Chapter 1
I Hope This Isn't Bullet Train… Or Going to Busan.
Jake Calison woke up to the rhythmic clatter of steel on steel.
Not his bed.
Not his room.
Not even his country, judging by the faint scent of industrial cleaner and coffee that tasted suspiciously European.
He stared at the ceiling.
White paneling. Slight vibration. Luggage rack above him.
"…If this is Bullet Train," he muttered in Tagalog, "I did not sign up for Brad Pitt."
He sat up slowly.
Train car.
Half-empty.
No blood splatter. No zombies.
"Okay. Not Going to Busan. Good."
His body felt normal.
Same hands. Same faint calluses from gym sessions. Same silver crucifix necklace resting against his chest.
He checked his phone.
Same wallpaper.
Same contacts.
Same messages from friends that now felt… distant.
The train slowed.
He frowned.
There was a cream-colored envelope resting neatly on the seat beside him.
His name written in ink that looked old-fashioned.
Jacob Emilio Calison.
He swallowed.
"That's never good."
He opened it.
Grandson,
You always wondered if effort truly mattered.
It does.
I am moving on.
The estate is yours now.
The land will test you. The house will respond to you. The world will tempt you.
Be honest. Work hard. Do not kneel unless you choose to.
— Your Lolo
Jake stared at the signature.
The handwriting was familiar.
His grandfather had died when he was young.
Heart attack.
Sudden.
Family rumor said it happened with a smile on his face.
Jake blinked.
"…Lolo?"
The train came to a full stop.
The display above the door lit up.
Havenport Station.
He had never heard of it.
The doors slid open.
He stood slowly.
Outside, the skyline shimmered.
He recognized buildings that shouldn't coexist.
A gothic clocktower beside sleek alien architecture.
A Daily Planet–style globe in the distance.
A Stark-like tower several blocks over.
A gothic cathedral spire.
A building shaped like a crystalline spear.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
He stepped onto the platform.
A gust of wind hit him.
And then—
A shadow fell over him.
He turned.
Tall.
Blonde.
Blue eyes.
Glasses that fooled no one.
Impossibly confident posture disguised under "mild-mannered."
A fitted blazer strained very respectfully against a figure that absolutely did not belong in corporate law.
She offered a hand.
"Jacob Calison?" she asked brightly.
He stared.
He knew that face.
He definitely knew that face.
"…You're kidding."
She tilted her head innocently.
"Do I know you?"
He hesitated.
Think.
He couldn't blow secret identities.
Brockton Bay rules.
"I—uh—no. Sorry. You just… remind me of someone."
Her smile twitched.
Amused.
"I get that a lot."
She extended a folder.
"I'm Kara Kent. I've been managing your grandfather's estate in absentia. Or what's left of it."
Jake's brain short-circuited.
Kara.
Kent.
Of course.
He looked at her glasses.
Then at her.
Then back at the glasses.
"…Right."
She leaned in slightly.
Close enough that he caught the faint scent of sun-warmed linen.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost," he muttered. "More like… several intellectual property lawsuits."
She blinked.
"…What?"
"Nothing."
She gestured toward the exit.
"Your property is about forty minutes outside city limits. The mansion is structurally sound. The farm is… enthusiastic."
"That's a bad word for farmland, isn't it?"
"It's a very bad word."
They walked.
Jake's heart pounded — not because she was beautiful (which she absolutely was) — but because she was her.
Or a version of her.
And she was pretending not to be.
And he was pretending not to know.
And this was already exhausting.
Outside, the sunlight hit her hair and for just a second — just a flicker — it glowed.
Not metaphorically.
Actually glowed.
She cleared her throat.
"So. Before we arrive, I should clarify a few things."
"Please do."
"Your grandfather was… influential."
"That's one word for it."
"He left debts. But also assets. And connections."
Jake narrowed his eyes.
"What kind of connections?"
She smiled.
"The kind that knock."
Right on cue, somewhere in the distance, a loud explosion echoed across the skyline.
Smoke rose near the financial district.
Kara didn't even flinch.
"Bank robbery," she said casually. "Probably masked. Theatrical. We'll know in an hour."
"You're very calm about that."
"Collateral damage generates local employment."
He stared at her.
She met his gaze.
There was something measuring in her eyes now.
Not flirtation.
Not intimidation.
Assessment.
"So," she asked softly, "are you going to run?"
Jake looked toward the smoke.
Then back at her.
Then down at his hands.
He flexed his fingers.
He thought about Lolo's letter.
Work hard. Do not kneel unless you choose to.
He adjusted his crucifix.
"I've never run from work," he said quietly. "I just don't always know what I'm doing."
Her smile this time was real.
Warm.
"That's fine."
She started walking again.
"We'll teach you."
Jake followed.
The skyline glittered.
Somewhere, sirens wailed.
And in the back of his mind, a single thought echoed:
This better not turn into a zombie movie.
End of Chapter 1.
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