Lunch break settled over the Quad, students scattered around the fountain and dead tree in clusters of chatter and gossip. Naturally, most glances kept drifting toward the trio sitting together at one of the stone tables—Ethan, Enid, and Wednesday.
Ethan bit into a slice of pizza like he hadn't just humiliated a top duelist an hour ago.
Enid, who'd been vibrating with questions since fencing class, finally burst.
"Okay, okay—seriously, Ethan, how did you do that?" she asked, leaning forward until her elbows nearly slid off the table. "You were in front of Bianca and then you were behind her in, like, a second! Not even a second—like half a blink!"
Ethan shrugged mid-chew. "I just move faster than the others. Nothing else."
Enid blinked. "Nothing else? Ethan, you've practically teleported!"
Wednesday lowered her fork with deliberate precision.
"He didn't teleport," she said flatly. "Teleportation would require bending space-time. He simply moved with speed disproportionate to the human condition. Which is suspicious."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Suspicious?"
Wednesday didn't blink. She rarely did. "Yes. Even among outcasts, that kind of speed isn't something you see everywhere."
Enid, mid-sip of her strawberry milkshake, froze. "Wednesday—"
"And there's another detail," she said. "Your eyes. Every vampire I've ever encountered shows some degree of sensitivity to sunlight. They wear sunglasses, visors, enchanted lenses. You walk around at noon as if the sun signed a peace treaty with you personally."
Her stare didn't waver.
Cold. Analytical. Interested.
"That makes me wonder," Wednesday said. "Is your claim of being a vampire… a lie?"
Enid squirmed. "Wen-de-sday—"
"Are you hiding something?" Wednesday pressed, leaning forward slightly, like a predator scenting a new riddle.
Ethan met her gaze head-on and smiled faintly.
"What if I am?"
It wasn't loud, and it wasn't smug—just deliberately tempting, the kind of subtle provocation designed to catch exactly the pair of eyes he wanted.
Ethan knew what he was doing. Wednesday Addams lived for mysteries, thrived on enigmas wrapped in shadows and sharp edges.
And he intended to become the one puzzle she couldn't easily pry apart, the anomaly she couldn't dissect or predict—something impossible enough that she'd be unable to look away.
And when she glanced at him, he saw it: that tiny, unmistakable flicker in her gaze.
Interest. Calculation. Hunger.
Wednesday Addams had officially categorized him as a puzzle. And she loved puzzles. She devoured mysteries the way others binged popcorn—methodically, obsessively, with quiet, unblinking intensity.
"If You are hiding something, I will uncover it. Secrets rot if left buried."
Ethan leaned back, completely relaxed. "Then I guess you'll have to keep an eye on me."
Wednesday's expression didn't change. But something in the air around her sharpened—the faint, electric shift of a hunter finding a worthy trail.
"Very well," she said calmly. "I accept the challenge."
Ethan smirked. "Before that, you should focus on your own ongoing quests. You know—escaping Nevermore, tormenting your therapist, emotionally traumatizing your roommate."
Enid choked on her juice. "Hey!"
Wednesday didn't answer immediately. She just stared at Ethan with that flat, unblinking expression—half annoyance, half intrigue, and entirely unreadable.
She had come to Nevermore expecting tedium, triviality, and the intellectual starvation that came from being surrounded by hormonal adolescents.
But now…
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the only sign she was intrigued.
"It seems," she murmured, "this school may not be as dull as I feared."
"Hey! I'm still here. You two left me out of the entire conversation," Enid protested, waving her hands dramatically.
Ethan glanced at her. "Are you sure you want to join this kind of conversation?"
Enid paused… thought about it… and shook her head rapidly. "No. Absolutely not. Which is why I'm changing the topic. New subject! Ethan—what things do you like?"
She leaned forward eagerly, clearly hoping to pry out more info. Enid Sinclair loved gossip the way Wednesday loved murder mysteries.
Before Ethan could speak, Wednesday cut in.
"I enjoy solitude," she said evenly. "Silence. The scent of freshly spilled ink. That brief moment before someone realizes they're in mortal danger. Violins. The color black. And anything that can be considered a crime in three or more states."
Ethan blinked.
"…Wow."
He had to admit—only Wednesday Addams could list her interests like crime scenes without changing expression.
He leaned back slightly. "Well… I like slacking off. Doing things other people won't do. And—" he looked at Enid, deliberately casual, "—spending time with cheerful and beautiful girls like you, Enid."
Enid froze.
Her eyes widened, her smile stretched almost painfully bright.
Wednesday's gaze slid to Ethan, slow and flat, like a knife being unsheathed.
"You resort to flattery," she said. Not impressed. Not offended. Just stating a fact. "It's a predictable tactic. Manipulative. Overused."
Enid punched Wednesday lightly on the arm. "Wednesday! He's being nice!"
"I'm stating observations," Wednesday replied, tone clinical. "Any moderately attractive boy can provoke that reaction in you with three vaguely complimentary words."
Enid gaped. "Why are you like this?"
"I've been asking myself the same question," Wednesday said.
***
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