Page 40

CLARK'S POV

I took the blame for everything. The sneaking out, the poor recordings, the curfew break, even the missing camera—I owned it all.

Principal Catherine didn’t ask too many questions, just narrowed her eyes like she already knew the truth but was tired of chasing it.

I guess someone had to be the scapegoat, and since I was the one who was supposed to be “responsible,” it made sense.

Shun and Joy argued, but what's done is done.

So here I am, serving a month of after-school detention while the rest of them go on like nothing happened. Maybe I was stupid for doing it, but at least they’re all off the hook. That’s what the “responsible” ones do, right? They take the hit so everyone else walks free.

I turned around to see if there was anyone else in detention. There wasn't. Not even the detention teacher. I must’ve lost track of time, gnawing into that new alchemy book—half distracted, half obsessed. Again.

By the time I left the room, the sky had dimmed into a shade that looked like it couldn’t make up its mind—somewhere between purple bruises and a dying orange glow.

The janitor didn’t even bother pretending to mop anymore; he just gave me a look that said “Again?” and shook his head. I didn’t explain. I never did.

So, I walk over the slightly damp floor, and he shot me an annoyed look—a mix of “what the hell?” and “why do I even bother?” The mop just hangs there in his hand like a prop in a play he’d long since stopped acting in.

I give him a nod. Like an apology.

He sighed through his nose, muttering something that sounded like my name but drowned in sarcasm, and turned back to his bucket.

I kept walking. Head down. Hands in my pockets.

The truth? I didn’t have to stay after detention. Most of the assignments I was "catching up on" were already done. But lately, drowning in work felt safer than surfacing for air. Safer than facing my thoughts. Safer than… facing him.

I trudged toward the parking lot, muscles stiff from too many hours hunched over a desk. The school was mostly empty by now—just a few scattered voices echoing down the halls, probably a drama club rehearsal or some overly enthusiastic debate kids. The usual.

Then I saw him.

Ethan.

Standing at the far edge of the parking lot, framed by the soft hum of the parking lights. Leaning on his new car, chatting with Max. Like his entire existence wasn’t currently rotting the edges of my mind.

My stomach clenched, but I didn’t stop walking.

I didn’t wave.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t look too long.

Because looking meant acknowledging. And acknowledging meant caring. And caring was a luxury I could no longer afford.

He was the reason I stayed behind every day, the reason my fingers ached from typing essays that didn’t need to exist, the reason I buried myself in numbers and pages and rules—things that made sense.

Because he didn’t make sense.

Not anymore.

I kept my eyes fixed on the sidewalk, focusing on the sound of my own footsteps, the scuff of rubber soles against old concrete, the scratch of my bag zipper tapping against my side. All very mundane. All very manageable.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Behind me.

I didn’t look. Of course I didn’t. Why would I? I already knew who it was.

Ethan.

He knew I was ignoring him. He knew I didn't want to talk to him. He knew I didn't even want to see him.

I rolled my eyes and kept walking.

“Go away,” I muttered under my breath. Not loud enough for anyone to hear. Not even myself.

But the footsteps didn’t stop.

In fact, they got louder.

Heavier.

Closer.

I felt my pulse flicker uneasily.

Okay. Still probably Ethan. Just being annoying. That was his thing, wasn’t it? Being larger than life. Being the sun in everyone’s sky, and a migraine in mine.

I clenched my jaw and powered forward.

I didn’t want to deal with his sudden bursts of charm, his half-hearted attempts at being nice.

He’d already said enough.

“Seriously, Ethan,” I snapped, louder this time, the tension in my shoulders sharp and brittle. “Just leave me alone.”

No answer.

But the footsteps… they didn’t slow.

They were practically on top of me now. Almost overlapping mine.

The air felt… off. Denser. Like walking through soup.

That’s when I knew—really knew—something wasn’t right.

I stopped walking.

And for a heartbeat, the world held its breath with me.

Then I turned around.

I shouldn’t have.

Instinct told me not to. That primal whisper in the gut that only surfaces when something terrible is about to happen. But I turned anyway.

And then—darkness.

A coarse, musty sack slammed over my head, yanked down with such force I stumbled back. Hands—too strong, too cold—clamped around my arms, holding me in place.

The world blurred into chaos. My breath hitched. Panic rushed through my veins like venom.

Then, a voice.

Low. Familiar.

Too familiar.

“I knew you’d come out eventually, boy.”

No.

No.

No.

That voice had haunted the cracks in my dreams for years. That same rasp—the demon hollowed out like something unholy.

My stepfather.

The glowing-eyed demon that was supposed to be dead years ago.

And now, here he was. Gripping me like he never left.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. The weight of every bad memory collapsed in on me, wrapping around my lungs, squeezing—

Then boom.

A grunt. A crash. The hands on me vanished.

Light tore through the sack as it was ripped off, and I squinted into the sudden exposure, blinking hard—

And there was Ethan.

Ethan—tackling the demon like a linebacker on a mission, both of them crashing to the ground with enough force to shake my bones.

Rain began to fall—light at first, then relentless—as photographs slipped from my stepdad’s pockets. All of me. Sleeping. Laughing. Walking alone. Each one a stolen moment from the trip.

I stumbled back, half-dazed, my legs like jelly.

The scene before me was an absurd collage of reality and nightmare—Ethan, all muscle and instinct, fists swinging, eyes wild. My stepdad, snarling like an animal, inhuman strength pushing back.

“Clark, RUN!” Ethan shouted between gritted teeth, blood on his lip, fury in his voice.

But I didn’t run.

I couldn’t.

I stood there like a statue cracked down the middle, heart in freefall. As my clothes soaked in all the rain.

Ethan wrestled my stepdad to the ground, but the demon twisted beneath him, one clawed hand gripping Ethan’s shoulder and flipping him hard onto the pavement.

Ethan groaned, pinned.

My stepdad crouched above him, a shadow with teeth.

And then something changed.

Ethan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if he was calling to something beyond himself. Then—glow.

A soft, aquatic light pulsed from the center of his forehead, just above his brow. Like the sea had left a fingerprint there.

An ancient symbol. One I recognized. The Neravine’s blessing.

But it felt old. Sacred. And powerful.

My stepdad recoiled.

Ethan's eyes snapped open, brighter somehow, fiercer.

And with an unnatural grace, he twisted beneath the weight of the monster, his hands catching the creature’s arm, flipping him like it was nothing. Ethan moved like the ocean—fluid, impossible to stop.

He pinned the demon down with a strength that wasn’t just muscle anymore. It was divine.

The symbol on his forehead flared, and my stepfather let out a cry that sounded part beast, part man—then collapsed.

Silent.

Still.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Tires screeched against the wet asphalt.

Rain hammered the pavement, slick and shining like a mirror to the chaos.

Max’s voice rang out, distant but unmistakable. “Clark?!”

I barely processed it. The cold had sunk into my bones. My legs nearly gave out.

Police officers stormed in like a scene from a crime drama—guns drawn, flashlights cutting through the rain like blades.

Max reached me first, drops streaming down his face like sweat. He grabbed my shoulders. “Hey. Hey, you okay? I've called your mom.”

I couldn’t answer. My voice was somewhere buried in my throat, soaked and drowning.

Then—her voice.

Soft. Breaking.

“Clark…”

I turned.

My mom.

Whole. Alive.

Tears mixing with rain. Hair plastered to her face. Breath ragged, like she’d clawed her way out of a grave and ran through a storm just to get to me.

We didn’t say anything.

She just pulled me into her arms, and I let her.

For a second.

Just one.

I closed my eyes, let the rain fall over us, tried to memorize the feeling.

But when I opened them again—

Ethan was gone.

No goodbye.

No smug comment. No “you owe me one.” Not even a glance over his shoulder.

Just... vanished.

Like the rain had washed him away.

I wanted to chase after him. Say something. Anything.

But my voice was still gone.

And so was he.