Chapter 9 : “The Assignments”

*Roanne’s POV*

The final words from Professor Harlan's lecture on social justice theory lingered in the air like a challenged verdict, but my mind had already slipped out of the courtroom of academia and into the murky waters of retribution. The Revenge Club gathering tonight was a silent gavel pounding in my chest, its echo resonating with both dread and determination.

"Hey, Ro." Lizzie's voice cut through the hum of departing students, her presence at the door a steadfast beacon. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, the embodiment of support mixed with a shadow of protective fury. Her eyes held that familiar, smoldering edge, a dark kindling from the fire she'd been stoking since freshman year.

"Thanks for waiting," I mumbled, shuffling my notes into an organized chaos within my backpack.

"Of course," she replied, unwavering. "How are you feeling about tonight?" Her question pierced the veil of casual concern, probing directly into my nerves, which were strung tight like piano wire.

"Anxious," I confessed, meeting her gaze. "It's one thing to plan, another to execute."

"Justice isn't always served in a courtroom," Lizzie said, her voice low and even—a mantra we'd come to share, though it felt heavier on my tongue than hers.

"Sometimes," I agreed, sighing, "justice has to be taken."

"Exactly," she affirmed. Our steps fell into rhythm as we made our way through the labyrinth of halls. The old building creaked under the weight of secrets, much like my conscience.

"Will they really help us, Liz? The others, I mean. They don't know me, not really." My hands fidgeted with the straps of my bag, seeking something tangible to hold onto.

"Trust Violet," Lizzie assured me. "She doesn't pick sides lightly. And neither do I." Her hand found my shoulder, squeezing gently, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of my fears.

"Everything changed when I met Sebastian," I murmured, glancing sideways at her. "I thought he saw me, but all he saw was... control."

"Power is intoxicating," Lizzie said, her voice thick with scorn. "But so is taking it back." Her eyes sparked with a ferocity that warmed me, even as it chilled my blood.

"Taking it back," I echoed, savoring the words like a forbidden fruit, tart and sweet on my tongue. "I'm ready, Liz. I have to be."

"Bravery suits you," she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips.

We reached the end of the corridor, light spilling in from the setting sun, casting long shadows that stretched behind us.

"Tonight, Roanne," Lizzie said, her voice barely above a whisper now, "we begin to write our own verdicts."

"Justice," I breathed out, the word a plea and a promise. "Let's go get it."

Later that evening, the silence in my dorm room was oppressive, stifling even. The kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe but screams at you with the soundlessness of anticipation. I lay on my bed, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling while my mind ran marathons around tonight's Revenge Club meeting. With every tick of the clock, my heartbeat seemed to synchronize, until both sounds melded into a taunting metronome of anxiety.

‘Close your eyes, Roanne,’ I whispered to myself, attempting to coax my body into rest. ‘Just for a bit.’

But the shadows of my closed eyelids were a canvas for unwanted memories—Sebastian's smirking face, his hands, his threats—it was as though he had hijacked my ability to find peace even in slumber. I sat up abruptly, tossing the idea of sleep aside. There was no room for weakness now.

‘Focus,’ I muttered, turning to the fortress of textbooks and notes piled on my desk. My fingers worked mechanically, flipping pages, jotting down formulas, and summarizing articles. The work was grueling but familiar—a welcomed distraction from the storm brewing within me. Each answered question felt like a small victory against the chaos.

‘Drive, Roanne. That's what gets you through,’ I reassured myself, the soft scratching of my pen against paper a soothing counterpoint to my racing thoughts.

Hours—or perhaps only minutes—later, I glanced at the clock and sighed. Time to transform into someone else, someone ready to stand at the precipice of revenge and not flinch at the darkness below.

‘Something fierce,’ I said aloud, rummaging through my wardrobe for the perfect outfit. I settled on a black dress, its fabric hugging my curves like a second skin, and slipped into boots with heels sharp enough to be weapons. The mirror reflected back a version of me that could conquer nightmares—or at least, look the part.

"Ro?" Lizzie's voice cut through the door, pulling me back from my reflection. "You decent?"

"Come in," I called back, applying a final stroke of dark lipstick, the color of resolve.

Lizzie entered, her eyes sweeping over me with approval. "Damn, girl. You're going to start a war looking like that."

"Isn't that the point?" I smirked, feeling the power of transformation. It was armor, this outfit.

"Let's go then. The old library awaits," she said, linking her arm in mine as we descended the stairs.

"Are you nervous?" I asked, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest.

"Always," Lizzie admitted, her grip tightening. "But that's how we know it matters. We're doing something that counts."

"Right," I replied, our footsteps echoing in the empty halls, a march towards an unknown battle. "Something that counts."

Outside, the night had draped the campus in a cloak of possibilities, stars winking high above like silent conspirators to our cause. We walked side by side, as friends who never let each other alone.

The shadows of the old library seemed to curl around us as Lizzie and I slipped through its arched entrance, my heels clicking on the marble floor. The scent of aged paper and forgotten stories infused the air.

"Roanne," came a voice, smooth and low, pulling me from the reverie.

I turned, the room blurring into focus, to find a man leaning against a mahogany bookcase, his dark eyes glinting with a hacker's mischief. "You ready for this?" he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Caleb, you have to introduce yourself first before you ask something like that,” Lizzie shook her head and smiled. “Ro, this is Caleb, the tech magician. He has been a member of the club since his junior, now he is a sophomore like you.”

Caleb smiled and then winked. “Nice to meet you Roanne, and welcome.”

I gave him a small smile. “Thank you Caleb, and nice to meet you too.” I gave him a curt nod and then added. “Yes, I am ready as I'll ever be," I replied to his former question, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Good," he said, pushing off the shelf with a casual grace. "Because tonight's the night we up the ante."

There was a girl at a corner, who was arranging vials in a case. Her quiet intensity was almost tangible, her focus reminiscent of an alchemist perfecting a dangerous elixir. She paused, glanced up, and offered a fleeting smile. "It's all in the chemistry," she murmured, her words a cryptic echo in the vast space.

"Indeed it is," I mused, my gaze running over the coded labels.

Lizzie leaned over and whispered. “That is Nina, she is another member, her third year now. As you can see, she is the Chemist and she is a dangerous weapon.”

I wondered what concoctions she had in store for our targets, what sweet humiliations awaited them at her skilled hands. This was beginning to get exciting.

We were a conclave of people, each of us with our own dark talents, and as we exchanged small talk loaded with undertones of anticipation, I could feel the tension—thick, palpable, a prelude to the storm that was Violet.

Our conversation fell silent as the doors opened with a commanding sweep, and there she stood—Violet Flanagan, the empress of our clandestine empire. The room itself seemed to bow before her presence, the air stilling, the very dust motes halting their dance.

"Welcome, my fellow artisans of justice," she began, her voice slicing through the silence, each word deliberate, weighted with purpose. "Tonight, we embark on a journey that will test our resolve, our cunning, and our loyalty."

She paced slowly, her heels echoing like the ticking of a clock counting down to the hour of reckoning. "Our targets believe they are untouchable, shielded by their power, their wealth, their privilege. But they have not yet felt the sting of our retribution."

My heart raced, thumping a rhythm of dread and excitement. Violet's words painted pictures of downfall and disgrace, scenes where the mighty crumbled under the force of our united front.

"Remember, in our world, it's not about the punishment—it's about the balance. We are the scales, and tonight, we tip them. Every action, every scheme, is a step toward a world where the corrupt fear the shadows… our shadows."

Her eyes met mine, piercing, knowing. There was a wildness there, a ferocity that both terrified and thrilled me. In that moment, I understood the power she wielded—the raw energy of control and seduction that bound us to her cause.

"Prepare yourselves," Violet concluded, her gaze sweeping over each of us. "For tonight, many of you will finally begin to claim more than vengeance; we claim our destiny."

A shiver ran down my spine as her speech settled over us like a vow. This felt no longer like a club; it felt like a covenant, sealed with the promise of justice served cold and merciless. And as the thunder of our hearts filled the room, I knew we were irrevocably changed—disciples of the darkness, with Violet as our unforgiving goddess.

The room's atmosphere shifted palpably as Violet, with a flourish of her hand, silenced the last whispers of conspiracy. "Let the initiation begin," she intoned, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

Caleb and Nina, disciples in their own right, moved with purposeful grace, each cradling a stack of heavy parchment envelopes sealed with dark red wax. Their steps were measured, reverent almost, as they distributed the assignments to each of us—the new blood eager to prove our mettle.

I could see there were five of us, five applicants to this club, and all of us just as nervous and excited.

"Roanne Mailen," Caleb called, his voice low but clear. I reached out, my fingers brushing against his as I accepted the envelope. The contact sent a jolt up my arm—electric, almost forbidden. My name on the envelope was elegantly inscribed, a promise or a threat, I couldn't decide which.

"Open them," Violet commanded from her throne of shadowed knowledge.

With trembling hands, I broke the seal, the wax giving way. Inside, a single sheet of paper lay folded, its contents unknown yet undoubtedly life-altering. The rustle of paper around me was like the fluttering of dark wings in anticipation.

"Read your destiny," Violet urged, eyes glimmering with dark amusement.

Unfolding the paper, I scanned the words that would mark the beginning of my journey into this underworld of retribution. A gasp escaped my lips before I could catch it—the assignment was not at all what I had braced for. It laid out a detailed seduction, a plan so intimate and intricate it was as if Eros himself had whispered the instructions into Violet’s ear.

"Your target, Roanne," Violet's handwriting read, laced with a hint of satisfaction. "Aaron."

My mind reeled; my heart thundered against my ribcage. Aaron, I was to ensnare him, twist him around my finger, but with a far darker outcome. The man who protected Sebastian and helped him get away with everything he did to me.

I kept reading the paper. “To slay the dragon, you have to weaken him; push him away from his allies, and take away his security.”

"Aaron? That’s an interesting choice, but she is absolutely right," Lizzie murmured beside me, her tone empathetic.

"Take away his security, his friend..." The word tasted sweet, yet I felt the weight of it in my soul—a fruit ripe with perilous juice. It made perfect sense.

"Are you ready to show you are in control?" Violet’s question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in velvet.

"Yes," I whispered, more to myself than to her. "I am ready." But was I? Aaron had been a crush of mine long before I met Sebastian, but he had always been out of reach. Now, perhaps, at the same university… yes, I believe it, yes I can seduce him, and push him away from his friend.

Violet smiled, she was like a predator pleased with her protégé's resolve. "Then let the games begin."

And so the meeting closed, with my pulse racing and my fate sealed in the lines of a script written by avenging angels—or demons, depending on one's perspective. The game was set, the pieces in motion, and my next move would change everything.