Orphaned Seed
Copyright© 2026 by Fantasylover11
Chapter 18: Boundaries
The first time Noah saw the edited record, his stomach dropped.
The second time, it turned into anger so clean it scared him.
He stood in the research library stacks with his laptop open on a table that still smelled faintly like lemon cleaner and old paper. Around him, students moved in quiet currents. A girl in a sweatshirt took a seat two tables away and started highlighting without looking up.
Normal.
It would have been almost comforting if Noah’s life hadn’t split into layers.
He refreshed the page again.
The stability score sat there like it had always been that way.
Not enough to brand him.
Enough to tilt a story.
Noah closed the laptop slowly.
He could make a complaint.
He could argue.
He could look like a freshman who cared too much about a number no one upstairs would understand.
Or he could do what Mara had trained into him.
Stay plausible.
Find the leverage.
Noah pulled his hood up, more habit than camouflage, and walked deeper into the stacks until he found an aisle where the security camera had a blind corner.
Masking tightened.
His Focus ticked down.
He hated that he could feel the cost of hiding in his own bones.
The overlay hovered, quiet.
Not offering help.
Just watching.
Noah opened the Annex portal again, but this time he didn’t look at the score.
He looked at the metadata.
Timestamp.
Editor ID.
Access route.
Most of it was redacted behind a polite gray bar.
But one line wasn’t.
ACCESS NODE: EXTERNAL
Noah stared.
External.
Off-campus.
The Veil tried to make the word slide away, as if it were ordinary network jargon that meant nothing.
Noah kept it anyway.
He took a screenshot.
He didn’t store it on his laptop.
He didn’t email it.
He copied it into a plain text file and named it something boring.
Chem Lab Notes.
He sat there a moment, breathing slow.
If someone was editing his record from off-campus, it wasn’t a petty rival.
It was a coordinated operation.
Noah closed the file.
He needed to fix the record.
He needed to do it without becoming a spectacle.
And he needed one person who would believe him without demanding a confession.
Noah pulled his phone out.
He didn’t scroll.
He didn’t hesitate.
He called Sienna.
She met him outside the library twenty minutes later, braid damp at the ends like she’d come from the pool or the rain. She didn’t ask why he called until they were walking side by side toward a quieter courtyard behind a humanities building.
“Talk,” Sienna said.
Noah exhaled.
“They edited the showcase trial record,” he said.
Sienna didn’t blink. “Again?”
“Yeah,” Noah replied. “Enough to change the story. Not enough to make it obvious.”
Sienna’s jaw tightened. “You have proof.”
Noah nodded once. “Metadata. Not perfect. But it shows an external access node.”
Sienna’s gaze sharpened. “Off-campus.”
Noah felt something cold move through him.
“You already knew that was possible,” he said.
“I knew it was likely,” Sienna corrected. “Different thing.”
They turned into the courtyard.
It was small and tucked away, ringed by shrubs that had started to brown at the edges. A string of patio lights hung between two poles, unlit in the evening. A couple sat on a bench near the far wall, heads close, laughing softly.
Noah kept his distance.
Sienna did too.
“What’s the move?” Sienna asked.
Noah swallowed.
“I want to catch it before it becomes official,” he said. “Before Dahlia gets to point at it and call it a pattern.”
Sienna nodded, already thinking.
“Records office,” she said. “Not the public archive. The Annex back end.”
“I can get in,” Noah said.
Sienna shot him a look.
“Not alone,” she replied.
Noah felt his mouth tighten.
He hated needing anyone.
He hated even more that he wanted her there.
“Okay,” he said.
Sienna’s shoulders loosened a fraction.
“You called me first,” she said.
Noah met her eyes. “Yeah.”
Sienna held the look a moment.
“Good,” she said, and started walking.
The Annex records office wasn’t an office so much as a narrow hall with terminals and a bored attendant who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Sienna took the lead.
Noah stayed half a step behind her, Masking wrapped tight.
He could feel the Focus drain.
He could feel his own temper pressing against his ribs, trying to get out.
“Park,” the attendant said, recognizing her without warmth.
Sienna offered a thin smile. “Hi.”
“What’s this?” the attendant asked.
“Audit discrepancy,” Sienna replied. “Mercer has an updated stability score that doesn’t match the raw log window.”
Noah kept his face blank.
The attendant’s gaze slid to him.
“Again,” the attendant said, like Noah was a recurring inconvenience.
Noah’s hands curled once inside his pockets.
Sienna didn’t let the pause turn into permission.
“Pull the access route,” she said.
The attendant hesitated.
Not refusal.
Calculation.
Noah felt Read the Room pick up the shift: a glance toward a door down the hall, a micro-check that said someone else outranked them.
“Not my call,” the attendant said.
“It is your terminal,” Sienna replied.
The attendant’s lips pressed together.
“And if I pull it and it flags?” he asked.
“Then it flags,” Sienna said. “That’s the point.”
Noah watched the attendant’s hands.
He was stalling; stalling meant someone wanted time.
Noah made himself speak, low.
“This isn’t about being right,” he said. “It’s about the log not matching itself.”
The attendant looked at him.
Noah let his face stay calm.
He did not plead.
He did not perform innocence.
He just held still.
Finally, the attendant huffed a breath and typed.
The screen updated.
Sienna leaned in.
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