The sun was already high above the cobblestones of the French Quarter when the clock struck 10 in the morning. Inside the Mikaelson Compound, the heavy atmosphere of grief blended with the final rush of preparations; everyone was practically ready, wearing dark, somber clothes for Hayley Marshall's farewell ceremony.
On the second floor, Hope walked down the wooden hallway with slow steps. She wore a simple black dress and carried in her eyes the exhaustion of a night where sleep had barely touched her. Stopping in front of Ethan's bedroom door, she raised her hand and knocked gently twice.
— Ethan? Are you awake yet? — she called out, her voice low.
No answer came from inside the room. Hope waited a few seconds, knocked once more, a little harder, but the silence remained. Concerned that the boy's overwhelming werewolf fever might have worsened overnight, she slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
— Ethan, I'm coming in...
The second the door opened, Hope froze in place and felt her face burn instantly.
Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes with one hand, clearly waking up from a deep sleep. The problem was that, because of the unbearable heat of the fever, he had slept in only his boxer briefs. The boy's athletic, defined body was fully exposed under the morning light streaming through the open window.
— My God! — Hope blurted out, covering her eyes with both hands in a quick reflex, turning her head to the side while her cheeks blushed a vivid red. — Why are you naked?!
Ethan jumped on the bed at the shock of the sudden entry, blinking fast to understand what was happening. Seeing Hope completely flustered at the door, he looked down at himself and let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his messy hair.
— Hey, I'm not naked! I'm wearing boxers, okay? — he defended himself, amused by her reaction. — And if you had slept feeling like a radiator turned to max in the middle of summer, you wouldn't be wearing a fur coat either!
— I don't care, Ethan! Warn me first or lock the door! — Hope shot back, still not daring to take her hands off her face. — For God's sake, put some clothes on and get ready. We're almost leaving!
Ethan smirked, amused by her reaction — a rare moment of lightness on such a heavy day.
— Alright, alright, I get it — he said, getting out of bed and picking up a pair of pants from the floor. — I need to take a quick shower to wash off this sweat. Where's the bathroom?
Hope lowered her hands slightly, covering only half of her face and peeking to make sure he was at least holding the pants in front of his body.
— It's at the end of the hall... the green door on the left — she explained quickly, pointing before taking a step back toward the hallway. — Hurry up. Everyone downstairs is already waiting.
— You got it, Madame Mikaelson. Five minutes — Ethan teased with a nod.
After a cold shower to relieve that annoying heat, Ethan put on a dark blue button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves, black pants, and placed a discreet necklace around his neck. His hair was still damp and, being extremely long, kept falling over his forehead, forcing him to push it behind his eyes every second. He hadn't even had time to get a haircut; everything had happened too fast.
And when he thought "everything," it really was absolutely everything: the unpredictable awakening of his powers, the sudden friendship with Hope, the trip to New Orleans, the abnormal and accelerated physical growth his body had undergone... His life seemed to have derailed in a matter of days, and a feeling of being completely lost washed over him. But he took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
He left the bathroom and descended the compound's imposing wooden staircase, giving a calm "good morning" to Freya and Hope, who was already sitting at the table. At that exact moment, Hope froze, her face still visibly flushed and her cheeks rosy from the incident in the bedroom. Freya, perceptive as always, knitted her brows upon noticing her niece's reaction.
— Hope? Why is your face so red? — Freya asked, stepping closer with concern. — Do you have a fever, or are you feeling something because of The Hollow?
— No! I... I'm fine, Aunt Freya. It's nothing like that, seriously — Hope answered quickly, looking away to hide her embarrassment.
Freya stared at her suspiciously for a second, but didn't push. They had already prepared breakfast. Ethan settled at the table and ate with them, replenishing the energy that the transformation and heat seemed to consume endlessly.
Hope was wearing a somber and elegant black dress; her hair was neatly combed down. Looking at her there, Ethan couldn't stop staring for even a second. Damn, she's so beautiful..., he thought, shaking his head immediately after to scold himself. But now is not the time for that.
A short while later, they left the compound and stepped out into the streets of New Orleans. Marcel and Vincent had left earlier to organize the logistics and security of the ceremony, so only Freya, Hope, Ethan, and Josh — who walked slightly ahead — remained in the group.
As they walked through the blocks of the French Quarter toward the meeting point, Ethan observed the historic architecture and the wrought-iron balconies, but never lost sight of Hope. The city was not in a traditional, mournful silence; in New Orleans, saying goodbye to someone like Hayley Marshall was a true celebration of life and honor. Jazz bands marched at a slow, respectful pace at the street corners, playing somber, deep melodies as a sign of grief and tribute to the queen of the Crescent wolves.
— Aunt Freya... where is my father? — Hope asked, her voice heavy with restrained anticipation.
— He will be here soon — Freya answered, keeping her voice calm. — Ivy is helping your father with an astral projection spell in the forest where he is. Since he can't be here physically because of The Hollow's curse, this is the only way for him to be present to say goodbye to your mother.
— And the others? — Hope wanted to know.
— Marcel and Vincent are on their way, settling the final details with the witches and factions — Freya explained, subtly nodding toward the other side of the street. — Josh is over there keeping an eye on security.
Hope nodded, but suddenly her expression shifted. She stopped walking for a second and looked at Freya earnestly.
— And what about Declan?... Please tell me someone told Declan?
Freya took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh before answering:
— He's in Ireland, Hope... With everything that happened and all this chaos, I was focused on taking care of everything else.
Hope's eyes widened in a mix of shock and disappointment.
— I don't believe it, Aunt Freya! — Hope said, shaking her head, visibly upset. — He deserved to know! He loved my mother, he had the right to be here!
While the subtle argument unfolded, Ethan remained silent beside them, watching every corner and mentally mapping the environment without missing a single word of their conversation.
The atmosphere in the French Quarter was suffocating. As the small procession moved forward, Hope looked at the faces in the crowd on the sidewalks — people she barely recognized. Her breathing began to shorten.
— This is all wrong... — Hope said, her distressed gaze scanning the people watching the procession. — My mother didn't know these people, Aunt Freya. None of them.
— Your mother left her mark on this city, Hope — Freya said gently. — These people are here to honor her and pay their final respects to who she was.
— But where are her friends? — Hope asked, her voice cracking with pain and rising frustration. — Her real friends? Where is everyone?
Before Freya could answer, the phone in her pocket began to ring. She answered quickly.
— Marcel? Where are you guys?
— Freya, Vincent and I had to handle a last-minute issue — Marcel's voice replied from the other end of the line. — We're going to be a little late, but we're coming as fast as we can.
While Freya managed the call, Hope felt the world around her begin to sway. The sound of the jazz music on the street corners and the crushing weight of grief made her head spin. Anxiety gripped her chest.
— This is all wrong... this is all wrong... — Hope muttered, taking a unsteady step back and bringing a hand to her forehead.
Ethan, walking beside her and attentive to every movement, noticed the impending breakdown immediately. Without hesitation, he stepped closer and placed his firm, warm hand on her shoulder.
— Easy, Hope... It's okay — Ethan said, his voice low, calm, and deeply sincere.
Hope looked at him, her blue eyes glistening with held-back tears, her breathing erratic.
— Ethan, it's all wrong... None of these people really knew my mother, none of them were her friends!
Ethan held her gaze firmly, keeping his hand on Hope's shoulder, and then said:
— It's okay — he repeated softly, looking deep into her eyes. — Like your aunt said, they are here to honor the memory and who your mother was. Even if they weren't in her inner circle, Hayley Marshall changed the life of this city. I am absolutely sure she was deeply loved and respected by every single one of these people who came out here today. You are not alone in this.
The steady sound of Ethan's voice and the protective warmth emanating from his touch acted as an instant balm. Hope closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing in slowly, feeling the knot in her throat loosen slightly and the dizziness fade.
She opened her eyes, looking at Ethan with silent, profound gratitude.
— Thank you, Ethan... — she murmured, finally managing to calm down and resume her steps.
In the distance, in the middle of the plaza, the ethereal, translucent form of Klaus Mikaelson materialized through the astral projection performed by Ivy in the forest.
The Original Hybrid had his eyes fixed on his daughter. He was there at the exact moment Hope had begun to falter, when the dizziness and anxiety seemed to choke her in the middle of the crowd. Klaus's chest tightened in helpless agony — the unbearable pain of reaching out, knowing his ghostly hands would pass right through the air, unable to hold his own daughter to comfort her.
But before Hope's panic could spiral out of control, the boy beside her acted.
Klaus watched the scene in absolute silence. He saw when the tall young man, dark hair falling over his eyes, stepped forward and placed his hand firmly on Hope's shoulder. He heard every word, preternaturally amplified by his sharp senses: the calm voice, the levelheadedness, the way the young man managed to bring Hope back to her center and calm her chest in a matter of seconds.
For a fraction of a second, the territorial fury of a protective father threatened to blind Klaus. Who did that boy think he was to touch his daughter like that?
However, as the French Quarter breeze blew and the morning sun illuminated the profile of the young man who remained alert to everything around him, Klaus froze. He took a slow step forward, cutting through the astral distance, and narrowed his blue eyes as he stared at the boy's features.
The shape of the jaw. The upright, alert posture of a predator. The look of someone carrying unpolished strength in his blood. The resemblance was undeniable, sharp as a blade.
In Klaus Mikaelson's mind, a single name echoed with the weight of an ancient, dangerous, and forgotten memory:
Clark.
Klaus's eyes flared a dangerous, yellowish hue. The Original Hybrid's chest rose and fell rapidly. The initial fury gave way to an instant web of suspicion and paranoia. That wasn't just a random "school friend" as Freya had tried to make it sound over the phone.
That boy was the blood and image of the wolf who had once set foot in New Orleans, a man of an obscure past who had once approached Hayley. And now, his son was standing right there, in flesh and blood, touching Hope's shoulder and serving as a shield for his daughter in her moment of greatest vulnerability.
— What is going on here? — Klaus growled in a ghostly whisper that no one around could hear, without taking his eyes off Ethan for a single second.
The solemn atmosphere of the street shattered in a matter of seconds.
Suddenly, the loud sound of screeching tires echoed around the corners of the French Quarter. Two black vans without license plates surged at high speed, turning onto the street and sending the crowd of locals and musicians scattering in panic. One of the vans braked hard at the corner ahead, blocking the exit, while the other rushed forward and skidded into the alley directly behind them, completely surrounding the group.
A few meters away, Klaus's astral projection reacted before anyone else. With eyes consumed by the terror of seeing his daughter in imminent danger, he surged forward with wide strides toward the group and shouted with all the strength of his ethereal voice:
— FREYA!
Ethan's Point of View:
The instinct of danger screamed in my chest at that very moment. Two vans cut off access to the street and blocked any easy escape route. Josh, maintaining his stance as defender of the Quarter, didn't wait: he ran straight to the nearest van and threw the rear doors wide open, ready to confront whoever was inside.
When the door swung open, Josh knitted his brow upon recognizing the guy in the center of the vehicle.
— Benitt? What are you doing here?! — Josh demanded harshly.
The man named Benitt stared at Josh without blinking. Inside the van, other armed men maintained a rigid stance.
— Where are Antoinette and Elijah? — the man in the middle asked, his voice icy and direct.
Josh let out a sarcastic laugh, unintimidated:
— Probably in some cave. You guys should go join them.
The response angered the group. Benitt violently pulled back the veil covering the rear of the van, revealing two heavy repeating crossbows loaded with dozens of pointed stakes aimed directly at us. In the same motion, he pulled out a double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun, racking it with a dry click.
— Nobody goes anywhere until we know where they are — Benitt threatened, aiming the gun directly at Josh's head.
In the distance, Klaus watched it all, unable to touch a single thing. The rage and helplessness of being a mere astral ghost took over the Original Hybrid. Knowing he needed to act in the real world, he abruptly cut the spell, dissolving the projection into thin air.
Freya, realizing the severity and imminent danger of the stakes and weapons, ran toward us, her face pale with panic.
— Hope! We need to leave right now! — Freya shouted, trying to pull her niece by the arm.
— No! I'm not leaving! — Hope shot back, breaking her arm free firmly.
— Hope, please! It's dangerous! — Freya insisted, trying to step between us.
— No, Aunt Freya! — Hope's voice echoed with terrifying authority, her blue eyes sparking with pure, contained rage. — It's bad enough what happened to my mother! I'm not letting anyone ruin anything else today!
Before Freya could talk back or pull me along, Hope raised one hand and unleashed a pulse of telekinetic magic. The invisible blast hit Freya in the chest, pushing her gently but with enough force to knock her safely onto the sidewalk, out of the line of fire.
I blinked, surprised by Hope's reaction. I tried to step closer to cover her, but before I could even process it, Hope stepped forward. She took a deep breath and began reciting a fast spell — a whisper in an ancient language that sounded completely incomprehensible to me, like a quantum or ancient Celtic dialect that my ears couldn't follow.
She aimed both open hands directly at the van where Benitt and the men were.
BOOM!
A colossal wave of pure, reddish magic energy surged from the palms of Hope's hands. The front van was hit head-on, exploding in a ball of fire, twisted metal, and shrapnel that flew across the French Quarter skies, throwing the mercenaries far away with the force of a devastating impact.
The van Hope had pulverized into pieces was actually the second one, the one blocking the back alley. Benitt and his men remained completely intact inside the front van, watching the blast with wide eyes of horror before rage took over the group's leader.
— Ready weapons! FIRE! — Benitt roared, racking the 12-gauge as the mercenaries around him aimed their modified crossbows.
Hope, her eyes glowing red with pure magic and resentment, didn't even hesitate. She raised both hands again, her voice rising in pitch as she chanted the same ancient incantation, ready to incinerate the front van once and for all.
In the distance, Freya was trying to push herself up from the sidewalk after the impact of the magical push. Her eyes searched wildly around.
— JOSH! — Freya screamed in desperation, realizing the vampire was too far away to intervene in time and intercept the shot.
Benitt didn't wait for her to finish the spell. He pulled the trigger of the 12-gauge at point-blank range.
BOOM!
The deafening blast of the shot tore through the air, spraying a shower of heavy lead directly toward Hope's chest.
However, time felt like it was moving in slow motion for me. Everything exploded in my blood like an electric shock. I didn't think, I didn't calculate, and I didn't hesitate for a single millisecond: my body simply acted.
Giving a brutal push with my legs, I cleared the distance between us and lunged with everything I had in front of Hope. I grabbed her by the waist in mid-air and tackled her body to the side with me, using my own torso as a shield.
The two of us rolled violently onto the hard cobblestones of the street. The pellets from the gunshot ripped through the air where Hope had been a fraction of a second before, hitting the van Hope had destroyed behind us square-on.
The impact against the cobblestones was hard, but the relief of seeing Hope unharmed was worth every scrape. Ethan quickly got up from the ground, his mind racing and adrenaline pumping, standing in a guard stance between the van and where Hope had fallen.
Before Benitt could rack the 12-gauge again or the mercenaries could fire the crossbows, a blur of speed cut through the air.
Josh, using all the vampire strength and speed he had left, appeared like lightning beside Hope. Without wasting a single second, he scooped her up firmly in his arms, lifting her off the ground in the blink of an eye, and bolted toward the protected alleys of the French Quarter, far from Benitt's line of fire.
— SHIT, SHE ESCAPED! — Benitt roared, completely out of his mind as he saw his main target get away.
Ethan turned his head quickly, his predatory eyes tracking Josh as he carried Hope to safety. With Hope out of immediate danger, the weight crushing Ethan's chest eased a bit, but the fury of his wolf side — catalyzed by the shot that had almost hit her — finally overflowed.
He slowly turned to face Benitt and the armed men in the van, his eyes shifting menacingly between blue and green in the gloom of the smoke. His hair began to rise in an unnatural way, sharp claws breaking through his fingertips as he growled low. They had tried to kill the girl he was biologically hardwired to protect. And now, there was no one left in the way to hold back what was about to come out from within him.
The sight of Hope being rescued by Josh sent Ethan's adrenaline through the roof, but the terror of having almost lost her transformed into a blind, overwhelming rage.
Inside his veins, his blood boiled like lava. An ancient, magical energy, born from the impossible fusion of his witch and wolf bloodlines, awakened uncontrollably. Ethan's eyes instantly changed color, glowing with an electric blue-green tone — a mystical and terrifying magic aura that stood out in the middle of the smoke.
His anger consumed him entirely. These vermin almost killed Hope.
Ethan's fangs grew, tearing through his gums, his face contorting into fierce, almost lupine features, and sharp claws sprouted from his hands. His chest heaved in heavy pants, and a deep, guttural growl — sounding more like the roar of a massive predator — echoed down the French Quarter street.
Inside the van, however, Benitt and his men froze.
They had never seen a werewolf with blue-green eyes radiating that kind of magical and bestial pressure. Staring at the tall, monstrously intimidating figure of Ethan about to launch himself at the vehicle, panic seized the mercenaries.
— Floor it! LET'S GO NOW! — Benitt screamed, pure terror in his voice.
The driver, who hadn't even set foot on the pavement, slammed his foot on the accelerator. The van's engine roared, the tires screeched burning rubber on the cobblestones, and the vehicle reversed violently, swerving sideways and speeding off down the opposite alley before Ethan could reach them.
Ethan took two quick steps forward, teeth bared and his blue-green eyes blazing in the direction the van was fleeing, his entire body trembling with contained rage under the New Orleans sky.
As the roar of the van's engine faded through the streets of the French Quarter, a tense silence took over the area once more, broken only by the crackling of the burning debris from the van Hope had destroyed.
Ethan stood still in the middle of the street for a few seconds, his chest heaving heavily as his erratic breathing slowly settled down. He blinked a few times, feeling the pulsing magical aura dissipate. His blue-green eyes returned to their natural blue hue, his claws retracted, and his canine teeth receded. His face returned completely to normal.
Ethan looked down at his own hands, still trembling slightly from the rush of contained anger.
— Damn... — Ethan muttered to himself, his voice a bit raspy, running a warm hand through his damp hair. — I've never been this furious in my entire life...
His instincts had pushed his emotions to a completely new and terrifying level, but the knowledge that Hope was safe finally allowed his mind to stabilize.
Along the sidewalk, Freya came running with long strides, her expression a mix of relief and intense concern. She approached the boy, her watchful eyes scanning his body to check for any sign of injury.
— Ethan! Are you okay?! — Freya asked, her voice breathless and urgent. — That shot... did it hit you? Are you hurt?
Ethan shook his head slowly, letting out a long sigh as he adjusted his dark blue shirt.
— No... I'm fine, Freya — Ethan answered, his voice steady. — It missed me. I managed to push Hope out of the way in time.
Freya let out the breath that seemed trapped in her lungs, looking at the boy with a mix of gratitude and admiration for the unbelievable reflexes he had shown to save her niece.
A short time later, at a safe spot a few blocks away, Josh finally stopped running and set Hope down. The girl was visibly distressed, her chest heaving as she looked around in desperation.
— Josh! Ethan... where is Ethan?! — Hope asked, her voice trembling with anxiety. — He jumped in front of me! The shot was going to hit me! Is he okay?!
— Calm down, Hope, breathe. I'm calling Freya right now — Josh answered, pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly dialing the number.
Within seconds, Freya answered on the other end.
— Josh? Is Hope with you? Is she okay? — the witch asked, her voice laced with relief.
— She's great, totally unharmed. But she's frantic wanting to know about the boy. What's the situation over there?
— We're already heading back home — Freya explained, looking at Ethan walking beside her in the alley. — The van fled. Ethan managed to protect Hope and wasn't hit by anything. Everything is fine, we're on our way to the compound.
Josh hung up the phone and looked at Hope with a reassuring smile.
— Hear that? He's completely fine. Safe and sound. They're already heading back to the compound.
Hope let out the breath she was holding, bringing a hand to her chest as an overwhelming wave of relief took over her.
As they walked back through the streets of the French Quarter, the journey was made in dense silence. Ethan's right hand was still visibly trembling, a delayed reaction to the brutal rush of adrenaline and the magical power that had awakened in his veins.
His eyes had already returned to their natural, deep blue tone, but the boy's gaze remained distant, fixed on the pavement ahead.
Freya, who walked beside him keeping watch, noticed the continuous tremor in his fingers and the rigid tension still lingering in his shoulders. She slowed her pace slightly to match his.
— Ethan? — Freya called gently, staring at him with genuine concern. — Are you okay? Your hand is shaking...
Ethan stopped walking for a second, looking down at his hand and closing it into a firm fist in an attempt to stop the trembling, before letting out a heavy sigh.
— I'm fine... it's just... — Ethan shook his head, staring at Freya with an honest intensity in his blue eyes. — I've never been so angry at anyone in my whole life as I was at those guys a moment ago. I felt a hatred I didn't even know existed inside of me.
He paused, his voice lowering in pitch, heavy with protective gravity:
— They almost hurt her, Freya. If I hadn't jumped... that shot would have hit Hope square-on.
Freya looked at the young man, seeing in the depths of those blue eyes not just the brutal instinct of a werewolf, but the unwavering strength of someone willing to put his own life on the line for her niece.
— But you did jump, Ethan — Freya said, placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder. — You saved her life. And believe me... in the Mikaelson family, we understand that kind of rage very well. Let's go home. Hope is waiting for us.
Inside her bedroom, the gloom and suffocating silence were broken only by Hope's quiet sobs. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands covering her face, her whole body shaking under the crushing weight of guilt and grief.
Suddenly, the air at the entrance of the room flickered. Klaus's ethereal figure materialized in the doorway.
— Hope... — he called, his voice choked with agonizing pain.
Hope raised her face slowly. Seeing her father's translucent image there, her tear-reddened eyes flared with a mix of hurt, anger, and desperation.
— Go away... — Hope said, her voice trembling, turning her face. — Go away, please!
— Hope, please, don't push me away... — Klaus pleaded, taking a unsteady step toward her, extending ghostly hands that couldn't touch her. — Don't do this, my daughter.
— You abandoned me! — Hope screamed, standing up abruptly from the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks without stopping. — You promised you'd be there for me! You promised you'd never leave me alone, and when I needed you most, you vanished!
— I wanted to be there! I tried everything to get to you! — Klaus justified, desperation slicing through his voice as he tried to step closer. — But I just found out how dangerous this is... The Hollow's curse is too strong, Hope! Being near you physically could kill you!
Hope let out a bitter, tragic laugh, her chest rising and falling in wild heaves.
— THEN LET ME DIE! — she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Klaus froze in place. The impact of those words hit him harder than any blade or spell. He looked at his daughter with an expression of pure terror and disbelief, his face turning pale.
— Hope... no...
— My mother is dead, Dad! — Hope broke down, crying copiously, collapsing in front of him. — She's dead and it's MY fault! I made the stupid mistake of kidnapping her, I created this whole mess... And now she's gone forever! And I need... I need YOU! My real father, in flesh and blood, to hold me! Not a shadow! Not this ghost version that can't even touch me!
She took two steps back, wrapping her arms around herself as her crying choked her:
— I can't live like this anymore... I don't want to live like this anymore!
— Please, my daughter... please, don't say that! — Klaus begged, his blue eyes filled with tears, his voice broken at seeing his daughter in such a state of total darkness. — I'm here, I'll find a way, we'll get through this together—
— GET OUT OF HERE! — Hope roared, her pent-up rage and pain exploding in an involuntary pulse of magic. — GO AWAY!
With that command charged with pure emotional energy, the Tribrid's magical authority rejected the astral presence. The air around Klaus distorted loudly, and before he could utter another word, the projection shattered violently, dissipating Klaus's figure into thin air and leaving only the echo of his voice fading into the darkness of the room.
Hope fell to her knees beside the bed, covering her face and surrendering to desperate tears.
After the tense moment in the alley, Ethan and Freya finally crossed the iron gates of the compound. The silence in the house was heavy and sharp. Freya looked up toward the second floor, feeling the heavy, unstable magical aura still emanating from Hope's room after the confrontation with Klaus's astral projection.
Freya turned to the boy, placing her hand gently on his arm:
— Ethan... go check on Hope. She needs someone right now.
Ethan nodded silently. His steps were firm yet calm as he climbed the wooden staircase and walked down the hallway to her bedroom door. He stopped before the dark wood, raised his hand, and knocked softly three times.
— Who is it...? — came Hope's muffled voice from inside, weak and thick from her recent crying.
— It's me, Hope... Ethan — he answered in a low, quiet voice.
There was a brief pause on the other side before she replied:
— You can come in...
Ethan turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open.
Hope was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders hunched and her legs pulled up against her body. Her face was red and swollen from crying, and her blue eyes showed a pain so deep it felt like it tore through the room.
Ethan closed the door carefully behind him, approached in silence, and sat on the bed, keeping a respectful distance beside her. He looked at her profile for a moment before asking softly:
— Are you okay...?
Hope shook her head slowly, letting out a shaky breath that turned into a sob trapped in her throat.
— No... — she said, her voice cracking as heavy tears began streaming down her cheeks again. — I'm not okay, Ethan... Today was completely awful, everything went wrong...
As she spoke, the memories of the ruined funeral, the gunshot, the argument with her aunt, and the devastating fight with her father's ghost came flooding back all at once. The tears fell relentlessly, and she buried her face in her hands, collapsing again.
Seeing Hope like that was too much for Ethan. His instincts couldn't bear to see her in that state, and the genuine affection he felt for her made it impossible to just sit there watching her pain without doing anything.
Without hesitating, Ethan moved closer. He reached out his arms and wrapped them tightly around her, pulling her into a warm, protective embrace.
Hope was slightly startled by the sudden gesture, freezing for a fraction of a second as she felt his intense heat and presence. But her resistance was short-lived. The crushing loneliness suffocating her gave way as she felt Ethan's hug, and she let herself lean into him, burying her face in the boy's chest and gripping the fabric of his blue shirt with both hands while she cried.
Ethan didn't say a single word. He didn't try to offer empty advice, explain the situation, or say that "everything would be okay" when he knew nothing felt okay to her in that moment. He simply stayed there in silence, keeping her safe in his arms, offering the one thing Hope needed most at that moment: a safe haven.