"Your left boot," Stone noted. "The Lace is frayed. Safety Protocol 12-B explicitly states that uniform integrity must be maintained to prevent tripping hazards during pursuit."
Krell looked down. "It's a shoelace."
"It's a liability," Stone corrected. He clicked his pen. "I'm going to have to write you up. Just doing my job. We wouldn't want you to trip and fall while oppressing the student body, would we?"
Krell growled low in his throat. "I don't have time for this."
"Safety takes time," Stone said, stepping closer. He smiled—that sharp, dangerous wolf smile that reminded everyone he used to be the Captain of the Guard. "Don't look at me like that, Krell. I'm just being helpful. Unless... are you resisting safety compliance?"
Krell hesitated. His programming was simple: Enforce Order. Resisting a safety protocol was Disorder. His zombie-brain short-circuited.
"Write the ticket," Krell grunted.
"Excellent," Stone said cheerfully. "Name? Badge number? Date regarding your last tetanus shot?"
All over campus, similar scenes played out.
Vampires were holding doors open for Enforcers—and then refusing to walk through until the Enforcer went first ("Age before beauty, officer!").
Werewolves were offering carry heavy equipment for patrols ("It looks heavy! Let me help! Oh no, I dropped it!").
Fae were offering "complimentary uniform adjustments" that turned the Enforcer suits neon pink ("It improves visibility! Safety first!").
By noon, the Enforcers had retreated to their barracks. They couldn't fight. They couldn't intimidate. They were being smothered by aggressive kindness.
"We're winning," Rhett said, meeting me for lunch.
We were having a picnic on the snowy quad because the cafeteria was still a flower-jungle (which, honestly, was an improvement). Rhett had brought sandwiches he'd smuggled from the town nearby.
"The system is grinding to a halt," he said, handing me a turkey club. "Marrow hasn't left his office in four hours. Rumor has it he's trying to shred the incident reports, but they multiply."
"Arthur is a genius," I said, taking a bite. "Who knew the most dangerous weapon on campus wasn't a sword or a spell, but a clipboard?"
"The pen is mightier than the sword," Lucien quoted, leaning against the tree next to us. He was reading a book of poetry, looking unbothered by the cold. "Especially when the pen is used to fill out four thousand irrelevant forms regarding leaf growth."
"Where is Arthur?" I asked.
"Archives," Rhett said. "He and Amelia are... coordinating."
I raised an eyebrow. "Coordinating?"
"They're color-coding the next wave of forms," Rhett grinned. "Amelia suggested using scented paper to give Marrow a migraine. Lavender for 'Level 1', Patchouli for 'Level 2'."
"Evil," I laughed. "I love it."
It felt good to laugh. It felt good to win, even if the victory was petty. Even if it was just annoyance.
For weeks, we had been terrified. We had been running, hiding, fighting for our lives.
But today? Today we were just annoying college students. We were reclaiming our power, one bureaucratic form at a time.
"He's going to snap," Lucien said quietly, turning a page. "He can't handle being mocked. It challenges his narcissism."
"Let him snap," Rhett said, his eyes hardening. "When he snaps, he makes mistakes. And when he makes a mistake..."
He let the sentence hang in the air.
"We'll be ready," I finished.
