The "watcher" wasn't mysterious.
She lived upstairs.
Two doors down from Ethan's apartment.
Her name was Maya Sternberg.
She'd known Ethan since they were six.
Back when the laundromat smelled stronger, when the ceiling leaked during storms, when both their mothers worked the same late-night shifts and left them doing homework at the same tiny kitchen table.
Maya wasn't rich either.
Her backpack was stitched at the corner. Her phone had a cracked screen. She worked weekends at a small grocery store to help pay rent.
But unlike Ethan, she didn't blend into the background.
She talked. She smiled. She laughed loudly even when things weren't funny.
From her second-floor window, she had watched Tyler and his friends standing across the street.
Watched them laugh.
Watched Ethan carry that heavy metal panel alone.
Her fingers tightened on the curtain.
"Idiots," she muttered.
Downstairs, Ethan stepped back into the laundromat. A few minutes later, the bell above the door jingled.
He didn't look up. "We close at eight."
"I know," Maya replied, walking in anyway.
That made him glance up.
She grabbed one of the folded towels from the counter and lightly smacked his arm with it. "You could at least pretend to be mad."
"I'm busy."
"You're always busy."
He went back to tightening bolts on a machine.
Maya studied him for a second. "They came here on purpose."
"I noticed."
"And?"
"And nothing."
She frowned. "Ethan, they're trying to humiliate you."
"They're bored," he corrected calmly. "It'll pass."
Maya crossed her arms. "You always say that."
He finally looked at her fully.
"Because it always does."
There was no ego in his voice. No pride. Just quiet certainty.
Maya sighed, but she didn't argue anymore.
She knew him.
Knew that when Ethan stayed quiet, it wasn't weakness.
It was restraint.
And restraint meant he was holding something back.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on.
Across town, Tyler was already planning something bigger.
Not violent.
Not yet.
Just enough to make the "maintenance boy" finally react.