The world of his mind shifted around him. Ethan then found himself floating inside a small five-bedroom house, its walls lined with overflowing bookshelves. The scent of aged paper filled the air, and warm sunlight streamed through the windows. It was a peaceful, ordinary place—but it was a lie.
This was his mental construct. A fabricated mindscape Ethan had created to hide his true thoughts. Every book, every room, every object in this house was filled with false memories—carefully crafted to seem real. It seemed like Emma's mind made this space to interpret the information within his mind.
More importantly? Ethan wasn't inside it.
Not really.
Instead, he watched as a ghost. A detached observer, analyzing everything as Emma appeared and walked to the house.
Emma opened the door and entered the house, her sharp blue eyes scanning the room. Her presence warped reality, her telepathy bending the space around her as she moved.
She walked toward the bookshelves, dragging a single finger along the spines of the books. With an air of authority, she plucked one free and flipped it open.
A memory unfolded. A false memory. It showed a normal childhood—school, friendships, fights, heartbreak—nothing noteworthy.
Emma frowned.
Ethan observed her reaction closely. He wasn't just watching. He was studying.
Emma Frost was one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, but even she needed a method to read minds.
And now? Ethan was learning her method. Of course, Ethan wasn't able to use telepathy but here inside this mindscape made of his mind and Emma's, he could do as he pleased so long as he could figure it out.
His real mind wasn't in this construct—he had disconnected and hidden it. He had built this house using the same mental principles that telepaths used to shape minds. It was easy since his knowledge of the comic explained not only the powers of these heroes and villains but showed repeatedly how worked on a technical level in some cases which he was grateful for.
Ethan knew that Emma, too, had done the same. Her mind wasn't just flowing into his—it was anchored inside the construct. Which meant, logically, she had hidden herself somewhere in this space. It was in here. It had to be but the question now was what was it hidden as?
Ethan turned away from her, scanning the house for something he hadn't created but rather Emma's mind altering the information in a way she could easily process it.
He traveled through the rooms—ignoring the fake childhood photos, the neatly arranged furniture, the bookshelves filled with carefully crafted falsehoods.
Then, in the living room, he spotted it.
A small glass figurine resting on the fireplace mantle.
That wasn't mine.
Emma had created a psychic anchor—an object inside the mindscape that linked her presence to his thoughts.
'That means if I touch it...'
Ethan formed a body, solidifying himself in the mindscape. Slowly, he reached out and grasped the glass figure.
A rush of information flooded into him.
The house around him fractured. The warm sunlight faded, replaced by crystal-blue walls and pristine, elegant architecture.
Ethan blinked. He was standing inside a mental replica of the Hellfire Club mansion.
Except, it wasn't real.
It was Emma's own mindscape.
He smirked. Ironically, she had built the illusion based on the very place that imprisoned him.
Ethan didn't need deep secrets—that was too risky.
All he needed was something useful.
Something relevant to him but irrelevant to Emma Frost.
He shifted through the mental space, moving swiftly. If he stayed too long, she'd notice.
He wasn't searching for weaknesses or classified Hellfire Club information—that would get him killed.
No, he wanted something simple but also something personal.
A psychic mindscape is shaped by what is important to its owner.
And in Emma's world of power, what was one of the easiest ways to contact her? The answer was her phone.
Ethan's supercomputer mind sorted through the surface thoughts that had formed this space. And there, on a table near the entrance, he found it.
A mental representation of Emma's personal phone number. It was something she didn't give out easily but like all people, it was something that was always on the forefront of their mind since you had to memorize and be able to recite it easily making it a surface-level thought.
Bingo.
He memorized it instantly. And then—he let go of the glass figurine pulling himself out of Emma's mind.
Ethan snapped back to the real world.
He was still in the Hellfire Club, still seated between two guards, and Emma Frost was still standing before him. Looking at the clock it looked like mere seconds had passed during this whole mental ordeal.
But something was different. Emma's eyes narrowed. A flicker of something passed through her expression.
'Did she suspect something? Did she feel the intrusion?'
Emma's gaze sharpened. "You're nervous."
Ethan swallowed. "Yeah, no kidding. Look what's happening. Wouldn't you be nervous?"
Emma studied him, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You were watching us. What were you looking for?"
Ethan kept his expression carefully neutral. "I was watching the limos and cars go in and I was curious. I know this is a rich-only club. I want to know how I can be like you all."
Her gaze hardened. "A little too interesting?"
Ethan forced himself to shrug. "I'm just a high schooler. I was curious. Was that illegal?"
The guards tensed. Emma watched him closely.
She felt something was off—but she couldn't pinpoint what. Nothing she saw in his mind contradicted what the child was saying. Inside his mind was a desire for wealth and he knew nothing of the Hellfire club; so was she really just overreacting?
Finally, she sighed. "You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly lucky."
Ethan stayed silent.
Emma glanced at the guards. "Let him go."
The guards stepped back.
Ethan stood slowly, keeping his breathing steady.
Emma gave him one last long look. Then, a smirk.
"I suggest you leave, kid. And don't let me catch you snooping again."
Ethan nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
And then—he walked out of the Hellfire Club.