with the rhythmic staccato of plastic keys, a sound that felt almost orchestral in its control. Lines of code cascaded down her screen, an intricate language only she seemed to command with ease. Once, her professors had challenged her. Now they lingered at the periphery, silent witnesses to a talent that left them obsolete.
Helping classmates had earned her no gratitude—only labels spat behind her back. Teacher’s pet. Freak. Nerd. Words meant to wound, but words she had learned to wear like armor.
From the hallway came the scrape of footsteps, then laughter—low, mean, familiar. Zane Langford’s voice cut through the murmur, sharp and performative.
“I’m gonna get a date from her tonight,” he announced, loud enough for the entire corridor to hear.
His friends chuckled, savoring the ritual. They knew the pattern: Zane boasted, Zane failed. The failure was the entertainment.
He shoved the door open with a careless hand and strutted inside, weaving between rows of empty desks until he dropped heavily into the chair beside her. Blonde hair gleamed beneath the sterile fluorescents. His grin was all arrogance, his posture designed for effect.
“I like how those fingers move,” he drawled, his voice thick with insinuation. “Bet they’d be even better wrapped around me. Tonight. Eight o’clock.”
Nari’s focus didn’t waver. Inside, her mind sharpened to a blade’s edge. This is college? These are my peers? Entitled parasites burning daddy’s money while I bleed for every hour of tuition?
Her typing slowed just enough for her reply to land like a calculated strike.
“I wouldn’t want to make your girlfriend jealous.”
Zane blinked, confusion disrupting his smirk. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Her eyes finally lifted to meet his. Calm. Cool. Deadly.
“Isn’t that what you call your right hand?”
The laughter that erupted from the hallway was vicious, cutting, impossible to ignore. His friends leaned into the doorway, jeering openly now. Color surged to Zane’s cheeks; humiliation hardened into something uglier.
“Fucking dyke,” he spat, his voice low, but not low enough. Then he stormed out, the pack trailing after him, their mockery chasing him down the corridor.
Nari exhaled through her nose, steadying herself. The code on her screen awaited her return, obedient and unjudging—a silent army at her command.
Nari sat alone at a corner table in the university library, laptop open, a battered psychology textbook stacked beside it. The pale glow of her screen lit up a terse email: