"Hmm. Fire will rain," Ethan murmured, studying the words as they continued to burn, flames tracing each letter with deliberate persistence.
He skewered a marshmallow, holding it over the Fire. "At least it's functional," he said to no one in particular. "Nothing like threat doubling as a campfire."
He snapped a quick selfie—flames behind him, the warning half-visible—and typed a message.
Enid, come admire this. Fire-based art installation.
Send.
He waited.
A minute passed. Nothing.
Ethan frowned. Enid never ignored messages. Not during class. Not during meals. The only times she went dark were sleep or a shower—and it was still early evening.
"Huh. That's weird."
He hovered over the call button, then shook his head. She'd respond when she saw it.
The marshmallow finally blackened. Ethan popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, eyes drifting back to the burning words.
As he stared into the fire, chewing thoughtfully, a hand landed on his shoulder.
Ethan turned. "Eugene?" He glanced down and nudged the marshmallow bag near his feet with his shoe. "Want one?"
"No," Eugene said quickly.
He didn't even look at the bag. His eyes kept flicking back to the burning words carved into the grass. FIRE WILL RAIN. The glow reflected uneasily on his face. Whoever had done this had gone far beyond a prank, and Eugene was creeped out by it.
"Your bad luck," Ethan shrugged, taking another bite.
There was an awkward pause before Ethan looked back at him. "So… what do you want from me?"
Eugene then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded note. "Miss Thornhill asked me to give you this."
After that he didn't wait around and turned and left.
Ethan unfolded the paper.
His pupils flared, a dangerous glow igniting as he read.
I have your girlfriend. If you want to see her alive, come to Crackstone's crypt alone. Or say goodbye.
The paper crumpled in his fist. The muscles in his hand knotted, veins standing out sharply.
"That bitch," Ethan growled under his breath.
Of all the lines Laurel Gates could have crossed, this was the one. Enid. He had underestimated her—assumed she'd wait for the Blood Moon, assumed she'd savor the ritual. Instead, she'd gone straight for leverage.
That was his mistake. He had underestimated her psychopathic nature.
He stared into the fire, jaw tight, eyes burning brighter. "Looks like it's time you reunited with your family," he muttered.
He tossed the note into the flames. The paper curled, blackened, and vanished.
***
Ethan stepped into the underground chamber of the Crypt— and he immediately noticed the situation.
Enid was right there.
Laurel Gates had one arm locked around her, holding her upright, the other hand raised with a syringe poised dangerously close to Enid's neck. The liquid inside shimmered faintly. Nightshade. Even a trace would be enough.
To the side, Tyler stood with a shotgun braced against his shoulder, the barrel already trained on Ethan's chest.
Laurel smiled.
"Careful," she said softly, savoring the moment. "If you move even an inch, this needle goes in. You know what nightshade does. Seconds, and she's gone."
Ethan's gaze flicked to the syringe. Then to Enid's face—pale, unconscious, helpless.
Something in him snapped.
"I told you," he said quietly, his voice low and vibrating with restraint, "never to cross that line."
His eyes ignited—red spreading outward from his pupils, veins crawling like cracks through marble. The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop.
Laurel laughed, sharp and pleased. "And what if I did?" she taunted. "You can't do anything now. I'm holding your weakness. One push, one twitch of my finger, and she dies."
Ethan took a single step forward.
"Try it," he said, teeth bared. "The moment that needle pierces her skin, you'll beg me to kill you. What I'll do instead will make death feel merciful."
For a heartbeat, Laurel hesitated—then masked it with cruelty.
"Oh, I'm not killing her," she said. "I'm killing you. That's why I waited. That's why I played patient."
She turned her head slightly. "Tyler, dear. Aim for his heart."
Tyler's grin spread as he adjusted his stance, the shotgun locking firmly on target.
"Guns?" Ethan laughed softly. "Disappointing. You should've brought your father instead. His aim's better than yours."
Tyler's smile froze and turned to anger.
"Last time," Ethan went on, voice cutting, "I beat you bloody even when you were in your monster form. Now you're hiding behind firearms like a scared little boy."
He leaned forward just enough to make the threat unmistakable.
"Pathetic."
Ethan's gaze stayed locked on Tyler. "Why don't you hide behind your sheriff daddy while you're at it?"
Tyler's face twisted with rage. He hated this—hated remembering the last time, when he'd been in monster form, drunk on his own strength, convinced he was unstoppable.
And still, he'd been beaten. Thoroughly. That humiliation had never left him.
Now it was happening again.
Even with a gun in his hands, even with the upper hand, the confidence on Ethan's face made Tyler feel small. It wasn't fear he saw there. It was contempt. The same look as before—calm, unflinching, looking down on him.
He wasn't just angry.
He was desperate to erase that look.
Laurel sucked in a sharp breath. The syringe hovered closer to Enid's neck—shk—the liquid inside trembling. "Don't move."
Her warning cut the air. She edged the needle forward another centimeter.
"Now, dear," Laurel said softly, almost singing. "Shoot him."
Tyler's grin spread.
"Smile while you can," Ethan replied, voice calm, edged with steel. "The last one to smile will be me."
BANG!
The blast thundered through the crypt.
The shotgun shells tore straight into his chest, punching through flesh with a wet THUD. A jagged hole opened where they hit, blood bursting out as the force hurled him backward.
His body hit the floor. Breath fled his lungs—HNNG—sound draining into a distant RING. Blood spilled fast—SPLASH—dark against the stone.
Vision blurring, edges tunneling, he caught one last image through the haze.
Wednesday.
With an expression he had never seen.
'Well, this turned into a mess.'
Silence swallowed the chamber.
Laurel released Enid—DROP—and she crumpled to the floor, unmoving, as the echo of the gunshot faded into nothing.