The "Broad Street Diner" wasn't exactly going to win any Michelin stars, but at 10:30 AM on a Saturday, it was a sanctuary. It smelled like burnt coffee, maple syrup, and the accumulated grease of fifty years of short-order cooking.
The gang had taken over the large corner booth. The table was a graveyard of empty plates, crumpled napkins, and half-empty mugs.
"I'm telling you," David said, gesturing aggressively with a piece of limp bacon. "That mechanical bull is rigged. I talked to a guy in Sigma Chi. They crank the speed up when the freshmen get on. But us? The upperclassmen? We're gonna ride that thing until dawn."
"You're going to throw up," Kelvin said, sipping his black coffee with the stoicism of a monk. "You're going to mix tequila and centrifugal force. It's physics."
"Physics is for nerds," Ollie mumbled through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes. "We're defying gravity tonight, baby."
Jude sat on the edge of the booth, nursing a glass of orange juice. His ribs still throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache every time he breathed too deep; a souvenir from the Scavenger in the alley. But strangely, he felt... present.
Maybe it was the adrenaline hangover. Maybe it was the fact that he had a secret that made him feel like he was carrying a loaded gun in his pocket.
"I'll try the bull," Jude said.
The table went silent. Even the waitress refilling coffee two tables over seemed to pause.
"Really?" David dropped his bacon. "Jude Miller? On a mechanical bull? Are we in the twilight zone or some shit?"
"I'm just saying," Jude shrugged, fighting a smile. "If I fall off, at least I'll have a good excuse to leave early. 'Oh no, my spine, gotta go home.'"
Ollie snorted, spraying a crumb of pancake. David laughed, a loud, booming sound that made the elderly couple in the next booth glare at them. Even Kelvin cracked a grin.
"No way, man," David grinned, reaching over to ruffle Jude's hair. "You get on that bull, you're staying till close. We're carrying you out on our shoulders like Rudy."
"Like a king," Natalia added softly from across the table. She smiled at him over the rim of her mug. It was warm, but the word stung just a little.
"Don't encourage him," a voice cut through the laughter.
Greta was sitting next to the window, wearing sunglasses indoors. She was picking apart a piece of toast like she was dissecting a frog in high school anatomy class.
"He's already planning his exit strategy," Greta said, not looking at Jude. "He's gonna show up, drink one beer, stand in the corner looking miserable, and then pull an 'Irish Goodbye' before he even speaks to one person. It's how he is."
The laughter died down. The air in the booth got a little tighter.
"I was joking, Greta," Jude said.
"Were you?" She lowered her sunglasses, revealing eyes that were bloodshot and circled by dark smudges. "Because usually jokes are funny. You're just an annoying prick."
"Okay!" Emily squeaked, clapping her hands together nervously. "Who's ready for the check? I'm full."
The tension lingered for a second longer before David cleared his throat and threw a twenty onto the table. "Right. Moving on. What's the play for the day?"
"Girls trip," Natalia announced, checking her reflection in her spoon. "We need outfits. King of Prussia. My dad sent me his card."
"Nice," Ollie said. "We're hitting the gym. Pickup games at the rec center. Jude, you in?"
Jude looked at Greta. She was back to mutilating her toast. He looked at Natalia. She was checking her phone. He looked at David, who was genuinely waiting for an answer.
"Yeah," Jude said. "I'll run a few games. I need to work off these hash browns."
King of Prussia Mall was a cathedral of capitalism. It was vast, echoing, and smelled of expensive perfume and soft pretzels. It was the kind of place where you could buy a $300,000 purse and a cinnamon roll within fifty feet of each other.
Greta hated it.
She walked a few steps behind Natalia and Emily, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her oversized army jacket. She looked like a smudge of dirt on a pristine white canvas.
"Look at this," Greta muttered as they passed a window display for a purse sponsored by Mindbulb. "Three thousand dollars for a bag to hold things you don't need. The world is burning, and we're shopping for fucking polyester."
"It's silk, actually," Natalia corrected without looking back. She was walking with purpose, her heels clicking on the polished tile. "And we need to look good. Sigma Chi parties are basically networking events."
"Networking for what?" Greta scoffed. "Chlamydia?"
Emily giggled nervously, walking close to Natalia's side. "I think it'll be fun, Grets. Just... dancing. Letting loose."
"I can let loose in a dive bar for five bucks," Greta grumbled. "I don't need to Uber forty minutes to a mall the size of a small country."
They turned a corner, entering the luxury wing. The air conditioning seemed colder here.
"So," Greta said, kicking at a scuff mark on the floor. "Did you see Jude's face when I called him out? He looked like a kicked puppy."
"You were kind of mean, Greta," Emily whispered.
"I was honest," Greta snapped. "Someone has to be. Everyone else treats him like he's made of glass. 'Oh, poor Jude, he's so sad, let's buy him a beer.' It's fucking pathetic."
"He seemed better today," Emily mentioned. "He was joking around."
"It's an act," Greta said, shaking her head. "He thinks he's better than us, Em. He sits there in his little hoodie, watching us get drunk, watching us be messy, and he judges us. He thinks he's so deep because he listens to indie rock and bitches about everything. He's an energy vampire. He sucks the fun out of the room just by standing there."
Emily nodded slowly, looking at the floor. "Yeah. I guess he can be kind of... heavy. Sometimes."
Natalia stopped.
They had reached a high-end boutique. Mannequins with no heads posed in shimmering cocktail dresses. Natalia turned around. She didn't look angry. She looked... thoughtful.
"You know," Natalia said, tilting her head. "Maybe we're looking at it wrong."
"Looking at what wrong?" Greta asked, stopping to lean against a pillar.
"Jude," Natalia said. "We always talk about how he doesn't try to fit in with us. How he doesn't match our energy."
She reached out and smoothed a wrinkle on a silver dress hanging on the rack.
"But have we ever tried to match his?" Natalia asked. "We drag him to loud bars. We drag him to frat parties. We force him into our world. Have we ever actually asked him what he wants to do? Have we ever tried to understand how his brain works?"
Greta stared at her. Emily looked surprised.
"He's clearly depressed, Greta," Natalia continued, her voice soft, reasonable. "He's not judging us. He's struggling. Maybe instead of attacking him for it, we should... I don't know. Be actual friends?"
For a moment, the mask slipped. Natalia looked genuinely compassionate. It was the face of the girl who asked if he was okay. The face of the girl who texted him goodnight.
Greta stared at her for a long, silence-filled second.
Then, she laughed. A harsh, barking sound.
"Wow," Greta said, shaking her head. "You really are a communications major, aren't you? That was a beautiful speech, Nat. Really fucking moving. You almost had me."
"I'm serious," Natalia said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"No, you're not. You just like having a project that you can make do things for you," Greta spat. She rubbed her nose, her hands shaking slightly. "I'm too sober for this moral superiority bullshit. I need a damn drink. Or something stronger."
Greta pushed off the pillar, walking past them toward the food court.
"And tell Jude," Greta called over her shoulder, "that if he tries to leave early tonight, he's dead. I'm beating his fucking ass."
Natalia watched her go. The compassion vanished from her face instantly, replaced by a cool, unbothered neutrality.
"That went well," Natalia murmured.
"Is she okay?" Emily asked, looking worriedly after Greta.
"She's fine," Natalia said, turning back to the silver dress. She pulled it off the rack. "This would look amazing on me. What do you think?"
The locker room at the rec center smelled like shitty body spray, wet towels, and testosterone. It was a dense, humid fog that clung to the back of the throat.
Jude sat on the bench, untying his sneakers. He was dripping sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. His ribs still ached, but the movement felt good. It felt alive.
"I'm just saying," David said, snapping a towel at Ollie's legs. "The vibes are there, man. I saw the way she looked at you last night. 'Our king'? Come on. That's code."
"Code for 'friend-zoned into oblivion'?" Jude muttered, tossing his shoes into his gym bag.
"No way," Kelvin said. He was methodically folding his gym shorts, treating them with the respect of a flag. "Natalia doesn't do 'kings.' She curates her circle. If she's keeping you around, she wants something."
"She wants him to carry her shopping bags," Ollie chimed in, dodging another towel snap.
"Fuck that," David said, sitting down next to Jude. He was shirtless, sweating profusely, and radiated the heat of a blast furnace. He slapped Jude on the knee. "Tonight is the night, Jude the Dude. The Sigma Chi Rager. Everyone's gonna be trashed. The lights will be low. The mechanical bull will be spinning."
David leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You need to make a move. Stop being the puppy dog. Be the wolf. Ask her to dance. Buy her a drink. Tell her she looks hot."
Jude paused.
His instinct, the one he'd listened to for twenty-one years, screamed HELL NO. It told him to stay in his lane, to be the quiet friend, to hold the purses while everyone else hooked up.
But then he remembered the alleyway. He remembered the feeling of the Celestial Bow in his hand. He remembered the look on the robber's face when he didn't die.
He was tired of being the invisible man.
"Maybe," Jude said quietly.
The locker room went silent.
"Whoa," Ollie stopped dressing. "Did he just say maybe?"
"I said maybe I will," Jude said, looking up. His eyes were hard. "I'm tired of waiting around."
"LETS FUCKING GO!" David roared, jumping up and high-fiving the air. "That's the energy! Alpha Jude activated! We are getting you laid tonight, brother! It is a mandate!"
"Don't make it weird," Jude said, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Just remember," Kelvin added solemnly. "If you try to Irish Goodbye tonight, Greta will actually murder you. I saw her sharpening a nail file earlier. It looked premeditated."
"I know," Jude sighed. "I'm staying. I promise."
Ollie checked his phone. "Shit. 4:30. I gotta bail. I promised Emily I'd meet them at the mall to give a 'male perspective' on a romper. Pray for me."
"You sound like Jude," David scoffed.
"Hey!" Jude protested.
"I do not!" Ollie yelled, already sprinting for the door. "I'm a consultant! It's different!"
The gang laughed, the sound echoing off the metal lockers. For the first time in a long time, Jude laughed with them. It felt real.
Jude got back to the dorm at 5:00 PM sharp.
The room was empty. Ollie was still on his diplomatic mission to King of Prussia. Jude stood in the center of the room, staring at his "Chair of Despair"—the desk chair piled high with laundry that was clean, dirty, or somewhere in purgatory.
Usually, his party outfit was simple: The least wrinkled hoodie he could find, jeans that didn't have visible stains, and sneakers. The goal was to blend into the wallpaper.
Jude grabbed a gray hoodie. He looked at it.
It was safe. It was boring. It was invisible.
He threw it on the floor.
"No," Jude muttered. "Not tonight."
If he was going to make a move, if he was going to be an Earth Angel, a demon hunter, a guy who actually existed, he needed to look the part.
He marched to the closet.
5:15 PM: The shower was running hot enough to peel paint. Jude wasn't just standing under the water; he was scrubbing. He used Ollie's expensive exfoliating scrub (the one Ollie swore he didn't own). He washed his hair twice. He even shaved, staring into the foggy mirror with intense concentration, navigating the razor around the jawline like he was defusing a bomb.
5:45 PM: He was standing in his towel, staring at a button-down shirt he had bought for a presentation freshman year and never worn. It was black. It was slim-fit. He put it on. It was tight across the shoulders—his new, magically enhanced muscles straining the fabric slightly. He rolled the sleeves up to the elbows. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."
6:10 PM: Jeans. Dark wash. No holes. He found a belt. He actually put on a belt. He couldn't find his cologne, so he stole a spritz of Ollie's cheap body spray. He smelled like bergamot and bad decisions. It was perfect.
6:45 PM: The pièce de résistance. He dug his boots out from under the bed—black leather combat boots he usually only wore in winter. He laced them up tight.
Jude stepped back from the full-length mirror on the door.
He didn't look like the kid who failed Econ. He didn't look like the mascot.
The black shirt made him look sharper, leaner. The rolled sleeves showed off forearms that were surprisingly defined. His hair, usually a messy mop, was styled back, wet and textured.
He looked... dangerous.
Jude straightened his collar. He struck a pose, a subtle one. One he saw Ironclad do as a kid.
"You look good," he whispered to his reflection. "You look like a guy who could kill a demon."
"You look like a waiter at a vampire theme restaurant."
Jude screamed.
Reflex took over. Pure, unadulterated panic. He spun around, grabbing the heavy combat boot he hadn't put on yet from the floor, and hurled it with fastball velocity.
THWACK.
"OW!"
The boot connected perfectly with Bob's forehead.
The angel stumbled back, clutching his head, dropping his clipboard. He was standing by the mini-fridge, wearing an obnoxiously patterned tie for some reason.
"You hit me!" Bob yelled, rubbing a red mark on his temple. "You actually hit me!"
"You're in my room!" Jude roared, heart pounding out of his chest. "Uninvited! Again! Stop fucking doing that!"
"I'm an ethereal being!" Bob shouted back, picking up his clipboard. "I don't need an invite! And nice arm, by the way. Your aim is improving."
Jude panted, smoothing down his nice shirt. "What do you want, Bob? I have a pregame in ten minutes. I look cool. You're ruining the vibe."
Bob looked him up and down. He smirked.
"Going somewhere, Casanova? You cleaned up nice. Did you finally decide to shower?"
"I have a party," Jude snapped. "Are there demons? Is the world ending? Or are you just here to mock my life choices?"
Bob's smirk faded slightly. He dusted off his tie.
"Actually," Bob said, his voice dropping an octave. "You'll be doing nothing of the sort. Get your stuff ready. We have a problem."
Jude froze. "Are you shitting me?"