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*****
Enid sniffled as she looked at Ethan.
"So… Ethan," she said uneasily, "you heard all of that, didn't you?"
Ethan didn't even pretend. "Yep. Every word."
He gave a small, reassuring shrug. "But don't worry. You not wolfing out doesn't make you any less. I won't treat you differently."
Enid blinked, stunned.
"Everyone's special as they are," he added, tone gentle in a way that felt strangely out of place on the balcony of Ophelia Hall.
For a heartbeat, Enid just stared at him—eyes shining, brain short-circuiting.
How is a guy like this real?
Handsome, mysterious, calm, unexpectedly compassionate. No wonder her heart felt like it was doing backflips.
As for Ajax… teenage love is like water.
It flows. It leaks. It evaporates the moment something shinier catches the light.
No teenager had ever managed to keep their heart in a single place—consistency simply wasn't part of the adolescent's emotional vocabulary.
Wednesday watched all this unfold with the expression of someone observing a slow-moving contagion.
"So," she said flatly, "what are you doing here, Ethan? I assume you didn't climb onto the roof for casual small talk. If you did, feel free to jump off."
Ethan grinned. "Tempting. But no."
He folded his arms. "I actually came to invite you two to the Harvest Festival."
Wednesday immediately pointed at Enid. "Take her. She's genetically programmed to enjoy that level of glitter and social chaos. I have no interest in such events."
"I figured you'd say that," Ethan replied. "But here's the thing—if you don't come tomorrow, you're going to miss something important. Something connected to your family… and your future."
Wednesday's expression didn't shift, but her eyes did—narrowing just a fraction.
"If you think this cheap attempt can manipulate my interest," she said, voice cold as polished steel, "you've failed miserably."
Ethan raised a hand in mock surrender. "Not manipulating. Just stating facts."
His smile sharpened. "It's definitely related to your family. If you want to know more… come to the Harvest Festival. Or don't. Your choice. Oh—hi, Thing."
Thing flipped him off from the music stand.
"Charming as always," Ethan chuckled.
Before either girl could blink, he stepped backward onto the balcony rail—then dropped.
"ETHAN!" Enid yelped, rushing to the edge. "Why would he—he jumped three floors!?"
Wednesday didn't move. "Good. Perhaps gravity has finally done something useful."
Enid leaned over the roof, panicked—only to freeze when she saw him.
Ethan stood below in the courtyard, perfectly fine, boots planted on the cobblestone as though he'd simply stepped off a curb. He looked up, smirked, and gave them a lazy wave.
"Nope," Enid said breathlessly. "He's totally fine. Not even limping."
"Infuriating. Even his recklessness refuses to cooperate."
Enid looked at her. "So… are you going tomorrow?"
Wednesday picked up her cello , fingers sliding into place with eerie calm.
"I dislike riddles," she said. "And I despise it when strangers claim knowledge about my family."
"So yes, I'll be there."
***
Ethan watched the girls disappear back inside Ophelia Hall, a quiet smile curving across his lips.
The next step was crucial.
Tomorrow, he needed Wednesday and Rowan to collide at the Harvest Festival—exactly as they were meant to. That moment would put the prophetic drawing in her hands… the same drawing tied to a book written three decades ago.
The book that started everything.
That was when the real plot began.
"I should probably get the Hyde to show up too," Ethan muttered to himself. Wednesday needed to see the creature with her own eyes—needed the monster to haunt the edges of her reality before she realized what she was truly up against.
And Tyler, whether he wanted to or not, would follow her.
Puppets always chased their strings.
Ethan's smirk darkened.
There was also her—the red-haired psychopath masquerading as a teacher. Laurel Gates. Descendant of Crackstone. The woman orchestrating everything from the shadows, hungry for revenge and obsessed with Wednesday's blood for her final ritual.
Laurel would keep Wednesday in check for now…
As Ethan walked through the corridor, replaying his plan step by step in his mind, he turned a corner a little too sharply and collided with someone coming the opposite way.
The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough to knock a single sheet of paper out of the other person's hand.
The page drifted through the air.
Ethan caught it before it hit the ground—and froze for half a heartbeat.
It was the drawing.
Wednesday Addams, standing in the Nevermore Quad, a sword in her hand, storm clouds boiling behind her. The same prophetic image tied to the old book.
"Hey—sorry. Give that back. It's mine," a tense voice said.
Ethan looked up and found Rowan Laslow standing there, hunched and pale, as if even being seen with the drawing made him anxious. He kept glancing around the corridor, checking if anyone else was watching.
Ethan handed the page back, smooth and unbothered.
"Here you go."
Rowan snatched it instantly—too quickly—folding it and tucking it under his arm like a secret he wished he could shove deeper. He muttered a rushed "thanks," then hurried away, his steps uneven, shoulders drawn tight.
Ethan watched him disappear into the next hallway, a slow smile pulling at his lips.
Perfect.