Ethan spent hours at the window, just staring out like a kid who'd been handed the best new toy on the planet.
Every little detail was suddenly loud and clear—the way a leaf fluttered on the breeze, the pattern of cracks in the sidewalk, the slow crawl of ants marching across the porch.
He leaned in closer, focusing harder, seeing further. Colors popped. Sounds layered themselves like music he could control—turning the volume up, down, isolating instruments he'd never noticed before.
For a moment, the world wasn't just a place he'd returned to. It was a playground, and he was just figuring out how to play again.
Time slipped away, and all that mattered was the hum beneath his skin—the sharpness of his senses, the thrill of new power wrapped in old skin.
Because sometimes, the best toys aren't toys at all.
They're the parts of you that surprise you when you thought you'd lost everything.
Ethan's eyes scanned the street like a hawk with a new lens.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention—a dark alleyway just a few blocks down.
There, under the flickering streetlamp, a man in a hoodie was trying to rob a woman.
The woman struggled, clutching her purse tight.
Ethan smirked, feeling a spark light up inside.
"Oh," he muttered, leaning closer to the glass, "that's something."
The quiet thrill of watching trouble unfold was like an itch begging to be scratched.
Because maybe, just maybe, this new world of sharp senses and second chances wasn't about hiding anymore.
Maybe it was about stepping in.
Ethan scanned the street. No one else nearby. Quiet. Too quiet.
He grinned, shaking his head at the cliché stuck in his brain."Okay, Ethan, as they say—'with great power comes great something something.'"
He crouched by his window, took a deep breath. "Alright… you can jump from here."
Without hesitation, he leapt.
The landing was perfect. Solid. No pain, no wobble.
"Holy shit," he whispered, grinning wide.
Without missing a beat, he sprinted toward the alleyway.
Ahead, a trash can clattered as he vaulted up onto a rooftop about seven meters high.
"Damn… I can get used to this," he muttered happily, settling into the shadows.
From above, Ethan watched the man in the hoodie struggling with the woman.
The city spread out beneath him, alive and dangerous and—somehow—his playground.
Ethan took a deep breath, heart pounding in his chest.
"Okay, Ethan, focus," he whispered. "This is your first entrance."
Without hesitation, he jumped from the roof straight onto the robber's head.
The impact was brutal. The man crumpled instantly, dead before he hit the ground.
The woman screamed, stumbling backward, her eyes wide with confusion and terror as she fell to the pavement.
She looked at Ethan—standing tall, shadowed in the moonlight, a stranger who'd just ended her nightmare.
"W-what? W-who are you?" she stammered, voice trembling.
Ethan struck a dramatic pose, chest puffed out, eyes fierce.
"Don't be afraid. Because I—damn it—I forgot a cool name," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a grin.
Well, guess he had work to do on the whole hero thing.
Ethan smirked, arms crossed like a kid who just pulled off a prank.
"Okay, okay, miss," he said with a teasing edge, "I saved you. You can leave now. No need to thank me."
The woman gave a shaky, uncertain smile, slowly getting to her feet and backing away.
But then—before she could disappear into the night—Ethan moved like lightning.
His bare hand pierced through her chest from behind, cold and sharp like a shadow.
He leaned close, his breath brushing her ear as he whispered low and deadly:
"Sorry. No witnesses."
The woman gasped, eyes wide with shock and fear, before collapsing silently to the ground.
Ethan stepped back, expression unreadable, the city's dark night swallowing the silence.
Ethan's eyes darkened as he stared down at the trembling woman.
Without warning, his hand shot forward, ripping her head clean off in a swift, brutal motion.
Blood spilled like a river, warm and metallic, dripping down his fingers.
He held the severed head up, tilting it slightly.
Leaning in, he drank deeply, the blood slick and hot on his tongue.
Ethan crouched over the fallen woman, eyes cold and calculating.
Without hesitation, he ripped into the corpse with savage force—tearing flesh, snapping bones, shredding anything that could give away the truth.
He ate brutally, ravenous and fierce, blood and pieces falling to the ground as he worked.
Then he turned back to the man he'd landed on earlier, doing the same—tearing, ripping, devouring.
Every move was methodical, violent, precise.
He wanted to erase any trace of what had happened, to make sure no one would ever find two simple human bodies.
No neat murder scene.
No proof.
When he finished, Ethan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up, and glanced around the empty alley.
"I was not here, not even saw anything"
Ethan walked home like nothing had happened, the night's violence tucked away like a dark secret.
He muttered under his breath, voice low and almost amused,"I don't know what that creepy lady claiming to be my mother did to me… but, you know what? It's not all bad."
A slow, crooked grin tugged at his lips—as if even in the chaos, he'd found a strange kind of freedom.
Ethan jumped up to his window and slipped inside without a sound. He headed straight to the bathroom, stripped off his clothes, and took a long, hot shower—washing away the grime of the night, though not the weight in his mind.
Dressed and more composed, he settled in front of his laptop, ready to dig into this whole supernatural mess he'd been dragged into.
As he'd expected, clear proof was nowhere to be found.
The internet was a minefield of half-truths, wild theories, and obvious fake news—blogs claiming vampires and demons were real, but full of more fluff than facts.
Ethan leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
"Figures," he muttered. "Nothing real. Just a bunch of noise."
Ethan padded downstairs, the house quiet except for the soft clatter of dishes.
His dad was already sitting at the dinner table, looking tired but steady. Mom was bringing a steaming dish over, setting it carefully in the center.
Ethan slid into a chair, trying to keep his voice casual.
"Hey, Dad… can I go to school tomorrow?"
His dad glanced up, surprise flickering behind his eyes.
"Yeah, son. If you're feeling up to it, the school's expecting you."
Mom smiled softly, still adjusting the dish.
"Just take it slow, okay?"
Ethan nodded, a little grin tugging at his lips.
"Yeah, slow. Got it."
Ethan leaned forward, eyes curious but cautious.
"So… do you guys take care of the stuff I missed these past two years? Like, what did the teachers say?"
His dad shrugged, trying to keep it light.
"They said it's going to be a bit of a catch-up, but nothing you can't handle."
Mom nodded, adding, "They're ready to help you ease back in. Maybe some extra tutoring at first."
Ethan smirked, half-joking, half-serious.
"Guess I'm gonna be the mysterious new kid all over again."
Dad chuckled. "You've got the look for it."
Mom rolled her eyes but smiled. "Just don't let it go to your head."
The next morning, Ethan stood in front of the principal's office, trying to keep his cool. His new clothes fit well—black jeans, black shirt—simple but sharp. The usual nervous energy of the first day mixed with something else: a strange thrill beneath his skin.
The principal, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes but a firm tone, greeted him.
"Ethan, it's good to have you back," she said, motioning him inside.
They sat down at a neat desk cluttered with papers.
"Now, we'll need to ease you back in," she began. "We've arranged for you to attend classes with some catch-up sessions. Your teachers are prepared to support you, but it's important you don't push too hard at first."
Ethan nodded, listening carefully.
"There'll be a counselor assigned to help you adjust, and we'll check in regularly. How are you feeling about all this?"
He shrugged, keeping his voice steady.
"Ready to get back into it."
The principal smiled. "Good. We want to help make this transition as smooth as possible."
Ethan glanced out the window for a moment, the hum beneath his skin reminding him this was just the start of a whole new game.
Ethan stepped into the classroom, scanning the room until his eyes landed on two familiar figures—Connor and Marisol—chatting with a few other kids in the middle of the room. They looked a little different than he remembered, more grown-up maybe, but still unmistakably them.
He cleared his throat and smirked. "Hey, guys. Miss me?"
The chatter in the room paused. A few heads turned, eyebrows raised. Whispers fluttered like startled birds.
"Wait… is that—?" one student whispered.
Another nudged their friend, eyes wide. "That's Ethan. The guy who disappeared."
Connor's jaw dropped slightly. Marisol blinked, then smiled, a mix of disbelief and relief.
"Ethan? Seriously? You're back?"
The whole class seemed to shift, eyes locked on him now, surprised and curious.
For a moment, Ethan soaked it in—the shock, the whispers, the sudden spotlight—before sliding into a seat like he owned the place.
"Miss me?" he repeated, grinning.
Half the class quickly circled around Ethan, their curiosity buzzing loud enough to fill the room.
"What happened to you, dude?" one asked, eyes wide.
"You look different… like, way different," another added, poking at his black shirt like it was some new armor.
Ethan shrugged, smirking. "You could say that."
A few exchanged glances, still unsure what to make of the mysterious 'new-old' kid back from nowhere.
"Guess I've been around," Ethan said, voice low but teasing, "Seen some things."
The circle tightened, but Ethan kept his cool, letting the questions hang like shadows he wasn't quite ready to chase down—yet.
Ethan, Marisol, and Connor walked side by side, the afternoon sun casting long shadows as they made their way home.
Ethan broke the silence with a grin, "So… what do you guys know about ghosts and stuff?"
Marisol's eyes went wide, surprise lighting up her face. "Wow, Ethan! This is new. You didn't believe in that stuff before, right? You used to make fun of me and Connor whenever we talked about it."
Connor chuckled, nudging Ethan. "Yeah, man. You were the biggest skeptic. What's changed?"
Ethan shrugged, a mysterious smile playing at his lips. "Let's just say… I've had a few reasons to rethink things lately."
Connor and Marisol suddenly lit up like kids on Christmas morning, grinning ear to ear.
"This is awesome, Ethan!" Connor said, practically bouncing. "I told you they're real!"
Marisol threw her arms around him in a quick hug. "Welcome to the club, finally!"
Ethan just smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get too excited… yet."
They walked side by side, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows as Ethan's question hung in the air.
"So, guys," Ethan started, "I meant to ask—why are you so sure these supernatural things are real?"
Marisol and Connor's faces fell, the excitement fading into something heavier.
Ethan noticed and pressed gently.
"Ethan, you know me and Connor are related, right?"
"Yeah, I know that much," Ethan replied.
Connor took a deep breath. "And you know we live with our grandparents. We didn't tell anyone else this because… well, our parents—both Marisol's and mine—and our older brother died in that fire. The public knows that much."
Marisol's voice was quiet but steady. "But me and Connor… we saw something. Something no one else did."
They exchanged a look, a silent pact.
Ethan's curiosity sharpened. "What did you see?"
Connor's voice trembled as he spoke, the weight of the memory pressing down on them all.
"That happened when we were kids," he said, eyes distant. "We were just playing outside, when suddenly we heard a scream. We ran toward the house, heart pounding."
Marisol swallowed hard, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides.
"We looked inside through a window…" Connor continued, voice breaking slightly, "and what we saw… it was our dad. He—he killed Mom and our older brother."
His eyes darkened with pain. "His eyes… they were gone. Just empty sockets."
Marisol's voice cracked as she added, "After… after he killed them, he set the whole house on fire. He killed himself."
Ethan watched them, feeling the raw pain spilling from their words—the shock, the grief, the horror they'd carried for so long.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.
Connor let the silence sit for just a second longer before shaking his head and forcing a crooked grin.
"Anyway," he said, voice lighter, "that's enough of the spooky trauma dump for one day."
Marisol let out a small laugh, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah… good call."
Connor nudged Ethan with his elbow. "Back to the fun stuff. Ghosts. Spirits. Poltergeists. You name it—we've read about it, seen weird stuff, chased shadows for years. You seriously picked the right friends if you're getting into this now."
Ethan smirked. "Yeah, seems like I accidentally joined the supernatural fan club."
Connor grinned. "Oh, buddy. Welcome to the club. Membership comes with ghost stories, emotional baggage, and absolutely zero adult supervision."