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*****
"So I assume the… thing you're sitting on is yours?" Wednesday asked, eyeing the motorcycle as if evaluating whether it violated any laws of physics—or taste.
"Yes. Do I look like a thief?" Ethan replied.
He did look put-together, annoyingly handsome—certainly not the type to snatch wallets or hot-wire cars.
Wednesday didn't blink. "Yes."
Ethan stared. "…Yes?"
"The average thief does not kindly tattoo the word 'criminal' across his forehead," Wednesday explained matter-of-factly. "They come in all shapes. All faces. Beauty does not exempt one from moral decay."
A beat.
"In fact," Wednesday continued, "history suggests attractive men are more likely to be trouble."
"Hm. I agree," Ethan said, flashing a self-satisfied smirk. "Sometimes my handsomeness causes me problems."
Wednesday didn't hesitate. "Spare me your narcissistic drivel."
"I require transportation. Any kind. To the nearest station."
Ethan blinked. "So you're running away from danger?"
Wednesday Very slowly, she turned her head toward him—expression flat, eyes cold enough to freeze breath.
"I will give you one second," she said, voice low and deadly calm, "to rephrase that sentence."
"I do not," Wednesday said sharply, "run from danger. I march toward it with enthusiasm."
"But your current actions don't match your words," Ethan countered, tilting his head. "You're trying to run away from Nevermore, aren't you?"
He couldn't let her leave. So he nudged where he knew she'd react.
"It has nothing to do with danger," Wednesday replied, tone clipped. "I am leaving because that school is a stagnant swamp of mediocrity. A prison for idiots. And I refuse to walk the path my parents laid out for me like a prewritten obituary."
"Hm. Is that so?" Ethan's smile sharpened. "Funny. I thought you were leaving because of the monster in the woods."
Wednesday eyes narrowed a fraction—just enough to show interest breaking through her mask.
"What monster?" she asked.
"You don't know?" Ethan shrugged casually, but his gaze remained locked on her. "It's been the talk of Jericho for the past two weeks. Four Mysterious deaths."
"Four?" Wednesday echoed, her voice sinking into a low, intrigued murmur.
Serial killer cases were always her favorite—murderers strutted around believing they were the predators… right up until the moment she showed them otherwise. Watching that flicker of terror when they realized they were the prey? That was the part she savored most.
"How… mysterious."
"Oh, very." Ethan made it sound like gossip, but every word was bait. "All the victims were found torn apart. Deep gashes. Missing organs. Bodies rearranged like someone was trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle from human parts."
Wednesday's eyes glimmered—dark, focused, hungry for answers.
"That would indicate intent," Wednesday murmured. "A pattern. Methodology. Possibly even a signature."
Ethan nodded slowly. "And if something left the bodies like that, then whatever did it wasn't human. Or wasn't trying to look human."
Wednesday's eyes narrowed, fascination sharpening into something almost predatory.
Before Ethan could continue, she asked, "What does local law enforcement think?"
"Oh, the sheriff already has a theory," Ethan said, shrugging one shoulder. "He thinks it was one of the outcasts from Nevermore."
"How delightfully predictable. When they cannot explain the monster, they blame the ones who already live outside the definition of normal."
"Still," Ethan continued, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, "that means a whole mystery is brewing in Jericho and Nevermore. Murders, suspicion, a creature no one understands…"
"This town," she said softly, almost reverently, "might finally be worth my suffering."
"But I'm more interested in something else," Wednesday said, her gaze narrowing. "Why are you telling me any of this? Your intent is transparent. You're trying to keep me at the academy."
She wasn't Enid. She noticed his intention from the moment he opened his mouth. Ethan was trying to keep her in the academy, and she could sense it as clearly as if he had said it out loud.
"Were you sent by my parents?" she asked dryly. "Did they recruit you as some sort of… emotional handler?"
Ethan blinked. "No. Definitely not. As for my motives, well—what motives could a teenage boy possibly have toward a girl his age?" he said, voice deliberately ambiguous.
Wednesday didn't flinch. "If you are attempting to lure me into some form of unhealthy romantic relationship, abandon the delusion immediately."
Her tone was flat. Final. A guillotine in sentence form.
"I have no intention of falling into anything—especially love."
"Love is for foolish people who lack self-control. Clingy hands, emotional dependence, irrational behavior… repulsive." She looked away as if the very concept offended her.
"I have no desire to become domesticated like my mother, chained to a romantic fantasy, or worse—reduced to a housewife. Such a fate doesn't suit me."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
He had expected resistance.
He hadn't expected it wrapped in barbed wire.
"Well… that doesn't stop me," Ethan said, unfazed.