Page 31

Now, there we were.

One monster led us (the huge one). The other two followed behind, making sure we didn’t even think about running.

Their presence pressed against me like an invisible noose—suffocating and unnatural.

I heard the wet, shifting sounds of their ever-morphing flesh, the way their claws scraped lightly against the pavement as they moved.

The alley stank of damp rot, salt, and something else—something sickly sweet, like burnt sugar and decay. A scent I recognized.

Demonic energy—thick and cloying, curling around my senses like smoke.

"Ethan," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What’s happening?"

His grip on my wrist tightened. He didn’t answer immediately. Ethan—the one who always had something witty, sarcastic, or outright irritating to say—was silent.

Then, his voice came, low and strained. "Remember something you said about running away from something only keeps it chasing you?"

My stomach knotted. I remembered. I told him once that running away from problems never stops them from chasing you. That the only thing one could do was face them.

Ethan exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Well, it's my dad."

I stopped walking.

It was instinctive. My body refused to take another step, my brain still trying to process the weight of those words.

But the monsters didn’t stop. The one behind me nudged me forward—no, not a nudge.

A warning. Its clawed hand barely grazed my back, and a cold, unnatural chill spread across my spine where it touched.

I swallowed hard and moved.

His father. The one he was ignoring calls from. The one he never wanted to talk about. The one that sent that message in the morning.

We stepped out of the alley, back into the blinding glow of the town lights. The bass from the bar still thrummed in the air, the sound almost mocking now—a reminder of how normal the night seemed only moments ago.

Then, I saw it.

The most expensive convoy I had ever laid eyes on.

It stretched along the curb in a perfect, polished display of wealth and power. Black cars, sleek and armored, their tinted windows gleaming under the neon signs. But it wasn’t the luxury that made my skin crawl.

It was the presence sourcing from them.

Even from here, I could feel it. The raw, suffocating force of something ancient, something powerful, lurking beneath the surface.

And then, my eyes landed on the one car that stood out from the rest.

It was different—not just in price, but in feeling. The energy brimming inside it pulsed like a living thing, pressing against my senses, whispering in a language only demons and those who suffered under them could understand.

That was the car.

The one where Ethan’s father waited.

I glanced at Ethan. His jaw was clenched so tight I saw the muscles twitching. His usual smug, reckless expression was gone. He looked… different.

Smaller, somehow.

I didn’t know much about his past. Ethan never talked about it. Not in any real detail. He joked, he dodged, he deflected. But right now, standing here, with the weight of his father’s presence looming over him, I realized something.

Ethan wasn’t just afraid.

He was terrified.

The lead monster stopped walking. The other two closed in behind us, their shifting, liquid-like flesh making that horrible sound again. Like something slithering inside them was trying to push free.

A door opened.

Not the front.

The back.

The air changed instantly, thickening, darkening. The noise from the town—cars, music, voices—dulled, like the world itself was recoiling.

A figure stepped out.

I didn’t breathe.

Ethan went rigid beside me.

The man—if you could call him that—moved with an effortless grace, his presence so commanding that even the monsters seemed to shrink in his wake. He was tall, his suit impossibly tailored, his every movement deliberate. Shadows clung to him unnaturally, distorting the space around him.

And then, I saw his eyes.

Golden.

Not like Ethan’s. Not like the monsters. Not like ones of a person that was almost dying.

Brighter. Deeper. Swirling with something that looked like fire but felt like something far worse.

My fingers twitched at my sides, instinct screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something.

But I didn’t move.

Because he was looking at me now.

And then—he smiled.

Not a normal smile.

A slow, knowing, razor-sharp curve of the lips.

Like he had already won.

Like he had been expecting me.

Like I was exactly where he wanted me to be.

Ethan inhaled shakily beside me.

“Son.”

One word. Soft. Almost amused. And somehow, it was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard.

Ethan stiffened like the sound reached somewhere old in him. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t make fists. Not yet.

“Seriously?” he scoffed. “That’s it? No shadowy lectures? No vague riddles in whatever language you speak? Just ‘Son’? ”

His father tilted his head—just enough to feel deliberate. “Would you prefer the usual… preparations?”

Ethan let out a dry laugh that sounded more like a curse. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m good without the robes and firelight.”

The air thickened, like something unsaid had just filled the space between us. The monsters stayed where they were—silent, still, watching. Like they were waiting for a signal I couldn’t hear.

His father sighed, adjusting his cuffs like we were boring him. “Ethan. I didn’t come to argue.”

“Oh, of course not,” Ethan said, all venomous calm. “You just brought your entourage for… emotional support?”

He gestured to the creatures. None of them moved. They didn’t have to.

“If this is your idea of a family visit, it’s about a decade late,” Ethan added. “But hey—glad to know I still fit in the calendar. Right between ‘Summon the Void’ and ‘Sacrifice the creatures,’ I assume?”

A flicker of something passed through his father’s eyes—something gold, then gone.

“I came,” he said quietly, “because you’re turning seventeen. That means something.” Ethan’s laugh cracked this time, like it hurt. “Yeah? To who exactly?”

No answer.

His father stood there, still as stone, as if movement would break some ancient rule.

“You don’t get to show up once every blood moon and pretend this is normal,” Ethan said, the sharp edges of his voice trying to hide the tremble. “You don’t get to say my name like it means something to you now.”

His father’s expression didn’t change.

“You know why I wasn’t there,” he said, quieter than before.

Ethan’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. You were busy with your… commitments.” His voice curled around the word like it tasted rotten. “Must be nice. Having something more important than your own son.”

His father didn’t blink. Didn’t deny it. Didn't move.

And then Ethan did what he always did when things got too real.

He left.

He stormed off, shoving past me so hard I nearly stumbled. His pace was quick, his body tense like a live wire about to snap. He didn’t even look back.

The monsters turned toward him, ready to drag him back—but with a single flick of Ethan’s dad’s arm, they froze. A silent summons to his puppets.

Silence stretched between me and Ethan’s father.

Then, casually—like none of that had just happened—he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys and held them out to me.

"I brought Ethan a gift," he said, his tone disturbingly smooth. "I trust you’ll give it to him."

I stared at the keys, then at him. Then back at the keys.

The weight of this moment pressed down on me. This wasn’t just a birthday present. This was something else. Some twisted attempt at control, at reasserting dominance after Ethan had refused to play along.

I didn’t want to touch them.

But I did.

I took them from his outstretched hand, the metal cool and unfamiliar in my palm. They were just keys. Metal and memory. But in that moment, they felt like a curse passed down by a devil who never raised his voice.

And then, without another word, I turned away.

I pushed the keys into Max’s hand—because if anyone would have loved holding onto an expensive demon car, it was him—and I ran after Ethan.

I told myself I followed him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. But maybe I just wanted to be there for him.

Because as much as I hated him sometimes…

He was still… my friend.

And right now, he needed someone. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

I caught up to him sitting on the pier, his back hunched slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out at the water. He didn’t acknowledge me, but I knew he had noticed. Ethan wasn’t the type to miss things—especially not when someone was near him.

Still, he didn’t speak.

I hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and lowering myself onto the wooden planks beside him. The pier creaked slightly under my weight, but otherwise, it was quiet. Just the distant hum of the town behind us, the rhythmic crashing of waves, and the occasional cry of a seagull overhead.

Silence stretched between us.

Ethan was good at this—locking himself away when things got too heavy. He didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. Not like me. He let them fester, let them build until they either rotted or exploded into something reckless.

I didn’t know what to say.

Part of me figured it wasn’t my place to say anything.

His father showing up like that, sending those creatures after us, handing me the keys to a car like that would somehow fix things—it was all too much.

Too complicated. And if there was one thing Ethan hated, it was being reminded of things he couldn’t control.

I had learned that just by being with him.

But I also knew that if I let the silence stretch too long, he’d fall deeper into his own head. And maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to leave him alone with whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I said something stupid.

Something completely unrelated.

Something about the seagulls being loud as hell or how the air smelled too much like fish this early in the morning. Maybe even something about the weirdest thing I had ever seen in a documentary.

For a second, I thought he wouldn’t respond.

Then, he let out a soft chuckle. Barely there, but real.

I glanced at him, surprised, but didn’t comment on it.

Instead, I leaned back on my hands, looking out at the ocean with him. The horizon was shifting, the dark night giving way to soft streaks of pink and gold as the sun slowly rose. The water shimmered, reflecting the changing sky, stretching endlessly before us.

Then, suddenly, Ethan shifted beside me, the wooden planks of the pier creaking under his weight.

I kept my gaze fixed on the horizon, pretending I didn’t feel the subtle shift in the air between us.

The sun was still dragging itself above the water, casting hues of gold over the rippling ocean and painting everything like it meant to start over.

Then, he moved closer. Just slightly. His shoulder brushed mine.

I froze.

Not visibly—hopefully—but inside, my thoughts scrambled like spilled marbles. I could hear my pulse in my ears, loud and obnoxious. Too close, too close, every part of me whispered, but louder still was the part that didn’t hate it.

He leaned in.

His head settled gently on my shoulder, like it belonged there. Like I was something soft, not sharp-edged and awkward. His warmth soaked through my sleeve. The pier groaned below us again, as if to say ‘this is real.’

I stared forward, afraid to move. Afraid if I did, I’d ruin it—or worse, he’d pull away.

I tried to breathe in, but my lungs felt stuck. I exhaled instead—quiet, controlled. Not a sigh. A choice.

Ethan didn’t speak again. Neither did I. The ocean handled that part—lapping against the pier with soft, rhythmic hushes. It was easier, somehow, to be quiet with him than to talk to anyone else.

So, I didn’t run. I didn’t panic.

I let him stay.