Erica was older than him, about the same height as those jerks.
Randy remembered her in a private school uniform. Her shirt was hacked short, and her bow was swapped for a tie. Tall and cool, she was like the queen of high school.
She seemed to be glowing, and his eyes sparked.
She frowned. "You've got guts to mess with my guy on my turf."
Raised tough by Caleb, she had gotten real skills, not showy stuff.
Those punks didn't even graze her. She flipped one over her shoulder, then kicked the rest down one by one.
For the first time, Randy thought a girl fighting could look so cool.
'If you could show up now like back then, how great would that be?'
His eyelids got heavy. He could barely keep them open.
He knew she couldn't swoop in to save him like before.
She didn't know Louis, but the boy in the photo holding a trophy? That was Randy.
She passed her phone to Marion, who was as clueless.
Jordan went on, "I found more. When Randy was little, he trained abroad in programs customized by Enoch. One part was a brutal week-long test. Out of 100 kids, only one wins. Every year, the winners turn into top dogs in the field. Randy won 17 years ago. The word is that he took down a kid seven years older. It's sparse, mostly overseas stuff. He didn't stay long."
Debra froze. "We had no idea."
"No clue why he hid it," Jordan said. "But I'd bet he's fine. The Illuminati's head is Enoch, after all."

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