“Stay out of my business,” she had said, slamming the door in his face.

Ethan frowned, replaying the moment in his mind. Most people were either thankful for his help or terrified of him once they realized who—or what—he was. But Mia’s reaction was different. She wasn’t scared, not even surprised. If anything, she seemed…guarded.

“Who slams the door on someone who just saved their life?” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the scooter’s engine.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the bigger issue: the masked man from earlier. Something about the encounter didn’t sit right with him. The Council’s agents were usually more methodical, more precise. This one had been reckless, brazen enough to attack in public. Ethan couldn’t help but feel like it was only the beginning of something worse.

By the time he reached his tiny apartment, the adrenaline from the night’s events had worn off. He parked his scooter, climbed the creaky staircase, and unlocked the door. The space was modest, to say the least—a worn-out couch, a small kitchen crammed into a corner, and a desk covered in papers and gadgets. In the middle of it all sat a glowing shard of obsidian, housed in a glass case.

Ethan dropped his bag and stared at the shard. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, and its presence filled the room with an eerie energy. He sighed, collapsing onto the couch.

“Another messenger from the Council,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “They’re getting bolder. Attacking in the middle of the city like that?”

The Council. Ethan didn’t know much about them—only that they were a secretive organization with an unhealthy obsession with artifacts like the one that had bonded to him. Over the past few years, they’d sent countless agents after him, all with the same goal: retrieve the shard and eliminate the "anomaly." Ethan leaned back, closing his eyes. For now, he was safe. He’d figure out his next move in the morning.

While Ethan rested, elsewhere in the city, a man in a tailored suit sat behind a massive desk in a dimly lit office. The room was filled with monitors, each displaying a different part of Arclight. One screen showed a grainy recording of Ethan fighting the masked man.

The suited man leaned forward, his piercing eyes fixed on the screen. He pressed a button on the desk, and a voice crackled through the speakers. “Status report.”

The voice on the other end was shaky. “The operative failed, sir. The target—Virtuoso—neutralized him.”

“And the artifact?”

“Still with the target.”

The man’s jaw tightened. “Increase surveillance. I want every move he makes tracked. And find out everything you can about the girl he saved. She might be useful.”

“Yes, sir.”

The connection ended, and the man leaned back, his expression unreadable.

Ethan woke the next morning to the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He groaned, reaching for it without opening his eyes.

“Hello?”

“Cross, you’re late. Again.”

Ethan sat up, blinking at the clock. 9:47 AM. His shift had started at 9.

“Crap,” he muttered, scrambling to get dressed. “Sorry, Mr. Romano. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it ten, or don’t bother showing up at all,” his boss snapped before hanging up.

Ethan sighed, pulling on his jacket. Another day, another lecture.

As he arrived at the pizza shop, Ethan braced himself for Mr. Romano’s usual tirade. But instead of the familiar shouting, he found the shop eerily quiet.

“Hello?” he called out, stepping inside.

The lights flickered, and a strange tension hung in the air. Ethan’s instincts kicked in, and his hand moved toward the small knife he kept hidden in his jacket. Before he could react, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

It was Mia.

“What the—?” Ethan started, but she cut him off.

“Quiet,” she hissed, glancing around the room. “We’re not alone.”

Ethan frowned. “How did you even—”

“Later,” she whispered, motioning for him to follow her.

The two moved cautiously through the shop, Ethan’s mind racing. What was Mia doing here? How did she know something was wrong? They reached the back room, where Mr. Romano was tied to a chair, unconscious.

Ethan’s fists clenched. “Who did this?”

“Same people who attacked me last night,” Mia said, her voice low. “They’re after you.”

Ethan stared at her, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and suspicion. “How do you know about them? Who are you, really?”

Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed through the shop.

“We don’t have time for this,” Mia said, grabbing his arm. “If you want to live, follow me.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Ethan and Mia slipped out the back door, only to be pursued by a group of armed men. Ethan’s shadows flared to life, forming a protective barrier as bullets ricocheted off the walls. Mia, to his surprise, wasn’t just running—she was fighting.

With fluid movements, she disarmed one of the attackers and used his weapon to take out two more. Ethan couldn’t hide his shock. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Not now,” Mia shot back, ducking behind cover.

They fought their way through the alley, eventually losing the attackers in the maze-like streets of Arclight. When they finally stopped to catch their breath, Ethan turned to Mia, his eyes blazing.

“Start talking. Now.”

Mia met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “I’ll explain everything, but you need to trust me.”

Ethan laughed bitterly. “Trust you? You show up out of nowhere, drag me into this mess, and now you want me to trust you?”

She stepped closer, her voice firm. “I know what you are, Ethan. And I know who’s after you. If you don’t listen to me, you’re as good as dead.”