Ethan hadn't moved from his chair in nearly twenty minutes.
The office lights were still on, but he barely noticed. His phone lay face-down on the desk, as if flipping it over might summon another message, another warning, another invisible hand pushing him back into confusion.
Curious, not active.
The words replayed in his head like a taunt.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet as if answers might crawl out of it. Nothing made sense — and that was what bothered him the most. Not fear. Not danger.
Control.
Someone had it.
And it wasn't him.
A soft knock tapped against the glass door.
"Ethan?" Clara's voice came through, hesitant but familiar.
He didn't answer.
The door creaked open anyway.
She stepped in slowly, closing it behind her, eyes scanning him the way you look at someone who's been through something but doesn't know how to talk about it yet.
"…Okay," she said carefully. "That's not your normal brooding posture."
He gave a dry laugh without humor. "Didn't know I had one."
"You do," she replied. "And this one screams something went very wrong."
She pulled a chair closer but didn't sit — just hovered, unsure whether to cross the line.
Ethan finally looked up at her.
"Have you ever felt like you're being watched," he asked, "but not in a creepy way… in a calculated way?"
Clara froze for half a second.
Just half.
Then she smiled lightly. "That's an oddly specific question."
"That pause you just did?" he said. "That's exactly what I mean."
Her smile faded.
Ethan stood, pacing now, restless. "I get calls. Messages. Warnings. People telling me what not to do before I even know what I'm doing."
Clara folded her arms, listening.
"And the worst part?" he continued. "They talk to me like they know me. Like they've been watching me grow up."
That landed.
Clara's eyes dropped.
He stopped pacing.
"There," he said quietly. "That look again."
She inhaled slowly. "Ethan—"
"No," he cut in, voice steady but tight. "Don't smooth it over. Don't protect me. Just—tell me the truth."
She met his gaze.
"You know something," he said. "And you've known it longer than I have."
The room felt heavier.
"I'm not asking for secrets of the universe," he added. "I'm asking why I keep feeling like the only one not reading the script."
Clara hesitated.
"You're not supposed to feel this way yet," she said before catching herself.
Ethan laughed once — sharp, surprised. "Yet?"
She shut her eyes briefly.
"There it is," he said. "That's what I mean."
Silence stretched between them.
"You're the only person I trust right now," Ethan said, voice dropping. "Everyone else either disappeared, lied, or started speaking in riddles."
He stepped closer.
"And you're still here," he said. "Which means something."
Her voice wavered. "Or it means I'm trying not to let things spiral."
"They already have," he replied. "I'm standing in the middle of it."
Clara looked at him — really looked — and for the first time, the confidence cracked.
"I don't want you hurt," she said softly.
"That's not an answer," Ethan replied.
"I know."
He leaned against the desk, exhausted. "If you leave me in the dark much longer, I'm going to start pulling at things I don't understand."
Her eyes snapped up.
"That's exactly what you can't do."
The urgency in her voice told him everything.
Ethan nodded slowly. "So someone else already told you that."
She didn't deny it.
The hum of the air conditioner filled the space between them, loud and unforgiving.
"I don't need everything," Ethan said at last. "I just need to know you're on my side."
Clara swallowed.
"I am," she said. "Even if you don't like how."
Ethan looked away, jaw clenched.
"Then stop acting like I'm fragile," he said. "I grew up in an orphanage, Clara. I learned early that silence hurts more than truth."
That one hit.
Clara's shoulders dropped.
"I promise you this," she said quietly. "When the time comes… you won't be alone."
Ethan studied her face.
"That's not comforting," he said. "That sounds like a warning."
She didn't correct him.
And in that moment, Ethan understood something chilling:
Clara wasn't afraid for him.
She was afraid of what would happen when he finally understood.
Clara broke the silence first.
"You know what?" she said suddenly, pushing herself off Ethan's desk. "We're going to a party."
Ethan blinked. "A… what?"
"A party," she repeated, already grabbing her jacket. "Loud music. Bad decisions. Too many people who don't know your problems."
He stared at her like she'd suggested arson. "Clara, I just got threatened by an unknown voice that knows my name, my movements, and my childhood—"
"Exactly," she cut in. "Which means sitting here thinking will only drive you insane."
Ethan hesitated. He really did. His instincts screamed no. Everything screamed no.
But then he looked at her — smiling, determined, pretending nothing was wrong — and something inside him cracked.
"…Fine," he sighed. "One drink. Then I'm gone."
She grinned. "Liar."
The party was already chaos when they arrived.
Music shook the walls. Lights flashed red, blue, purple — faces blurred together, laughter spilling into the night air. Someone shoved a cup into Ethan's hand before he could protest.
"This is a terrible idea," he muttered.
Clara was already gone.
He spotted her across the crowd within seconds — arguing with someone twice her size, pointing a finger, laughing like she wanted trouble.
"Oh no," Ethan groaned.
By the time he pushed through the crowd, the argument had multiplied.
One guy had spilled a drink on her. Another had called her something she definitely didn't appreciate. Clara responded by clapping sarcastically and loudly announcing,
"Wow. Is this the part where you all embarrass yourselves at once?"
Bad move.
Chairs scraped. Voices rose. Someone shoved Ethan from behind.
"Clara," he hissed, grabbing her arm. "We should go. Now."
Too late.
Someone swung. Someone missed. Someone else knocked over a table.
And suddenly the entire room was moving — people shouting, security pushing in, chaos folding in on itself.
"RUN," Clara yelled.
They ran.
Out the back door. Down an alley slick with spilled drinks and rain. Footsteps thundered behind them.
"WHY ARE PEOPLE CHASING US?!" Ethan shouted.
Clara laughed breathlessly. "Because they're boring!"
A headlight flared behind them.
A motorcycle.
Low. Black. Engine growling like a warning.
The bike skidded sideways in front of them, cutting off their path.
Ethan nearly crashed into it.
The rider lifted his head.
A gorilla mask stared back at them.
"Get on," the rider said.
Ethan froze. "NOPE. Absolutely not—"
Clara was already climbing on.
"ETHAN!"
The shouts were getting closer.
Glass shattered somewhere behind them.
"THIS IS A TERRIBLE TIME TO ARGUE," she yelled.
Ethan swore, jumped on behind her, and the motorcycle launched forward.
The city blurred.
Turns. Lights. Wind tearing at his jacket. His hands locked around Clara's waist as the bike weaved through traffic like it owned the road.
Behind them, the shouting faded.
Then disappeared.
The motorcycle slowed under an overpass, finally coming to a stop.
The rider didn't turn around.
"Next time," the masked voice said calmly, "try not to start a war in public."
Clara hopped off, unfazed. "No promises."
Ethan slid off last, heart pounding, adrenaline buzzing.
He stared at the mask.
"…Do all my bad decisions come with helmets now?"
The motorcycle skidded under the bridge and came to a violent stop.
The engine didn't die immediately.
It growled.
The rider kicked the stand down and turned slowly.
The gorilla mask faced them.
"You two have completely lost your minds."
The voice wasn't calm now.
It was furious.
Ethan slid off the bike, legs unsteady. "I— we—"
"Don't," the masked man snapped. "Don't explain."
He pointed at Clara first.
"You," he barked. "Do you know how many eyes were on that place? Cameras. Phones. Faces. You turned a quiet night into a public disaster."
Clara folded her arms. "It was just a party."
The gorilla mask took one step closer.
"There is no such thing as just anything anymore."
Then he turned to Ethan.
"And you," he said, voice dropping. "Do you have any idea how close you came to getting hurt tonight?"
Ethan swallowed. "I didn't ask for this."
"That's the problem," the masked man shot back. "You don't ask. You move. You poke. You wander into places you were warned about."
Clara opened her mouth.
"Silence," he snapped, without looking at her.
The night seemed to hold its breath.
"You were told to be curious," the gorilla mask continued. "Not reckless. Not loud. Not stupid."
Ethan's chest tightened. "Then why are you helping us?"
The gorilla mask paused.
For half a second.
"Because if I don't," he said coldly, "someone else will pick you up next time."
That landed hard.
He stepped back toward the bike.
"Go home," he ordered. "Both of you."
Clara hesitated. "And if we don't?"
The engine revved.
"You won't get a warning again."
The motorcycle spun around, tires screeching, and tore off into the darkness.
Ethan and Clara stood there in stunned silence, the echo of the engine still ringing in their ears.
Ethan exhaled shakily.
"…I think," he said slowly, "we just got grounded by a man in a gorilla mask."
Clara didn't laugh.
She was staring at the empty road.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "And that's what scares me."