The golden glow of the Help Card pulsed faintly in Ethan's vision, unlike any he had seen before. Its surface shimmered with an emblem of open hands, etched in silver light. His fingers twitched with the urge to focus on it, to open its description and discover what this new mechanic meant.
"Help card…" he murmured under his breath, narrowing his eyes. "What are you supposed to—"
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Startled, Ethan blinked, the card flickering at the edge of his vision as he fumbled the device out. The screen glowed with a familiar name.
Mary.
His pulse quickened. He hesitated a moment, then swiped to answer.
"Hello?"
Her voice flowed smooth and calm through the line. "Ethan. Can you drive me?"
He blinked, taken aback. She never explained, never justified her requests. She simply asked, and he found himself agreeing before his mind caught up.
"I'll be there," he said.
The Help Card dissolved from his sight as the call ended. Whatever mysteries it held would have to wait.
The Mercedes purred softly as Ethan pulled into the hotel's circular driveway. The golden lights of the grand building shimmered against the polished black hood, reflecting wealth and elegance that felt like another world compared to the cracked sidewalks of his neighborhood.
The revolving doors parted, and she appeared.
Mary stepped into view, her heels clicking softly against the polished stone. She was radiant under the glow of the hotel lamps, her dark hair spilling in perfect waves across her shoulders, her dress cut to accentuate curves that seemed sculpted to defy reason. Her very presence drew eyes—staff pausing mid-step, guests turning to glance, conversations faltering as she passed.
Ethan's grip tightened faintly on the wheel. Even after the nights they'd spent driving through the city, he still wasn't used to it—the sheer aura she carried, like wealth itself bent to her will.
She opened the passenger door and slid inside, her perfume curling through the cabin, intoxicating.
"Good evening," she said, her lips curving faintly.
"Evening," Ethan replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
The engine hummed to life, and soon the car was weaving through the city.
The night stretched on in a blur of appointments. Ethan drove her across districts, from one meeting to another, the destinations varied and strange. Sometimes a boutique, other times an office tucked in a skyscraper, once even a dimly lit lounge where laughter spilled from behind velvet curtains.
Ethan never asked questions. He wasn't even sure what she did—what business she handled in the shadows of midnight. He only drove, his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes on the road. Yet, each time she stepped out, heads turned. Each time she returned, her presence filled the car again, heavy and magnetic.
By the time the last meeting ended, the city had grown quieter. Midnight had passed, and hunger gnawed faintly at Ethan's stomach. Mary, too, seemed restless.
"Let's stop somewhere," she said, her voice softer than usual. "Food."
Ethan nodded, steering the Mercedes through the narrowing streets until he spotted a cluster of food stalls still clinging to life. Smoke rose from grills, neon bulbs flickered, and the air smelled of spices and grease.
They stepped out together, a pair that drew stares instantly. Mary, in her dazzling dress, looked like a goddess who had accidentally descended into the realm of mortals. Ethan, in his simple clothes, walked beside her, trying to ignore the eyes that followed them.
They ordered skewers and steaming bowls of noodles, sitting at a small metal table with plastic stools. For Ethan, it was familiar. For Mary, it was new. She ate quietly, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing her lips as though this humble setting was a novelty she had never considered.
And then, as Ethan wiped his hands on a napkin, she looked at him.
"You know…" Her voice was thoughtful, almost hesitant. "…you look cute."
Ethan froze.
So did she.
Her eyes widened the instant the words left her mouth, her lips parting in shock. Color rose faintly across her cheeks, visible even beneath the glow of the streetlamp.
Ethan blinked at her, stunned. His pulse thundered in his ears, his mind scrambling. "I—what?"
Mary turned her gaze away sharply, her hand tightening around her cup of tea. "Forget it."
Silence settled between them, thick and awkward. Ethan stared down at the table, his heart refusing to slow, while Mary busied herself with her food, her usual composure cracked in a way he'd never seen.
It was… surreal.
Finally, the meal ended, and Ethan drove her back through the quiet city. Neither spoke much, the weight of that one slip lingering heavily between them.
At the hotel, Mary lingered at the door of the car before stepping out. Her expression was calm again, composed, though her eyes flickered faintly with something she didn't voice.
"I'll be leaving the city soon," she said quietly. "My business here is nearly concluded. In a few days, I'll need you to drive me to the airport."
Ethan nodded. "I'll be here."
Her lips curved, faint, almost tired. "Goodnight, Ethan."
And then she was gone, disappearing into the hotel's golden glow.
Ethan sat in the Mercedes, staring at the doors long after they closed. His heart still pounded, his mind still replayed the moment, the word she had let slip.
"Cute," he whispered, dazed.
The Help Card pulsed faintly at the edge of his vision again, as though reminding him it still waited. But tonight, Ethan's thoughts weren't on the system.
They were on her.
The Mercedes rolled to a gentle stop outside a quiet hotel just a few blocks from Mary's towering residence. Ethan leaned back in the driver's seat, staring up at the glowing sign above the entrance. He'd thought about going home, about pushing through the tired ache in his limbs, but the idea crumbled the moment he pictured his mother waiting with worried eyes, asking questions he couldn't answer.
School was out. He had no curfew to excuse himself with. The only story he could spin was that "work" had kept him late. And the more lies he stacked, the more brittle they felt.
He sighed, pulled out his phone, and dialed.
"Mom," he said softly when she answered. "The family I'm driving for needed me later tonight. I'll stay nearby so I don't disturb you and come back tomorrow."
There was a pause, then the gentle voice of his mother—relieved, but trusting. "Alright, Ethan. Don't overwork yourself. Get some rest."
"Yeah," he murmured, guilt prickling his chest. "I will."
The call ended. Silence settled again in the car.
He checked in, carrying nothing but his bag, and found himself in a small but tidy hotel room. The bed looked impossibly inviting after hours behind the wheel.
And yet… the glow followed him.
The Help Card pulsed faintly in the corner of his vision, a golden emblem of open hands etched into its surface. Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it. The system wanted him to use it, to explore its meaning. His fingers twitched, hovering as if he could peel its surface open with a thought.
But exhaustion dragged at his body, heavy and relentless. His head dipped forward, his eyelids burned with weight.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "I'll check it tomorrow."
He let the glow fade into the dark as he sank into the mattress. Within moments, the steady rhythm of sleep carried him away, the unanswered mystery waiting silently in the corners of his dreams.