Dame Wasp: Master, recall us, hurry!
Emi: Recall us, Master!
Ace: Guys, what happened?
Dame Wasp: We got made.
Emi: We felt a very oppressive gaze on us. It must belong to a very strong curse master—they must have tracked us by following the mischief bullet's trajectory.
Ace: Let's continue this later.]
With Dame Wasp's urgent warning, Ace stopped channeling curse energy, allowing the curse concealment art's passive effect to take hold. He had planned to recall them the moment the bullet hit its target. However, witnessing the shocking display of Delores' might had left him frozen, speechless for just a moment—and that was all it took. They'd been compromised.
Now, Ace could only hope the passive concealment would be enough to shield them through the night.
"Ace, the storm has passed," Danny informed, finally summoning the courage to approach his cousin after lingering anxiously with the adults.
"Great. I need to check on Polaris Ranger. Hopefully, it's still there and intact," Ace quipped, feigning nonchalance while glancing at the crowd bottlenecked at the exits. School guards and police officers were removing the barricades blocking the exit and were steadily organizing the evacuation, their stern voices cutting through the agitated murmurs of the mob.
But just as Ace took a step forward, a shrill, piercing scream froze the gymnasium in its tracks. Conversations died mid-sentence, and all heads turned toward the source: a golden-haired, slender beauty standing near the bleachers—Brooke Rockworth.
"My purse is missing!" she cried, her voice trembling with outrage. Her wide, tear-filled eyes darted toward her father. "Daddy, I can't find my purse!"
Breaking into sobs, she wailed, "Someone stole my LV purse! Daddy!"
"Brooke, have you lost your damn mind?!" Mr. Rockworth bellowed, his voice brimming with frustration. His face, already red from stress, grew darker. "It has to be here somewhere! Think, Brooke—where did you leave it last?"
He was yelling not because of the missing purse, but because of the chaotic scene she had caused. Hearing her scream, he had assumed something far more dire had happened. But no—it was a purse.
Turning to the uneasy crowd, he raised his hands in apology. "I'm sorry for the trouble, everyone. Please carry on."
He desperately wanted to avoid angering the edgy crowd any further. But Brooke wasn't finished.
"Daddy, I searched everywhere!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with desperation. "It's really gone! And it had the gold bar you lent me!"
The mention of a gold bar sent an audible ripple of gasps through the crowd. Mr. Rockworth's expression shifted instantly. Panic overtook him as he spun toward the exits. "Don't open those doors yet!" he roared, sprinting toward the officers. "Nobody leaves until my daughter finds her purse!"
The tension in the gym spiked. Conversations erupted in hushed whispers, spreading like wildfire. The police and guards stationed at the exits hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. After all, Mr. Rockworth was a highly influential figure in the community.
But the senior officer in charge remained calm. Raising a hand to signal his men, he instructed them to proceed with the evacuation as planned.
Approaching Mr. Rockworth with a composed demeanor, he said firmly, "Sir, we cannot detain everyone here over a missing purse, even if it has a gold bar as you claim. The law doesn't work that way. Everyone here has their rights in this great country."
Mr. Rockworth opened his mouth to argue, but the officer continued without missing a beat. "However," he added, "I can station officers at each exit to check everyone leaving the gymnasium. We will need your family's assistance. There are three exits in this building. I want one of your family members at each exit to help identify your daughter's bag. Does that sound reasonable to you?"
"Yes, yes! Let's do that. Thank you, Officer Loren. Thank you!" Mr. Rockworth said, his relief evident as his shoulders sagged. His voice softened with gratitude. Talking with officer helped him calm down and think clearly.
"Mom, what the heck is in this bag? It's heavy!" Danny huffed, his arms trembling as he struggled to lift a bulky duffle bag off the floor. His face scrunched with effort, and he shot a baffled look at his mother.
Pam barely glanced up as she adjusted her scarf in front of a nearby mirror. "Just a few items Mommy won in the silent auction and our purses," she replied with an air of nonchalance. She waved a hand toward the thinning crowd near the exits, signaling the family to move along.
Danny staggered forward, nearly losing his balance. "This is not just a few items," he muttered under his breath.
"Here, let me carry it," Ace said, stepping over quickly and taking the bag before Danny dropped it. He adjusted his grip as the weight settled in his hands—this thing was at least 60 to 70 pounds explaining why his cousin struggled.
The Landers made their way to the exit. Just as they left the exit doors, a sharp voice called out, stopping Ace in his tracks. "Son, what's in the bag?"
Ace froze, turning slowly to face a stern-looking police officer. The man's gaze was piercing, his hand hovering near the radio on his belt.
"Problem, Lan?" Dan asked, positioning himself between Ace and the officer. His tone was calm, but his eyes locked onto the officer's with a silent challenge.
"Dan, I'm just doing my job," Officer Loren replied with measured calm. "But without your permission, I can't open the bag. So, do I have it?" His voice was polite but firm, carrying the respect of an old bond. Lan Loren and Daniel Lander had served together in the army, so he extented a professional courtesy.
"I understand," Dan said with a curt nod, but his eyes flicked toward Brooke Rockworth, who was glaring at the duffle bag with sharp intensity. Ignoring her, Dan turned to Ace and commanded, "Open the bag." Had it been Mr. or Mrs. Rockworth, the scene might have played out very differently.
Ace set the duffle bag on the ground, his movements deliberate, and unzipped it. He stepped back, his expression neutral and his muscles relaxed. Officer Loren crouched and began sifting through the contents, pulling out items one by one.
"That's my purse! That's it!" Brooke shrieked, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. She pointed furiously at a Louis Vuitton handbag nestled inside the duffle bag.
The evacuation ground to an immediate halt. Heads turned, and the crowd—momentarily distracted from their exodus—pivoted to gawk at the unfolding drama surrounding the Lander family.
"Ma'am, settle down," Lan Loren said, his tone sharp but professional, though his furrowed brow betrayed his unease. "Others can own the same model handbag." He knew Brooke's claim was unlikely to pan out, but he had to maintain procedure.
Officer Loren reached into the duffle bag and pulled out the handbag. To his surprise, it was heavy. Suspiciously heavy.