Ethan's phone buzzed like it was on fire.
Clara. Of course it was Clara.
"Ethan!" she barked the second he answered. "Why didn't you show up at work today? You think you're some mysterious vigilante now? Because if you are, newsflash: I'm supposed to be your sidekick!"
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, already tired despite it being early. "I… had things to take care of."
"Things?" Clara snorted. "Things?! Things?! Don't make me start listing all the things that count as 'things'—like secretly disappearing for hours, ignoring everyone like a broody moody teenager, or starting your own dramatic reality show called 'Where's Ethan?'"
He cracked a tiny smile. "It was… important."
"Important? Important!?" she leaned closer to the phone like she could poke it and make it spill secrets. "You mean that mysterious, vaguely dangerous thing that makes James Crowe sweat bullets when he calls me every five minutes asking where the hell Dawson is and why no one is answering him?"
Ethan froze. "James… is alive?"
"Alive! And panicking! The panic alone is hilarious. You should hear him stumble over words like a toddler in a tuxedo!" Clara laughed, slapping the arm of the chair. "I can't even. And you, mysteriously brooding hero, you just stroll into chaos like it's a Sunday walk. You're terrible at this."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "I went to the Cole estate."
Clara made a low, appreciative whistle. "Ooooh, you finally poked the hornet's nest. Took you long enough. Did you faint at their curiously neutral décor? Did someone spill secrets in slow motion? Come on, give me details!"
"I… met them. Learned things," Ethan said cautiously. Dawson leaned against the doorway, calm and unreadable, silently confirming everything was under control.
"'Learned things,'" Clara repeated, incredulous. "Ethan Cole, the king of understatement strikes again. You are horrible at storytelling. I demand a full, dramatic recount with sound effects and interpretive dance. Wait—don't move, I'll do the interpretive dance!"
Ethan allowed himself a tiny smile.
Clara took a sharp breath and leaned conspiratorially. "Also—and I cannot overstate this—you're making James Crowe lose his mind. He has called me… TEN times. TEN! The man is weaving a tapestry of panic and despair over nothing being answered. And get this—he's asking me where Dawson is! I mean, seriously? Isn't he supposed to be dead or… something?!"
Ethan raised a brow. "Not dead. And Dawson's with me."
Clara's eyes went wide for a split second, then she smirked, mischievous and chaotic. "Oh, so now you're playing tag-team with the ghost sibling? Fantastic. That makes my job of surviving your mysterious life much more… entertaining. And terrifying."
Before Ethan could reply, her phone buzzed again. She flipped it open with exaggerated urgency, gasping dramatically. "Ohhhh… would you look at that? James Crowe calling again. Must… answer… or he'll implode entirely."
She tapped the call, listened, and rolled her eyes so hard it almost seemed audible. "Yes! He's losing it! He's literally yelling—okay, yelling might be polite. More like screaming polite panic. He says Dawson hasn't answered, he's getting jittery, and for the love of sanity, he wants a status report from me RIGHT NOW! I swear, Ethan… your mysterious heroic energy is actively torturing people who should be dead or retired!"
Ethan couldn't help a faint laugh. "You really have a way with people."
Clara smirked. "I know. But hold that thought, because I just got a weird vibe." Her eyes darted to the window, then back to the phone. "And by 'weird vibe,' I mean 'someone is about to abduct me,' which, yes, I sense instinctively."
Before Ethan could ask how, a shadow moved outside her door. Her hand went to the doorframe, a wild gleam in her eyes. "Ah! I knew it! Evelyn's people! This is—oh, this is dramatic, I love it!"
Before Ethan could respond, Clara's voice changed—sharp, urgent, even as the humor lingered underneath.
"Ethan! Oh my God, okay, okay—you're not going to believe this!" Her words rushed out, tripping over themselves. "Evelyn's—yes, that Evelyn—sent people after me. I… I don't even—oh! I don't have time to explain the whole ridiculously dramatic plan, but they're—ugh—listen, they're here!"
Ethan froze, hand tightening on the phone. "Clara—slow down. What do you mean they're there?"
"They're outside my building!" she hissed, still keeping the chaotic edge that made it impossible for him to panic entirely. "I see shadows! I hear boots! I swear, they're coming now, and yes, I know this is exactly why I yell into phones like this!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Clara, stay calm. Move away from doors and windows. Lock everything. Don't do anything reckless."
"Reckless? Me? Ha! That's cute, coming from someone who just casually strolls into potentially deadly conspiracies like it's Tuesday brunch," she snapped. Her tone mixed laughter and fear, so bizarrely human that Ethan's chest tightened. "Anyway, I'm hiding behind my couch—yes, couch, don't judge me—and I have no idea how this is going to end. Oh! And did I mention I can totally hear them talking in low voices? They're coordinated. They clearly have a plan."
Ethan swallowed. "Clara… I'm coming. I'll get you—"
"No! Don't! Don't even think about it!" she interrupted, her voice rising with both panic and theatrical flair. "If you come barging in, I'll have to explain to you why your dramatic timing ruins everything! Just… just trust me—listen to my instructions."
"Your instructions?" he asked, tension rising.
"Yes!" she said, as if he could see her frantic gesturing. "Step one: Breathe. Step two: Hide behind anything that isn't… well, visible. Step three: Keep talking to me so I don't die alone with my own panicked brilliance. Step four: Pray I don't get abducted while making witty comments—bonus points if I survive and get to insult them!"
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Clara… you are impossible."
"Thank you! I try!" she yelled. Then her tone shifted sharply, a terrifying edge cutting through the humor. "Ethan… they're getting closer. I hear the door. I—oh no—they're forcing it!"
He grabbed the edge of the counter, phone pressed to his ear. "Clara—stay calm. Fight them if you have to, but don't get cornered. I need you alive."
"Alive? That's the plan!" she shot back, voice shaking but still sharp. "And if I die, at least my last words are hilarious! But don't panic—don't panic, Ethan! Not you too! Keep breathing!"
The line went quiet for a second, then her voice came back, frantic but defiant. "They're dragging me! Okay, minor panic, but—I mean, I'm still talking! That counts for something, right?!"
Ethan's heart pounded. Dawson appeared in the background, calm, alert, watching the situation unfold over video from the city grid—ready to intercept if necessary—but all Ethan had was Clara's voice, wild and unstoppable, echoing through the phone.
"Ethan!" she shouted again. "If I survive, I'm never ever letting you disappear like this again! Ever!"
He exhaled sharply, gripping the phone. "You better survive, Clara. Just… hang on. I'll figure this out. I swear."
Her laughter mixed with fear. "You'd better. And yes, I mean it! Now if you don't mind, I have villains to verbally annihilate!"
And with that, the line went silent—leaving Ethan in the apartment, Dawson at his side, listening to the faint but unmistakable chaos unfolding somewhere else in the city, with Clara caught in the perfect storm of danger, humor, and sheer audacity.