I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 82: The Trevor Surveillance Unit
Jon's Perspective
By the time the final bell echoed through the school hallways, Jon's thoughts were nowhere near the drama that had briefly flared up earlier about Trevor. The rest of his day had effectively drowned any concern under a tidal wave of dense calculus problems, thinking about the dubious cafeteria tacos that tasted vaguely like cardboard and regret, and the creeping, persistent anxiety that came with remembering he still had football practice ahead of him.
As he slung his backpack over one shoulder—worn and sagging from the weight of textbooks he was pretty sure he didn't need but brought anyway—his mind started shifting into game mode. He trudged toward the practice field, half-listening to the chatter around him while mentally flipping through their latest plays like flashcards. Would today be another round of punishing sprints under the late afternoon sun? Or maybe tackling drills that left bruises in places he couldn't stretch? He wasn't sure which was worse, but either way, his legs were still mad at him for last night's three-hour outdoor movie night—those lawn chairs were not built for comfort, and his hamstrings were holding a grudge.
But just as he stepped onto the gravel path that led to the bleachers, something made him slow down.
There, perched in the middle row, was Terry.
Not unusual, except he wasn't alone.
Next to him, nestled in uncharacteristically close, sat Haley.
Jon's eyebrows pulled together. They weren't just sitting together—they were huddled, heads bent over Haley's phone, their body language screaming secrets, schemes, or something dangerously close to both. It was the kind of posture that meant something was either about to go down or already had.
Neither of them noticed Jon's approach. That, more than anything, was weird.
"Okay," Jon said slowly, his voice cutting through the quiet. "What are you guys doing?"
Haley jumped, startled, but recovered quickly. Her expression morphed into a grin—mischievous, self-satisfied, the kind of smile that usually preceded chaos. Terry blinked up at him, like a kid caught in the middle of a soap opera he insisted he wasn't watching, despite knowing all the plotlines.
Haley, as usual, didn't hesitate. "What good friends do," she said brightly. "We're looking out for you."
Jon crossed his arms and tilted his head. "Looking out for me? What does that even mean?"
Terry scratched the back of his neck, a telltale sign that he felt mildly guilty but also like he couldn't quite help himself. Haley, on the other hand, was clearly in her element, fully energized by the drama.
"Terry told me about Trevor," she said, voice laced with disdain as she said the name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "So, we're doing a little recon. Surveillance. Background checks. The usual." She held up her phone for Jon to see. "Behold. The enemy."
Jon leaned in, squinting at the screen. The image staring back at him was too perfect—Trevor, tall and confident, wearing that same insufferable smirk, arms slung casually around Sam. It looked like it had been taken at a summer beach party—bonfire in the background, golden hour lighting, everyone sun-kissed and glowing. Even through the screen, Jon could practically smell the cologne, and it was definitely the too-much kind.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned to Terry, jaw tightening slightly.
"You told Haley?"
Terry winced but stood his ground, shifting awkwardly. "I just... figured you could use some backup."
Jon's voice dropped a note. "I told you Sam's handling it."
"I know," Terry said quickly, "but—"
"But nothing." Jon's tone was sharper now. "She's got this."
That might have ended the conversation, but Haley was not the type to let anything go quietly. She pushed on, steamrolling through the tension like a one-woman SWAT team. "It's a good thing he came to me," she said, flipping to another photo on her phone. "Because look at this. Trevor just posted this—captioned it 'Good times, good memories.' Like, seriously? He's totally fishing."
Jon stared at the new image. Trevor and Sam again, leaning against a railing, that same irritating smile plastered across his face. Another beach photo. The vibe screamed nostalgia—and not the good kind. It was subtle, passive-aggressive bait, and Jon didn't need to be an expert to recognize it.
Terry leaned over and muttered, "See what I mean? Even his name is sketchy. Trevor. That's the kind of guy who owns two leather jackets and plays acoustic covers of pop songs at parties without being asked."
Jon couldn't help it—he snorted, then sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "Okay, maybe he's trying something. But that doesn't mean Sam's going to fall for it."
He looked at both of them, his expression softening just a bit. "I get that you guys are trying to help—even if your method is basically cyberstalking her ex—but seriously, just... let it go. Sam's not clueless. She knows how to handle herself."
Haley and Terry exchanged a glance and nodded, but Jon knew that look. He'd seen it before. The kind that meant, Sure, we'll let it go—right after we track his address, hack his Facebook, and possibly send an anonymous tip to his college's admissions office.
He sighed again, more exhausted than concerned now.
"Terry, let's go. You know how Coach gets if we're even two minutes late."
Terry hesitated, like he wanted to stay and help Haley launch Phase Two of whatever operation they were building, but ultimately stood and shoved his phone into his pocket like it was contraband. Haley stayed behind, no doubt already scheming her next digital stakeout.
As Jon and Terry jogged across the grass toward the field, cleats crunching against the dirt, Jon glanced sideways.
Trevor might have thought he was slipping back into Sam's life quietly.
But now he was up against more than just Sam's personal boundaries—he was up against Haley's curiosity, Terry's overprotectiveness, and Jon himself.
Jon wasn't worried.
But he was definitely watching now.