Morning came too softly for Ethan.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. The events of the night before replayed in fragments — the mask, the wind, the moment of recognition that refused to settle properly in his head.
Dawson Daniel Reeve.
The name felt heavier in daylight.
When he finally stepped into the kitchen, Clara was already there, hair tied back loosely, scrolling through her phone with a mug in hand. She looked… normal. Too normal for someone who usually had something to say about everything.
Ethan didn't sit.
"Clara," he said.
She glanced up. "Good morning to you too."
He didn't smile.
"You know something," he said quietly.
Her brow furrowed. "About what?"
"About him."
The joking tone dropped from her face. She set the mug down slowly. "Ethan…"
"No," he interrupted. "You always know something. You're always two steps ahead. I just want to know why."
She searched his face, really searched it this time. Then she shook her head.
"I don't," she said.
He laughed once — short, disbelieving. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Silence stretched between them.
"You're telling me," Ethan said slowly, "that you don't know why Dawson Reeve has been circling my life like I'm some unpaid debt?"
Clara folded her arms. "I didn't even know his full name until you said it."
That made Ethan pause.
She continued, more serious now. "I knew someone was watching. I knew someone was stepping in when things got dangerous. But the why?" She shook her head again. "This is the first time I'm just as blind as you."
Ethan turned away, running a hand through his hair.
"For once," she added softly, "I don't have an answer."
That unsettled him more than anything else had.
Clara walked closer. "Ethan… whatever this is, it's older than us. And if I don't know, that means it was never meant for me."
He exhaled slowly.
"So I'm the only one left in the dark," he muttered.
Clara didn't argue.
She just watched him, realizing something she didn't like at all.
This wasn't curiosity anymore.
Whatever Dawson Reeve was protecting Ethan from…
it was finally ready to step into the light.
Ethan didn't sleep.
Morning arrived like an interruption rather than relief. By the time the city was fully awake, he was already outside, jacket thrown on, moving with purpose instead of direction.
He went straight to Clara.
She was in her usual spot, leaning against the railing outside the building, coffee untouched beside her. She looked up when she saw him and immediately knew this wasn't one of his joking visits.
"We need to talk," Ethan said.
That alone made her straighten.
"Okay," she replied cautiously. "What happened?"
He didn't sit. He didn't pace. He just stood there, eyes fixed on her like he was trying to see through her.
"I've been thinking," he said. "About everything."
Clara stayed quiet.
"Out of all the mysterious people, the threats, the masks, the warnings," he continued, voice steady but tight, "there's only one person who keeps showing up when things are about to go wrong."
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
"He doesn't want leverage. He doesn't want payment. He doesn't even want credit," Ethan said. "He wants me safe."
That was the part that didn't make sense.
"Why?" he asked.
Clara swallowed. "Ethan—"
"No," he cut in, gently this time. "I'm not accusing you. I'm asking you."
He stepped closer. "What's the connection between me and Dawson Daniel Reeve?"
For the first time since Ethan had known her, Clara didn't answer immediately.
Her mouth opened… then closed.
She frowned, searching her own thoughts like she'd dropped something important and couldn't remember where.
"I don't know," she finally said.
Ethan laughed under his breath. "You always know."
"Not this time."
She shook her head, frustration creeping into her voice. "I know what he does. I know when he shows up. But the reason?" She met Ethan's eyes. "This is the first time I don't see the pattern."
Ethan stepped back slowly.
"So he's protecting me," he said, almost to himself. "And even you don't know why."
Clara hesitated, then said quietly, "Which means whatever ties you to him… it started long before any of us were paying attention."
Ethan nodded once.
That was worse.
Because if Dawson Reeve cared this much about him —
and no one knew the reason —
then the truth wasn't just hidden.
It was buried.
Ethan left Clara with more questions than he arrived with.
The streets felt louder than usual — car horns, footsteps, laughter that didn't belong to him. Everything moved like the world hadn't just tilted on its axis, like someone hadn't just admitted they didn't know.
That was the part that bothered him most.
Clara not knowing meant this wasn't manipulation.
It wasn't strategy.
It wasn't even control.
It was something older.
Back in his apartment, Ethan sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. His mind replayed moments he'd dismissed before — times when danger appeared and disappeared too cleanly. Times when someone stepped in without being asked. Times when warnings came before mistakes.
He picked up his phone, scrolling through old photos he barely remembered taking.
The orphanage.
A younger him, too thin, too serious for a kid his age. Caretakers standing behind him — most of them blurred, half-forgotten.
But one detail stood out now.
A man in the background of one photo. Face turned away. Tall. Watchful. Not smiling.
Ethan zoomed in.
His chest tightened.
"Why were you there?" he murmured.
His phone buzzed.
No name. No number. Just a message.
You're asking the right questions now.
Ethan didn't hesitate this time.
Why do you care if I'm safe?
The typing bubble appeared… then disappeared.
Minutes passed.
Then another message came through.
Because some debts aren't paid with money.
Ethan stood up abruptly.
What debt?
Who are you to me?
The reply took longer.
Too long.
When it finally came, it wasn't an answer.
You won't like the truth.
Ethan's jaw clenched.
Try me.
Silence.
Across the city, Dawson Daniel Reeve stood by a window, phone in hand, mask resting on the table beside him. The city lights reflected in the glass like fractured memories.
He exhaled slowly.
"Not yet," he muttered to himself.
Back in his apartment, Ethan's phone buzzed again.
Ask yourself this instead:
If I disappeared tomorrow… who would come looking for you?
Ethan stared at the screen.
The answer came too easily.
No one.
And that — more than anything — terrified him.
He set the phone down, heart pounding, realizing something he hadn't wanted to admit.
Dawson wasn't protecting him because Ethan was important now.
He was protecting him because Ethan had always been important —
long before Ethan knew it himself.
And whatever tied them together wasn't finished.
Not even close.