Badass in Disguise Chapter 195

The Princeton library was unusually crowded for a Thursday afternoon. I sat at a corner table, pretending to read while my attention drifted to the thin, dark-haired figure hunched over textbooks three tables away.

Silas Murphy.

"Is that Jade Morgan? In the library?" A whisper floated from a nearby table, followed by a chorus of hushed voices.

"I've never seen her here before."

"Maybe she's here for the new guy."

"He's cute in that mysterious, brooding way."

I scrolled through messages on my phone. Ethan had texted again, asking about my eyes.

*Better. Stop asking.*

My vision had improved enough to read without strain, though distant objects still blurred around the edges. I glanced up as Silas closed his books, meticulously arranging them in his worn backpack. His movements were efficient, almost mechanical.

He checked his watch—a cheap digital model with a cracked face—and frowned. Seven o'clock. He gathered his things quickly and headed for the exit.

I waited exactly thirty seconds before following.

---

The public bus dropped Silas at the edge of Princeton's poorest neighborhood—a labyrinth of crumbling apartment buildings and narrow alleys. I trailed him silently through darkening streets.

Silas turned down a narrow passage between two buildings. Even with my compromised vision, I could tell something was wrong when he suddenly stopped. Voices echoed between the brick walls.

"Well, well. Look who's here." A stocky figure stepped into Silas's path, followed by more shadows—at least a dozen. "Been looking for you, Murphy."

Silas's shoulders tensed. "What do you want?"

"Your piece of shit father owes my cousin three grand. Plus interest." The leader stepped closer, streetlight glinting off something metallic in his hand. "Then there's the hospital bill for Joey's broken nose."

"I don't have money," Silas said, voice flat.

"That's too bad. Guess we'll have to take payment another way." The guy tapped a metal pipe against his palm. "How about we start with your legs?"

The others laughed, moving to form a circle around Silas.

I expected him to run. Instead, he swung his backpack, catching the leader squarely in the face. The man stumbled back, cursing.

"Get him!"

Two thugs rushed forward. Silas dodged the first swing, landing a solid punch to one guy's throat, but the second caught him across the back with a pipe. He staggered but stayed on his feet, ducking another swing.

For someone who looked half-starved, he moved well. Street fighting, not trained combat, but effective enough. Still, the odds were impossible—one against twelve.

A second blow caught his shoulder. A third glanced off his forearm as he blocked. They were toying with him.

The leader stepped forward, pipe raised for a blow that would shatter bone.

"Hey!" I called from the alley entrance. "Twelve against one? Pathetic."

Heads turned. I picked up a discarded pipe and twirled it experimentally.

"The fuck are you?" the leader spat.

I didn't answer, just walked forward. Two moved to intercept me. The first swing was telegraphed so obviously I could have dodged it blindfolded. I sidestepped, brought the pipe down on his wrist—felt bone give way—then drove my knee into his groin. He dropped, screaming.

The second barely had time to register what happened before my pipe connected with his temple. Down.

The others rushed me together. A mistake. In tight quarters, they blocked each other, got in their own way. I moved through them like a knife through butter—precise, efficient. No wasted movement.

Seven seconds. Seven bodies on the ground.

The leader backed away, eyes wide. "What the fuck—"

I closed the distance before he could finish, drove the pipe into his stomach, then brought it down on the back of his neck as he doubled over. Not hard enough to kill, just enough to make sure he wouldn't get up anytime soon.

The remaining thugs scattered, leaving their unconscious friends behind.

Silas stood frozen, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.

I walked toward him, pipe still in hand. His eyes widened as I raised it and swung.

The metal stopped an inch from his face.

"Just kidding," I said, dropping the pipe with a clatter. "You looked like you needed help."

He stared at me, chest heaving. "Why were you following me?"

"I wasn't. I was getting tacos." I shrugged. "There's a Mexican place around the corner, right?"

Silas clutched his arm, wincing. "Right."

He looked at me for a long moment, then turned and headed for a rusted door set in the brick wall.

"Hey," I called after him. "I just saved your ass. A 'thank you' would be nice. Or at least show me where to get tacos."

Silas glanced back, eyes unreadable. Without a word, he jerked his head, indicating I should follow.

---

The next day, I spotted Silas in the student dining hall. He sat alone, food untouched as he scribbled frantically in a notebook. I set my tray down across from him.

"Late for class?" I asked.

He looked up, startled. "What?"

I gestured to his notebook. "You're writing like the world's ending."

Silas went back to his notes without answering. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened overnight.

I placed a small tube on the table between us. "Sports medicine. For bruises and muscle strain. Better than whatever over-the-counter crap you're using."

His pen stopped moving. He stared at the tube but didn't reach for it.

After a moment, Silas closed his notebook and stood. I watched him walk away, wondering if I'd miscalculated. Then he returned with a tray of food, setting it in front of me.

"How much?" I asked as he sat down.

He ignored the question, reopening his notebook.

"Do you have notes from last semester?" he asked suddenly, not looking up.

"Yeah," I lied. "Want to borrow them?"

His gaze flicked up briefly. The question was obvious in his eyes.

"What's in it for me?" I asked.

Silas looked back down at his notes, jaw tightening.

I finished my food and left the medicine tube on the table.

---

When Silas entered the classroom that afternoon, the whispers started immediately.

"Did you see him with Jade?"

"In the dining hall—"

He slid into his seat, ignoring the stares. I watched from across the room as he opened his backpack and froze.

Three spiral notebooks lay on his desk, each labeled with a course number. Inside the top one, a note was stuck to the first page:

*Study hard. -J*

The notebooks weren't mine. I'd borrowed them from Amelia Chen, our class's resident overachiever. I hadn't even needed to explain—she'd been so excited about Jade Morgan acknowledging her existence that she'd thrust the notebooks into my hands immediately.

Silas looked up, scanning the room until his eyes met mine. For a split second, I thought I saw something—gratitude, maybe. But then his expression shuttered closed, and he turned back to the notebooks.

I smiled to myself. The whispers grew louder around us, but neither of us paid them any attention.