The trio finished their lunch, and the conversation drifted off as they walked toward the academy's front entrance. Autumn wind swept through the courtyard, scattering leaves across the stone path.
Ethan stretched out lazily. "I'm heading to Jericho. Need some fresh air."
Enid stopped mid-step. "Jericho? Now? Ethan, there's no bus. And we're literally not allowed off campus during class hours."
Her confusion didn't come from nowhere. Principal Weems ran Nevermore with strict, zero-leniency rules when it came to leaving school grounds. Students weren't permitted to wander off during daytime classes, no exceptions—not even for prefects.
And Jericho wasn't exactly next door. Nevermore sat deep in the woods, isolated on purpose, surrounded by miles of forest. The academy's location made casual travel hard; anyone trying to walk to Jericho would be walking for hours.
The only transport between the academy and the town was the weekend shuttle bus.
"I have options," Ethan said casually.
Enid opened her mouth to ask what that meant—but a low, grinding creak from above cut her off.
Wednesday's head tilted upward.
One of the old stone gargoyles perched on the archway above them shifted. Weather had eaten away part of its base, leaving deep cracks that now widened with a sharp snap.
The gargoyle wobbled once.
Then it tore free.
Enid screamed, "Wednesday!"
The massive stone figure dropped straight toward Wednesday's skull.
Before the gargoyle could even gain full momentum, Ethan stepped half a pace forward, arm sweeping up with a sharp, effortless motion. His hand slammed into the underside of the falling ornament—
BAM.
The courtyard rang with the impact.
Ethan stood between Wednesday and the shattered ground, holding the entire gargoyle above her head with one hand. Dust and fragments crumbled down around them like gray snow.
His expression didn't match the moment at all.
He looked bored. Mildly annoyed, maybe.
As if catching a multi-hundred-pound stone statue was no more inconvenient than grabbing a falling book.
Wednesday slowly turned her head, braids shifting like pendulums of judgment. She examined the gargoyle hovering above her, then Ethan's hand, then Ethan himself.
He lowered the gargoyle to the ground, dust settling around his boots.
"Do you want to say something, Wednesday?" he asked, half-expecting an insult, half-expecting… something.
"Yes," she said. "You've interfered."
Ethan blinked. "Interfered?"
"I had already calculated the angle of descent," she replied calmly. "At worst, it would have grazed my shoulder. Painful, but educational. You robbed me of data."
Ethan stared. "Data. You wanted data from a falling gargoyle."
"And for the record," she continued, "if this was meant to impress me, it failed. Dramatic heroics are a tedious mating display common among insecure male mammals."
"And before you ask—no, I'm not thankful. If the day comes when I require saving, I will be sure to die of shame before admitting it."
Before Wednesday could deliver another cutting remark, Enid lunged forward and wrapped her in a tight, trembling hug.
"Roomie, you almost died!" Enid wailed, squeezing her like she was hugging a stuffed animal instead of a human being.
Wednesday froze on impact.
Her arms locked stiff at her sides. Her face twisted into something between disgust, irritation, and the silent plea of someone being slowly suffocated by glitter.
"Enid," she said flatly, "release me. Immediately. Your hair is brushing my cheek, and the scent alone is… nauseating."
Enid only hugged tighter. "I was so scared! What if that gargoyle had smashed you? What if you got hurt? What if—"
"Your emotional volume is assaulting my senses," Wednesday cut in, voice monotone but edged with suffering. She attempted to peel Enid off with two fingers. It was not effective. "Let me go before I reconsider the value of living."
Ethan watched the struggling pair, one eyebrow raised.
Only Enid Sinclair—rainbow werewolf, sunshine incarnate—could reduce Wednesday Addams to looking like she was being held hostage by affection.
He let out a low exhale. The kind that said: Yep. Exactly like the series. No inconsistencies detected.
Watching the technicolor werewolf cling to the deadpan goth girl while the goth girl endured it like a medieval torture device felt… strangely nostalgic.
With a small shake of his head, Ethan slipped his hands into his pockets and began walking away, leaving Enid still wrapped around Wednesday like a pastel boa constrictor.
His thoughts drifted to Rowan.
Rowan wasn't anywhere nearby—nowhere in sight, not part of the scene at all. But Ethan didn't need to see him to know what was coming.
He knew the plot, after all. Rowan's path was already laid out: the grief, the obsession with the prophecy, the desperate need to be useful, and the gradual mental unraveling that pushed him toward a murder attempt he genuinely believed was justified.
Rowan wasn't a villain, not truly. He was a frightened kid crushed beneath expectations he couldn't carry and visions he never asked for. A pawn trapped in a story he hadn't chosen.
Ethan remembered exactly how it ended—Rowan cornering Wednesday in the woods, panicking, attacking, and then being killed by the creature before he understood what was happening.
The thought settled heavily in his mind.
'Maybe I should mess with the plot a little.'
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated up to Chapter 18, so if you want to read early chapters ahead of the public schedule, you can join my Patreon:
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