Ethan followed the pin on his map until the trees thickened and the sounds of the academy faded into quiet. A narrow stretch of dirt opened up into a small clearing—and there it was.
A BMW R 1250 GS Adventure.
Black. Heavy. Built like it could ram through a small building and keep going.
"Good job, Uncle Mark," Ethan muttered with a grin.
He walked around the bike once, appreciating the shape, the weight distribution, the way it looked perfectly out of place among moss and twisted roots. Adventure-class. All-terrain. The kind of machine that begged for bad decisions and worse roads.
He swung a leg over the seat, settling in. His hand slid beneath the handlebar until his fingers brushed against cold metal—the key.
He pulled it free, fitted it into the ignition, and twisted.
The engine growled to life, deep and smooth, vibrating through the frame.
"Perfect."
He grabbed the matte-black helmet hanging from the handlebar, slipping it on with practiced ease. The visor clicked shut.
Ethan revved the accelerator once—sharp, controlled.
The bike responded immediately.
With a soft grin, he kicked the stand up.
Then, with a clean roll of his wrist, the BMW lunged forward, the back tire kicking up dust as he shot between the trees—fast, silent, and already disappearing into the woods.
***
The narrow forest road opened up into asphalt, and Ethan let the BMW stretch its legs. The engine purred under him as the needle crept past 80… 90… 100.
Technically, the speed limit here was 60.
(Seriously, don't try this in the real world. Follow traffic rules unless you're a vampire with super healing— and even then, maybe don't.)
Not that it mattered to him.
The wind whipped past his helmet as trees and road signs blurred into streaks of color. Jericho was still a few minutes away—quiet little town, normal by day, strange by association.
He leaned forward slightly, preparing to push the bike a bit more—
WOOOP—WOOOP—
A sharp siren cut through the wind.
Ethan glanced at the mirror.
A police cruiser was behind him, lights flashing, the engine clearly struggling to keep up with the BMW.
"…Well, that didn't take long."
Ethan sighed and eased off the throttle. The bike slowed smoothly until he rolled to a stop on the gravel shoulder. The forest around him fell silent except for the fading echo of the siren.
The cruiser pulled in behind him, lights still painting the trees red and blue.
The driver's door opened.
And out stepped the sheriff.
Sheriff Donovan Galpin himself.
Ethan watched him approach, removing his helmet slowly
Galpin stopped a few feet away, hand resting on his belt, gaze firm.
"Son," he said, voice steady but clearly annoyed, "do you have any idea how fast you were going on this road?"
Ethan gave him a polite, harmless smile.
"…Fast enough to get your attention, I guess."
Galpin didn't smile.
"Alright, let's start simple," he said. "How old are you, son?"
"Eighteen."
A small muscle twitched in the sheriff's jaw.
"Do you have a driver's license?"
"Nope."
No guilt.
No hesitation.
Not even the courtesy of looking embarrassed.
Just a flat, almost cheerful Nope.
Galpin slowly exhaled through his nose.
"…Let me get this straight," he said, voice tightening. "You're going over a hundred on a mountain road—on a bike you clearly shouldn't even be operating—and you don't have a license?"
Ethan shrugged lightly.
"I mean… technically, yes."
Galpin closed his eyes for a moment, visibly wrestling down the urge to lecture him for an hour straight. When he opened them again, his expression had hardened into something colder.
"You a student from Nevermore?" he asked, eyes flicking to Ethan's crimson irises and his uniform.
"Yep."
Galpin didn't hesitate.
"Then you're under arrest."
He said it with the tone of a man who'd made up his mind before the conversation even started.
Ethan blinked. "Umm… you can't."
"Oh, I absolutely can," Galpin snapped. "Reckless driving, no license—"
"Sheriff," Ethan interrupted calmly, "if you do that, your mayor is going to be very upset with you."
Galpin froze mid-sentence.
Ethan leaned slightly on the handlebar, voice casual.
"Just call him. Tell him you've detained a Corvin. He'll explain everything."
The mayor knew him very well; he was one of Jericho's main sponsors. Arresting him would be the same as cutting off the town's development funds—and a small place like Jericho didn't get many to begin with.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the sheriff's face.
Still, he stepped back and pulled out his phone.
Ethan waited, helmet resting beside him.
It didn't take long.
Galpin's expression collapsed from irritation… to confusion… to resignation… and then to a very tired kind of anger.
He hung up.
"You're lucky," he muttered. "Very lucky. But don't let me catch you again."
"We'll see," Ethan said, slipping his helmet back on and starting the engine. "Oh, and by the way—"
He revved the bike once.
"Say hi to your son for me."
Then he shot forward, the bike roaring down the road vanishing.
Galpin stood there, stunned.
"…How the hell does he know about Tyler?" he muttered.
A cold breeze swept through the road.
And for the first time, the sheriff felt a prickling sense of unease about the new student in town.
*****
A/N: If you enjoy my work, you might also like my other novel, "Wicked Grimoire". Feel free to check it out!