As they walked through the woods toward the old meeting house, the silence stretched uncomfortably, unbroken by either of them.
"You know, Wednesday," Ethan said at last, clearly bored by it, "why don't you ever use modern technology?"
Wednesday didn't slow her pace.
"Technology is unreliable," she replied. "It crashes, malfunctions, and encourages intellectual laziness."
Ethan glanced at her. "Says the person currently benefiting from a digital map."
"I'm benefiting from your digital map," Wednesday corrected. "There's a difference."
The trees grew denser as they moved deeper into the woods.
"Besides," Wednesday continued, "technology leaves trails. Footprints, timestamps, metadata. I prefer methods that don't."
Ethan smirked. "You realize most crimes are solved because someone didn't think like that."
"Yes," Wednesday said flatly. "Criminals tend to be stupid."
They walked on in silence for a few more steps.
"You don't find this inconvenient?" Ethan asked. "No cell phone. No calling. No internet."
"No," Wednesday said. "I find it peaceful."
She stepped over a fallen branch without breaking stride.
"I don't have to witness humanity begging for validation on social media," she continued. "Endless oversharing. Manufactured outrage. Performative grief."
Ethan glanced at her. "You really hate people that much?"
"I tolerate people," Wednesday corrected. "I despise the noise they make."
"Thing, do you agree with that?" Ethan asked, glancing at the disembodied hand perched on Wednesday's shoulder.
Thing didn't hesitate.
He shook his fingers emphatically.
No.
Ethan snorted. "See? Even your own hand needs Wi-Fi."
Wednesday didn't look at either of them. "Thing's weakness for modern conveniences is his greatest flaw."
Then they emerged from the tree line and stopped.
Ahead of them, the old meeting house came into view.
What remained of it, at least.
The structure sat hollow and blackened in the clearing, its roof long collapsed, its wooden frame warped by fire. Charred beams rose unevenly from the ground, silent and abandoned.
Wednesday didn't hesitate.
She stepped into the ruins, eyes already working, scanning the ground and what remained of the walls.
Ethan stayed where he was, watching her pick through the debris without comment. Thing slipped down from her shoulder and followed, tapping along the edges of collapsed wood and burned planks, searching places a person wouldn't think to look.
After fifteen minutes of searching, Wednesday straightened and surveyed the ruins one last time.
"There's nothing here," Wednesday said flatly. "Just overgrown weeds and burned down wood"
She turned away from the burned structure.
"Coming here was a waste of time."
Wednesday turned to leave.
The moment her hand touched the doorframe, her head snapped back violently.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes unfocused.
The world fractured.
Fire roared back to life around her—hotter, louder. The burned meeting house was no longer empty. Shadows moved where none should be. A scream cut through the smoke, sharp and desperate.
Wednesday's knees buckled as she fell backward.
Ethan reacted instantly, catching her before she hit the ground. One arm slid firmly around her shoulders while the other braced her weight, steadying her as he lowered her carefully.
He glanced down at her unconscious face.
"You're cute when you're unconscious," Ethan said.
Thing stiffened, then signed sharply.
Isn't she cute when she's conscious too?
Ethan huffed softly. "She is. But when she's conscious, she looks at me like she wants to dissect me."
Thing paused, then nodded in agreement.
Yes. Wednesday definitely had plans to figure out exactly what he was—preferably layer by layer.
"Thing," Ethan said thoughtfully, watching the hand's quick movements, "how is it that I can understand you perfectly now?"
He paused, realizing the difference. When they'd first met, Thing's signs had been a mystery. Now, they felt… obvious.
Thing froze for a second, then signed back.
How would I know?
Ethan huffed a quiet laugh. "Fair point."
Within Wednesday's vision,
The woods vanished.
The meeting house stood whole again—new timber, unburned walls, lantern light flickering against fresh wood. The air was thick with smoke that hadn't yet caught fire, heavy with fear and prayer spoken too late.
Voices echoed.
Outcasts were herded inside—men, women, children—hands bound, faces bruised, labeled monsters by people who needed enemies to feel holy.
Joseph Crackstone stood at the entrance.
Not frantic. Not angry.
Certain.
He ordered the doors barred.
Flames followed.
Fire climbed the walls hungrily, feeding on dry wood and screaming voices. Smoke filled the room, choking, blinding.
Then—movement.
A girl slipped through the chaos, blonde hair loose, eyes sharp and unafraid. She ducked beneath the smoke, vanished through a narrow opening before the flames could claim her.
Goody Addams.
******
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 57, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
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