CHAPTER EIGHT — The Whisper Network

The moment Dante stepped through the gates, heads turned. Conversations paused. Bags rustled. The quiet that followed wasn’t respect — it was curiosity sharpened into suspicion.

LD drifted beside him, hands casually in his hoodie.

“You feel that?” he murmured.
“That’s you trending in real life.”

Dante ignored him and walked deeper into the building, though every step felt like pushing through thick fog.

St. Peter’s always buzzed, but today the buzz swarmed around one target — him.

Near the lockers, a crowd of Year Tens huddled close.

“—nah, bro, he really did it—”

“He pulled up at Kade’s HOUSE—”

“My cousin said he used to be in some street crew—”

“You see the scars? Man’s not normal.”

Dante brushed past them, head down, jaw tight.

LD chuckled.
“You’re becoming folklore, big man.”

Dante kept walking.

Down the hall, a trio of Year Eleven girls whispered behind open English textbooks.

“Swear he’s buff.”
“Buff but dangerous.”
“Buff and dangerous is the best combo, though.”

One of them made eye contact with Dante, went red, and snapped her textbook shut.

He sighed.

Being feared was one thing.
Being idolised by hormonal teenagers was complicated.

The staffroom felt worse.

Miss Harper gave him a polite wave.
Mr Patel avoided eye contact, pretending to be fascinated by a stapler.
Two lunchtime supervisors whispered over teacups until they realised he was entering — then immediately switched topics.

Hale didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Aaliyah arrived late, hair tied in a neat bun, glasses sliding down her nose. She smiled in Dante’s direction, began walking over — then slowed when she caught the whispers humming behind her.

She still sat beside him, but there was hesitation in her posture.
Distance in her eyes.

LD raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. She heard something.”

Dante didn’t respond.

He felt the gap widening.
He felt the room watching it.

In Year Ten English, Dante sat at the back while the supply teacher struggled with the projector.

Destiny twisted around in her seat, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Sir,” she whispered loudly, “why you moving all mysterious today?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious how?”

“Like you buried someone on the weekend mysterious.”

The class snickered.

Dante gave her a slow, tired glare.

Destiny blinked, then her expression softened unexpectedly.

“…Sir? Are you okay?”

He didn’t expect that switch.
He didn’t expect to feel seen.

“I’m fine,” he said.

She stared at him as if weighing the truth.

“No you’re not,” she murmured.

He looked away.

LD sat on the windowsill, swinging his legs.
“Told you. Kids pick up everything.”

During corridor duty, a tall Year Ten boy stepped in front of Dante, chest puffed out for an audience.

“So what, sir? You think you’re top dog now?”

His friends snickered.

Dante didn’t speak.
Didn’t break eye contact.
Didn’t blink.

Just stared.

Slow.
Steady.
Silent.

The boy’s façade cracked like a cheap phone screen.

“You don’t scare me—” he started again.

Dante took one step forward.

“I’m not here to scare you,” he said calmly.
“I’m here to make sure people can get to class.
Move.”

The boy stepped aside instantly.

His friends evaporated.

LD clapped sarcastically.
“Graceful. Like a lion reminding a fox who runs the jungle.”

Inside, Dante didn’t feel like a lion.

He felt like someone holding back a tide with his bare hands.

Dante sat alone at the back of the canteen.

He picked at a sandwich he didn’t want.
Noise pulsed around him — laughter, shouting, chairs scraping — but none of it touched him.

Across the hall, a Year Seven squeaked:

“Sir’s basically Batman but from Birmingham, innit.”

A few older boys nodded with reverence.

“Yeah, man’s patterned.”
“He sorted that knife thing.”
“He proper looks after everyone.”

Dante lowered his eyes.

He didn’t deserve praise.
Didn’t want it.

Destiny approached with a tray and shoved half her chicken burger on his plate.

“Eat,” she commanded.
“You look like someone unplugged your soul.”

Dante blinked.
“…Thanks.”

“Don’t make it weird,” she said, walking off.

LD smirked.
“She likes you.”

“She annoys me.”

“Same thing.”

Dante almost smiled.

Almost.

In the corridor after lunch, the lights flickered.

Not random.
Not faulty wiring.

Twice.
Exactly twice.

LD materialised instantly, posture tense.

“You feel that?”

A cold patch swept across Dante’s shoulder like breath.

A locker door creaked open at the far end of the corridor.

No students nearby.

No wind.

Just… intention.

Dante froze.

“That ain’t me,” LD murmured.
“Something else is here.”

Dante’s throat tightened.

“What?”

LD didn’t answer.

Which was worse.

Aaliyah caught Dante after last period, her voice soft, hesitant.

“Dante… can we talk?”

He followed her into a small resources room.
Dusty shelves.
Old worksheets.
A single flickering bulb.

She shut the door gently.

“I’m hearing things,” she began.
“About you.”

Dante stared at the floor.

“About Friday. About Mr Kade.
About… your past.”

He didn’t speak.

She swallowed.
“I didn’t want to believe any of it.
But I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t.”

“Does it matter?” Dante said quietly.

“Yes,” she whispered.
“Because I need to know who I’m trusting.”

The words stung more than shouting ever could.

He forced himself to meet her eyes.

“I didn’t hurt him,” Dante said.
“I would never hurt a teacher.”

“But you used to hurt people?” she asked softly.

Silence.

The kind that stripped you bare.

She stepped closer.
Not accusing.
Just human.

“I’m not judging,” she said.
“I’m trying to understand.”

But Dante saw it — the flicker of fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear of not knowing him.

He exhaled.

“I’m still working out who I am,” he said.
“Every day.”

She nodded, her expression softening.

“I want to believe in you,” she murmured.
“I really do.”

When she left, the room felt colder.

LD moved beside him, voice unusually gentle.

“She wants the truth.
But you’re still scared of it.”

Dante didn’t deny it.

When the building emptied, Dante wandered into the gym and sat on the bleachers.

The silence pressed on him.

All the rumours.
The whispers.
The stares.
The doubts.
The ghosts.

He felt it all at once.

LD sat beside him, posture relaxed but eyes sad.

“You’re allowed to feel it,” LD said softly.
“You’re human. Stop pretending you’re bulletproof.”

Dante rested his elbows on his knees.

“What if they’re right?” he murmured.
“What if I haven’t changed as much as I think?”

LD nudged him.

“Change ain’t about spotless history.
It’s about what you choose now.”

A sound echoed through the empty hall —
a locker slamming shut in the corridor.

No wind.
No students.

Just the building watching him.

Listening.

Dante lifted his head slowly.

The storm wasn’t done.

It was only learning his name.