Saturday Evening – 6:12 P.M.
Downtown Brooklyn, Outside City Hospital
The golden hour draped the skyline in soft firelight. Buildings glowed in muted amber, and the wind carried the scent of hot pretzels and distant rain.
Ethan stepped out of MARQUISE, black jacket slung lazily over his shoulder, shadow long against the pavement. His shift had ended smoothly—Kiera had tried to make it dramatic, but he'd quietly outpaced her expectations. The boutique lights flickered behind him, reflecting off the polished sidewalks.
He was halfway to the nearest metro stop when his stride slowed.
Across the wide street, under the emergency ward sign of the Brooklyn City Hospital, stood a young woman—tanned brown skin, hair dark and coiled, rolled into a practical bun. She wore a plain t-shirt under a faded green hoodie, jeans cuffed above white sneakers dusted with the city's tired gray.
A thick folder clutched in her hands. She was checking a note on her phone, her brow furrowed.
Mira.
His elder sister-24. Caring just like his mother.
Ethan crossed the road.
He didn't call out—just stood next to her until she noticed.
"Jeez!" she flinched, almost dropping her file.
He smirked.
"You always sneak up on people like that?" she said, breathless but smiling.
"Only on family," Ethan replied.
Her grin softened. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same. This hospital doesn't serve bubble tea."
She hesitated, eyes flicking down. "I came to collect medicine for Dad. It's the hospital discount round."
Ethan's expression didn't change, but something in his gaze fell an octave deeper. "And you're doing it alone?"
She looked away. "Mom said not to bother you. Said you're probably busy studying ."
He chuckled under his breath—but the sound lacked humor. "She's right. I'm studying"
He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a neatly folded band of bills. $5,000. No hesitation.
Mira stepped back. "Ethan, no! I can't take that—"
He pressed it gently into her file folder. "It's not for you. It's for not having to wait in line with coupons again."
Her eyes welled, but she blinked the tears away. "This is too much…"
Ethan said nothing. His silence wasn't cold—it was anchored. Solid like a lighthouse refusing to sway in stormlight.
He turned without another word and walked five steps before pulling out his phone.
With a few taps, he arranged a secured cab through a private app linked to his anonymous black card—destination: their family town, two hours east.
He walked back, handed her a wrapped protein bar and her new digital cab ID. "Driver's rated five stars. Car's electric. You'll be home before eight. Don't open the window near the tolls."
She stared at him—more grateful than she could say.
"You really don't talk much anymore," she said quietly.
He finally looked at her, smile flickering in place. "That's because I learned how to listen."
Mira stepped forward and hugged him—brief but grounding. Like the last warmth before winter.
Then she stepped into the waiting cab. Ethan stood by the curb, watching until the taillights disappeared into traffic.
---
7:07 P.M. – Ethan's Apartment
The door clicked behind him. The room was still, as always. Just the low hum of the fridge and the quiet tick of his wall clock.
He placed his jacket on the hook, walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a tall glass of pineapple juice—his post-evening ritual.
Then, with quiet intent, he sat at his desk, opened the brown leather-bound journal, and flipped to a fresh page.
Jan 28th- Saturday
Arrived at MARQUISE 11:00 AM.
Met Kiera Vance. Potential leverage: fashion, marketing, network access.
Accepted trial job. Measured: 6'1, 81 kg.
Controlled impression. Zero emotional hooks.
Mira spotted at hospital. Situation: medical pickup for father.
Gave $5,000. Emotional fragility noted.
Family remains emotionally exposed, financially reliant.
Note: Increase distance but reinforce safety net.
He closed the journal slowly, fingers resting on the cover.
Then leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to the city lights outside.
The world wasn't kind. But Ethan Vale was learning to be something else—
Unflinching. Unseen. And absolutely unforgettable.