The rain hadn't stopped. It was the kind that soaked through everything—skin, hair, thoughts. Avery's hoodie clung to her like wet paper as she moved through the shadows of the back alleys, the noise of shouting still echoing behind her. Her boots splashed through puddles, her breath fast and ragged.
That boy. The one James had cradled, bleeding out in his arms. He was already gone.
And the last word James whispered…
"The future."
Avery's heart hadn't stopped racing since.
She pressed herself behind a half-collapsed brick wall, peeking through the gaps. Down in the open courtyard, the chaos hadn't yet cleared. Bodies moved like ghosts in the downpour—half of them injured, others still ready to fight. Her eyes scanned for James, but he was gone. So was the boy he held.
But someone else was there now.
Ethan.
He walked through the rain like it didn't even touch him. His snow-white hair was soaked, plastered against his pale forehead. His black eyes scanned the carnage around him—cold, calculated. Then they landed on the body in the center of it all. The dead boy.
For a moment, Avery didn't breathe. Her entire being curled with rage.
That's him. The one who ruins everything.
The man who would one day kill her father.
The boy who hadn't yet done it.
And then… something unexpected happened.
Ethan stumbled forward. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just two slow, wet steps. His eyes didn't blink. His jaw didn't clench. But his expression twisted. Subtle. Like something inside him cracked, and he was fighting not to show it.
His fingers trembled slightly as he reached out to close the eyes of the dead boy. His friend.
Avery stared.
No. That can't be real. He's not supposed to feel.
But there was no mistaking it. That look wasn't fake. Ethan Carrington wasn't just some heartless future killer here—he was someone grieving.
It shook her more than she expected.
A monster shouldn't be allowed to mourn.
Before she could even process that thought, someone grabbed her wrist.
"Avery!"
She almost screamed.
It was Milo. His curly hair was flattened to his scalp, soaked through, his eyes wide. He yanked her away from the crumbling wall and pulled her behind a nearby stack of wooden crates.
"What the hell are you doing here? Are you trying to get killed?" he hissed.
Avery blinked at him. "James—he was—" Her words tangled in her throat.
"I know," Milo snapped. "That idiot ran in without thinking—again. Of course he would, right into Ethan's turf."
Avery's brain clicked. "This is Ethan's…?"
Milo nodded, wiping rain from his cheek. "They call themselves White Thorne. You haven't heard of them?"
"I'm new," she muttered.
He gave her a strange look. "Right. You are."
Her mind was spiraling. White Thorne—Ethan's group. A name that sounded sharp, like the boy who led them. And now, someone was dead. A fight between White Thorne and—who? James's group?
She looked back toward the yard, but the scene had already started to break apart. Some fled. Some limped. But Ethan was still there, kneeling beside the body of his friend.
"This doesn't make any sense," Avery whispered.
"No kidding." Milo crouched beside her. "It started with something small. A girl. An argument. You know how this stuff goes. But now someone's dead, and that's going to blow everything up. I don't even know what James was thinking."
James. Her father. The boy trying so hard to fix a future he didn't understand.
Why did he say future?
Milo stood. "We have to go. Cops are going to sweep this place. Come on."
But Avery didn't move.
Her knees were glued to the wet ground, eyes on Ethan. On the boy who would ruin her world. Who just lost someone. Who looked like a boy broken, not a killer.
She hated the way her chest twisted.
She wanted to see him as a monster.
Instead, she saw a boy crying in the rain.
"Avery!"
"I'm going," she muttered.
She ran.
She didn't know where. The blood, the screams, the names—none of it made sense. Why was James fighting Ethan? Why was Ethan mourning someone he cared about? What was she even meant to change anymore?
Her lungs burned as she reached the next street. Her vision blurred—not from the rain anymore.
How many years was she in the past? How deep was she into the story? The pain? The confusion?
How was she supposed to kill someone who cried like that?