The Monday morning bus was quieter than usual. A sleepy haze clung to its windows as Ethan slid into his usual seat near the back. He spotted Paige a few rows ahead, her earbuds in, scrolling on her phone.
She glanced up when she noticed him and gave a quick wave, scooting over to make room.
"Mornin," she said. "Ya look… less emotionally void than usual. Somethin' wrong?"
Ethan smirked. "Mildly caffeinated."
"Ah," she nodded sagely. "The teenage miracle cure. It ain't for me tho."
They chatted quietly as the city rolled by—their usual banter mixing with a surprising calm. Paige mentioned visiting Rachel again the previous day, how she seemed a little better, and how weird it was that Amy still hadn't come back to school.
Right on cue, as they stepped off the bus and approached the school steps, a familiar figure came into view.
Amy stood there, arms tucked into a hoodie, eyes scanning the crowd with nervous energy. She smiled when she saw Ethan and then caught sight of Paige. The two girls locked eyes with mutual curiosity.
"Amy, this is Paige," Ethan said. "Paige, meet Amy. I didn't really get to introduce you two the last time you met."
"Nice to finally meet ya," Paige said, extending a hand with a warm grin.
Amy hesitated only for a second before shaking it. "Same. Ethan talks about you more than he realizes."
Paige raised an eyebrow at Ethan. "Really now? What's he been saying?"
Ethan was suddenly very interested in the crack on the pavement. "Let's not exaggerate."
The girls fell into step together, quickly finding rhythm in their conversation—joking about teachers, discussing weekend plans, and somehow, through a confusing chain of logic and enthusiasm, agreeing to hang out on Saturday.
"You're coming too, right?" Amy asked Ethan.
"Coming where?"
"To the boardwalk after school. Us three. You just said sure."
"I did?"
"Ya nodded," Paige confirmed.
Ethan blinked. "...I was nodding to a different thought."
"Well, too late," Amy said, linking her arm with his. "That nod is legally binding."
The school day passed uneventfully. Ethan moved through classes like a ghost, present but unremarkable, absorbing lectures with Sage's clarity while appearing just attentive enough. He scanned a few psychology case studies during history and read an academic piece on dopamine modulation in altered cognitive states during lunch.
By the end of the fourth period, he was reviewing statistics when his burner buzzed.
Harper: "Café. 20 mins. Don't make me order your drink."
He didn't reply. Instead, he slipped his phone into his pocket, raised his hand, and asked to use the restroom. By the time he reached the hallway, he was already running the hack.
The school's attendance notification system was simple—primitive even. One redirected script later, and all automated calls about his "early departure" would go to a throwaway number rerouted through his encrypted network.
Just another Monday.
Due to the hack, he needed to cover his tracks. He then texted Paige and Amy that he suddenly felt ill and was sent home, so he'd have to skip the boardwalk and would make it up to them later. Ethan ended up at the café two minutes after the aforementioned time.
The café wasn't crowded—late enough that the morning rush was gone, early enough that the bulk of the lunch crowd hadn't arrived. The warm scent of roasted beans and cinnamon greeted Ethan as he stepped in.
Felicia was already there, seated in the same corner as last time, sipping an iced mocha through a red straw.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"Two minutes. Technically fashionably late," Ethan replied as he took his seat.
"You're what, seventeen? You don't get to be fashionable."
He waved for the barista. "You do know school is still in session, Mrs. Harper. Be glad I even showed. Espresso, two shots please."
Felicia watched him with that half-smile that made people nervous. "You really don't act your age."
"Which part bothers you more?" he asked. "The coffee or the criminal-grade forgery?"
She chuckled, leaning back. "Honestly? I'm not sure."
They were silent for a moment. Ethan watched her carefully. Felicia was calm on the surface, but her eyes were always measuring, always hunting.
"So," he said, "what are your questions?"
Felicia set her cup down, pulling a folded paper from her bag.
"First—blueprints," she said, unfolding the copy of the laundromat renovation plan. "You want to add reinforced wall paneling, a soundproof basement, and thermal shielding. That's not cheap. I doubt you have enough money to blow on this."
"It's already budgeted. Our money comes as a courtesy of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin. A small, unnoticed program is skimming a little of the top without him noticing it. Think of it as him donating to your happy life. I did the courtesy of making him a saint."
"Wait, so you stole from Fisk? That's beyond ambitious. If he ever finds out, he'll kill you. You think this will be okay? Why go through all this for a place that isn't going to be used often?"
"Don't worry about Fisk. I know him well enough to stay under his radar even after stealing his money. He'll find out, but the trail he'll follow will lead him nowhere," Ethan said. "As for the heavy-duty renovation, it's because I have a hunch that at some point, things will get dangerous for all of us. That's why it has to work perfectly everytime time. We'll need a fortified place where we can lay low for weeks at a time eventually. Trust me."
She nodded, tapping a red-circled section. "What's this hatch for?"
"Emergency escape route through the sub-floor to the alley."
"And the biometric scanner?"
"I plan for it to be linked to your thumbprint and the RFID card. Optional voice unlock, if you like too."
Felicia raised a brow. "What kind of laundromat needs a panic bunker?"
Ethan's expression didn't change. "The kind owned by a thief who's made a lot of enemies and will make even more as time goes on."
Felicia smiled at that. "Fine. Second question: the money trail. These bank accounts—how clean are they?"
"Clean enough to survive an in-depth IRS audit. The deposits come from three different shell companies, each separated by a seven-step laundering chain. The identity's history includes two fabricated tax disputes and a settled civil lawsuit from 2018. Just enough noise to look real."
Felicia's fingers ran over the envelope of documents he had previously given her. "It's almost annoying how good you are at this."
"It's not magic," Ethan said. "Just attention to detail."
"No, it's more than that. You're building a foundation. You must have a dozen identities for yourself by now. Now you've given me a new identity so real it has to pay taxes, a legit business on paper, and now a personal armory slash safehouse." Her voice lowered. "What exactly are you preparing for?"
"It's simple," Ethan said as he sipped his espresso. "Survival's the only thing I still want."
"Survival?"
"Exactly."
"Why?" asked a confused Felicia.
"Why do I want to survive? No, maybe you mean, why put so much effort into surviving? Is that it?" said Ethan
"Yes, surviving doesn't take all this. Especially for a normal person, well, you're not really normal, but you know what I mean," said Felicia
"I get it. Since I have no superpower or desire to head straight into dangerous situations, you're wondering why I need all this. Mind you, I didn't desire to be kidnapped by a demon, but it still ended up happening. We live in a world where the impossible happens daily. So I'd rather prepare for anything than wait for it to happen to me. Regardless, ask me your favor," explained Ethan
Felicia looked down at the RFID card hanging from her necklace. "And if I needed… equipment? Custom jobs. Quiet purchases. Could your operation help with that?"
Ethan didn't hesitate. "Yes. But it won't be free."
She laughed. "Oh, I expected that. Question is—what would a teenage kingpin ask from me next?"
He smiled, the kind that never reached his eyes. "I'll let you know when it's time."