Page 13

I should have known Ethan was up to no good.

No one sneaks out of a hotel in the dead of night for wholesome reasons. And yet, when he landed on the ground with catlike ease, stretching like he hadn’t just jumped out a window, the first thing out of his mouth was—

"I’m going for a smoke."

Classic.

I squinted at him. "What?"

"A smoke," Ethan repeated, smirking. "You know, puff-puff, bad-boy aesthetic, etcetera." I swear that smirk was adding up to the no-good fact.

"You—you don’t even smoke!"

"I could start. Or maybe I already have," he said, as if he hadn’t just confessed to a felony against his lungs.

I gawked at him. "Do you know how dangerous smoking is?"

He groaned. "Clark—"

"Do you want to shrivel up into a prune by age twenty-five? Do you want your lungs to look like overcooked steak? You already suck as a person, but do you really want to suck at breathing too?"

Ethan stared.

"Also," I continued, "you of all people should not be talking about putting foreign substances into your body. You’re a quarterback. And you know… demons are extra flammable."

He rolled his eyes. "I was joking, nerd. I just want snacks."

I crossed my arms. "You lied to me?”

"I bluffed," Ethan corrected. "Huge difference."

I didn’t have the energy to argue let alone with a demon. FYI, Demons rarely lose in argument.

"Where are you even getting snacks from?"

"The petrol station down the road."

"The what?"

"Petrol station."

"We are in the middle of nowhere."

Ethan shrugged. "Magic. Civilization. Whatever. You coming or what?"

I sighed, rubbing my face. "As if I have another option. Principal Catherine said I need to keep an eye on you, and you just set off every single warning bell in my brain."

Ethan grinned. "I do have that effect on people."

I groaned, avoiding that pair of blue eyes, and followed him.

The walk to the petrol station was surprisingly normal. No eldritch horrors. No supernatural disasters. Just me and my poor life choices.

The petrol station itself was dimly lit, mostly empty, and smelled like old coffee and bad decisions. The only other occupant was a grumpy-looking cashier who barely acknowledged us.

Ethan went straight for the vending machine. He inserted a coin, pressed the button, and—

Nothing.

His bag of chips refused to fall. Should have known the rickety thing was a con in disguise.

He stared at it like it had personally offended him.

"Uh," I said, "I think you—"

Ethan clenched his fist. Before I could even digest what he was about to do, he had already slammed the hell out of the machine.

Two bags of chips fell out.

One of them much more expensive than the one he had paid for.

I sighed. "Of course."

And then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

An alarm.

Because apparently, this petrol station took its snack security very seriously.

I turned to Ethan, horrified. "Did you just steal a bag of chips?!"

"It’s not stealing," Ethan said, already backing away. "It’s winning."

The doors slammed open, and in stomped the single angriest old man I had ever seen in my life. He was massive, built like a retired minotaur, and had a belly that jiggled with every step.

"WHO’S STEALIN’ FROM MY MACHINE?!" he roared.

"Sir—" I began, raising my hands. "We can explain!"

"YOU DARN KIDS!"

Ethan took one look at him—then at me—then back at the old man.

And ran.

I had approximately half a second to process that before the old man bellowed, "I’M CALLIN’ THE COPS!"

Which, for the record, was a completely disproportionate response to a vending machine malfunction.

I should have stayed and explained everything. I should have been the responsible one.

Instead, I panicked—and ran after Ethan.

So, there we were.

Two teenage boys, sprinting through the empty streets of a magical town at one in the morning, Ethan clutching a bag of chips like his life depended on it.

Behind us, the old man wheezed and yelled. "COME BACK HERE, YOU THIEVING brATS!"

"I tried to explain!" I hissed at Ethan.

"Yeah, and I tried to get a normal snack, but life doesn’t work that way, Clark!"

"You committed a crime!"

"An accidental crime!"

"You still RAN!"

"Well, yeah!"

I had so many regrets. So, so many.

And the worst part?

Ethan was laughing.

Like this was the funniest thing in the world.

Like we weren’t being chased by an old man with a vendetta against snack thieves.

"Stop enjoying this," I snapped, nearly tripping over my own feet.

"Lighten up, Clark," Ethan said, grinning. "Live a little."

"I AM LIVING," I gasped. "I AM LIVING THE NIGHTMARE OF BAD DECISIONS AND CRIMINAL ACTIVITY!"

He didn't respond. Instead, he grinned as we took a sharp turn down an alley. I nearly toppled into a stack of crates. Damn. The old man cursed behind us, his footsteps slowing.

We reached a wall.

A very tall wall.

I turned to Ethan, still panting. "Fix this."

"I am fixing this."

"How?!"

Ethan smirked—and then, with the effortless grace of someone who definitely did illegal things on a regular basis, he leapt onto the wall and pulled himself up.

"What the—?!"

"Come on, nerd," he said. "Climb."

"I am not built for this!"

But the sound of the old man approaching made my decision for me. With every ounce of willpower, I grabbed onto the rough bricks, scrambled up like an oversized raccoon, and barely pulled myself over the edge before the old man reached us.

We landed on the other side in a heap.

The old man yelled something, shaking his fist. But thankfully, he didn’t follow.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

And then—

Ethan, still flat on his back, held up the stolen chips.

"Totally worth it," he wheezed.

I groaned, rolling over. "I hate you so much."

Ethan just chuckled. "We should do this again sometime."

I stared at him.

"Absolutely not."

Ethan and I didn’t stop running until the petrol station was a distant memory, our lungs burning from exertion and possibly guilt. Or at least my lungs were burning from guilt—Ethan seemed just fine. In fact, he was thrilled.

“That,” he gasped between laughs, “was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

I glared at him. “You stole a bag of chips.”

“It’s not stealing if the universe gives it to you.”

“You hit the vending machine!”

“And it rewarded me.”

Before I could continue yelling at him, something caught my eye—a giant screen flickering in the distance, casting dim, colorful light across a vast parking lot.

A drive-in movie theater.

Except there were barely any cars, and the ones that were there looked like they’d been abandoned since the dawn of time. The film playing on the screen was some kind of fantasy epic, complete with dragons, glowing swords, and a ridiculously dramatic soundtrack.

“Whoa,” Ethan said, slowing down. “Movie night.”

I huffed. “We don’t have a car.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Technicality.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, are we going to hotwire one?”

“No,” Ethan said, grinning. “We’re going to improvise.”

I had a bad feeling about this.

I followed him and his idea of “improvising” was climbing onto the roof of the rustiest, most questionably stable car in the back of the lot.

“This is definitely illegal,” I muttered as I settled beside him, half-expecting the car to collapse under our weight.

Ethan shrugged and tore open the bag of chips—the chips. The ones we had technically acquired through mild criminal activity. He popped one into his mouth, completely unbothered by the whole ordeal.

1, 2,3,4—breathe.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. “So let me get this straight. We ran from an old man, jumped over a wall, and are now sitting on top of a stranger’s car watching a movie we can barely see?”

Ethan crunched his chip. “Sounds about right.”

There were so many ways my life could have gone. So many better choices I could have made. And yet, here I was, sharing a stolen snack with the world’s most irresponsible demon.

The movie flickered on, the dialogue barely audible from this far back.

I could make out the general plot—a hero on a quest, a wise old mentor, an ominous villain with an even more ominous laugh.

The CGI dragon looked particularly fake.

No real dragons could maneuver like that, but Ethan still watched it like it was the most gripping thing he’d ever seen.

At some point, he nudged me with his elbow. “Hey. Want some? Or are chips also as lethal as smoke?”

I shrugged then stared at the open bag of chips. The criminal chips.

I hesitated.

Then, with the heaviest sigh of my life, I took one.

Ethan grinned. “See? Crime tastes delicious.”

I wanted to argue. I really did. But as I sat there, watching a movie on a barely visible screen, stealing bites from a stolen snack, I had to admit...

This wasn’t the worst way to spend the night.