Chapter eight
1066 Words
The city didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Ethan.
By midnight, every screen in Ashbourne was flooded with footage of the fight.
Shaky cellphone videos.
Security camera clips.
Drone recordings.
Every angle imaginable.
The internet had officially lost its mind.
BLUE HOOD DEFEATS EARTHQUAKE MAN
WHO IS PULSE?
ASHBOURNE HAS A REAL SUPERHERO
The last one hit differently.
A real superhero.
Ethan stared at the headline from the edge of his bed, phone glowing faintly in the dark.
His room was still half-repaired from the accidental blast through the wall.
Plastic sheeting covered the missing section.
Rain tapped softly against the temporary boards outside.
Everything about the room looked normal enough.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
His body still ached from the fight.
A deep soreness settled into his ribs and shoulders.
Not enough to stop him moving.
Enough to remind him exactly how hard Breaker had hit.
He replayed the fight in his head.
Every move.
Every mistake.
Every adjustment.
And one thought kept returning.
He let me win.
Not completely.
Ethan had fought better.
Smarter.
But there had been moments—
clear openings.
Breaker could've ended it.
Instead, he'd pulled back.
Why?
The question gnawed at him.
A soft knock came at his door.
Before Ethan could answer, it opened.
His mother stepped inside.
She looked tired.
Still in her hospital scrubs from the late shift.
Her eyes moved briefly over the bruising visible above his collar.
Then back to his face.
"Long night?"
Ethan instinctively adjusted his shirt.
"Training."
It was technically true.
She leaned against the doorframe.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then:
"You've been different lately."
His chest tightened.
Parents always knew.
Maybe not specifics.
But enough.
"I'm fine."
That earned him the universal parental look of that answer was useless and we both know it.
She crossed the room and sat beside him.
"When you were little," she said quietly, "you used to try fixing everything."
Ethan frowned.
"What?"
"If something broke, you'd insist on fixing it yourself."
He almost smiled.
"I was six."
"You tried repairing the microwave with tape."
"In my defense, it worked for almost an hour."
She laughed softly.
Then her expression grew serious.
"You've got that same look lately."
The smile faded.
"What look?"
"The one that says you've decided something is your responsibility."
He looked away.
The silence stretched.
Then she placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Whatever's going on…"
Her voice softened.
"You don't have to carry it alone."
The words hit harder than he expected.
Because that was exactly what he was doing.
Carrying this.
Alone.
Well.
Mostly alone.
Maya would strongly object to being excluded from that statement.
Still.
Ethan swallowed.
"Yeah."
His mother squeezed his shoulder once.
Then stood.
"Try to sleep."
As she reached the door, she paused.
"And Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"If your 'training' keeps leaving you looking like you got hit by a bus, your father's going to start asking difficult questions."
Then she left.
Ethan stared after her.
His chest felt strangely heavy.
The next morning, Ashbourne Technical Academy was chaos.
Again.
Students packed around hallway screens replaying footage of Pulse's victory.
The school had fully embraced collective obsession.
Ethan kept his hood low and moved carefully through the crowd.
Every conversation felt surreal.
"That punch at the end was insane."
"Breaker got folded."
"Pulse is definitely ex-military."
Ethan nearly laughed at that one.
Yes.
Clearly.
Nothing said "trained professional" like accidentally launching yourself through walls.
At his locker, Maya appeared carrying two coffees.
One landed in his hands.
He accepted it automatically.
"Your fan club has expanded."
He glanced at her.
"Please never call them that again."
"No promises."
She leaned casually against the neighboring locker.
But her expression was thoughtful.
"News feeds are calling it your first official win."
"Doesn't feel like one."
That got her attention.
"Why?"
Ethan hesitated.
Then lowered his voice.
"He held back."
Maya's brow furrowed.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"There were openings."
He shut his locker harder than intended.
"He saw them."
"And?"
"And he didn't take them."
Maya went quiet.
That bothered her too.
Good.
At least he wasn't imagining it.
Before she could respond, movement down the hallway caught Ethan's eye.
Nolan Price.
The new transfer student.
Walking alone through the crowd.
Dark coat.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
And then—
he glanced directly at Ethan.
Just for a second.
A faint smile touched his face.
Gone almost instantly.
But enough to freeze Ethan where he stood.
Because there was something deeply wrong about it.
Like Nolan knew exactly what Ethan was thinking.
Maya noticed.
"That guy again?"
Ethan nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
"You seriously know him?"
"…Used to."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're doing the vague thing."
"I'm not doing a thing."
"You are absolutely doing a thing."
Before she could press further, the bell rang.
Students scattered toward class.
Nolan disappeared into the crowd.
And Ethan was left with a cold unease settling in his stomach.
That evening, the parking structure felt different.
Less like a testing ground.
More like headquarters.
Suit schematics lined the walls.
Drone parts covered folding tables.
Monitors displayed city surveillance feeds.
Maya was in full engineering mode, surrounded by wires and half-disassembled tech.
Ethan stood in suit, running movement drills.
Controlled jumps.
Impact redirects.
Burst-release timing.
Cleaner.
Sharper.
Better.
Still not enough.
After an hour, he landed beside Maya's workstation.
Sweating.
Breathing hard.
She barely looked up.
"Improved."
"That sounded almost nice."
"Don't get used to it."
Then her screen flashed red.
Both froze.
An incoming signal.
Unknown source.
Maya frowned.
"That's weird."
"What is it?"
"No idea."
The monitor flickered.
Static consumed the screen.
Thick black-and-white interference.
Then—
text appeared.
Simple.
White against distortion.
YOU'RE LEARNING FAST, ETHAN.
His blood ran cold.
Maya went still.
Neither spoke.
More text.
BUT YOU'RE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTIONS.
The static intensified.
Then a final message:
ASK WHAT HAPPENED TO NOLAN.
The screen went black.
Silence swallowed the structure.
Ethan stared.
Heart hammering.
Maya slowly turned toward him.
"…You want to explain that?"
He couldn't.
Because the truth was—
he had no idea how anyone knew his identity.
No idea who had sent the message.
And no idea why seeing Nolan's name made dread coil in his chest.
But one thing was suddenly certain.
This had started long before the transit explosion.
And someone had been watching him the entire time.
- Writer
