Friday Morning – Still, at Brooklyn University Gym
Ethan didn't need mirrors.
Not because he was humble—but because he didn't lift for appearance. He trained for war.
And war didn't wait for validation.
Hanging mid-air in an L-sit on the dip bars, forearms burning, core stone-still, Ethan exhaled through his nose. Slow. Silent.
There were eyes on him.
Two pairs, at least.
But he didn't flinch.
He'd noticed Elena enter first—her clumsy attempt at being invisible was adorable in a way she didn't intend. The baseball cap? The too-perfect casual outfit? The way she thought sitting in the corner made her unseen?
She wanted to be noticed.
And Vivienne… well. She didn't need to be noticed. She studied.
From the moment Ethan rejected Professor Denz's co-author proposal, Vivienne had looked at him differently. As if she wasn't sure if he was a threat or a case study. Or worse—both.
The professors had offered him the kind of deal that other third-years would've killed for.
Tenure-track visibility. Research title. Exclusive credits.
He had stared at them, expression unreadable, and simply said:
> "I'm not trying to be the face of your theory. I'm building one they'll study after yours fail."
There was silence in the room after that. Even John hadn't known where to look.
Now, in the gym, Ethan brought himself down to the mat with feline control, towelled his neck, and took a long sip from his water bottle. He didn't glance in their direction.
But his mind? Always aware.
---
Across the room, Elena sat frozen, chin on her knees, watching the sweat bead down his collarbone. Every breath he took was economical—like even air had to earn its place in his lungs.
Vivienne shifted beside her. "He hasn't looked at us once."
"That bothers you?"
"It intrigues me," Vivienne said, her voice low. "He's either performing at a deeper level… or playing a longer game."
Elena tilted her head. "What kind of game?"
Vivienne smiled faintly. "The kind that rewrites who controls who."
---
John returned from the vending machine with another soda and nearly choked when he saw the two girls sitting like judges at the edge of the gym.
"Oh," he muttered, "Now it's a full-blown Ethan fan club."
He walked past Ethan and whispered, "Bro, I think you just activated final boss mode in two departments."
Ethan didn't respond immediately. He picked up a resistance band, wrapped it across both palms, and began slow isometric rows against the pillar.
Then, quietly: "The moment they assume they're observing me... is the moment they've already been moved."
John blinked. "I don't even know what that means."
"You're not supposed to," Ethan replied.
---
Ten minutes later, as Ethan rolled his towel, Vivienne finally stood and walked over with measured grace, Elena a reluctant step behind.
"Ethan Vale," Vivienne said. "That was an impressive display."
Ethan looked up. His expression didn't change.
Vivienne continued, voice polite but pointed, "You train like you're chasing something no one else can see."
"I am."
She smiled. "And what would that be?"
Ethan shrugged slightly, gaze unreadable. "Immunity."
"To what?"
"To everything they expect me to become."
Vivienne's brows arched. Elena stared.
"Is this how you think?" Vivienne asked, folding her arms. "Even outside the gym?"
"No. Outside the gym I think less. That's when others start projecting their meanings onto me."
Vivienne held his gaze for a moment too long.
And Elena... she found herself staring at his hands. Scarred knuckles. Bruised palms. Not decorative. Not manicured. Used.
"You're impossible to define," Elena murmured.
Ethan finally looked at her.
"And you're trying too hard to."
Elena flushed—genuine, unexpected. She took a half-step back.
Vivienne chuckled, impressed. "Fair enough."
Then, with a faint smile: "We'll be watching."
Ethan replied with a nod, no arrogance—just understanding.
And they left, steps clicking across the mat like echoes in a museum.
John exhaled loudly and slumped down beside Ethan. "Man, that was like watching two cats circle a lion."
Ethan tied his hoodie around his waist, calm.
"No, John. That was the wind realizing it couldn't move the mountain."