Midnight, Somewhere Outside Grit City
The moon was a sliver, low in the sky. Thin clouds drifted like gauze, trailing behind the shadows of tall towers and crooked warehouses that marked the edge of Grit City’s decaying industrial zone. Streetlights flickered. Rats scurried. Somewhere in the distance, a freight train groaned across rusting rails.
The night was quiet.
Too quiet.
But not for long.
From a side road just off the main power loop, a khaki-colored moped buzzed to life with a mechanical purr. Ken—Khaki Karateka—tilted his head back just slightly to glance over his shoulder.
“You holding on, Stealthy Scout?”
Jack gripped the back of Ken’s jacket a little tighter, his arms wrapped snug around the older teen’s waist. “Yeah!” he replied, though it came out more high-pitched than intended.
He was glad it was dark—no one could see how red his face was.
The wind picked up as the moped gained speed, pushing Jack’s too-long bangs out of his eyes. His heart thudded—not with fear, not really. It was that other kind of flutter. The kind that started in his chest and tickled his stomach. The kind that made his fingers twitch and his cheeks feel too hot.
Ken was cool. Not just like “good at stuff” cool—though he was that, too—but calm-cool. Like, “I got this, kid,” kind of cool. Like an older brother out of a movie. Like… like the kind of person you felt safe clinging to, even as the shadows rushed by and the city blurred into streaks of yellow and gray.
Jack’s thoughts wandered, as they always did lately. A 12-year-old brain wasn’t made to sit still for long, even when it was attached to the muscle memory of a grown-up vigilante.
He thought about the training room. About how easily he’d hit the dummy’s core with that throwing knife. About how natural it felt to somersault and leap and land on his feet like a superhero. Like it was something he’d done a thousand times before.
And then he thought about Ken’s strong back, steady and sure in front of him.
It felt good, riding like this.
Comforting.
Familiar.
Like something inside his chest had been empty for a long time and had finally been filled up again.
But it was more than just the physical closeness. It was the way his chest skipped a beat when Ken had turned his head and called him Stealthy Scout. Like… like it meant something more.
It made him feel important. Needed. Seen.
And yet—
That fluttering warmth in his chest suddenly changed. It turned inward, curled like a ribbon around a face that wasn’t Ken’s.
Smiling. Freckled. A little smug, a little goofy.
Ethan.
Jack blinked.
Why’d his face pop into his head?
The memory—or was it a memory?—was soft, like a photograph smudged at the edges. He couldn’t remember the moment. But the feeling that came with it hit like a swing kick to the ribs. It was the same flutter. That same weird, good ache in his stomach. The kind of feeling that made him want to hold on, to protect, to stay close.
Ethan had that smile. That dopey hero face. The kind that made you want to laugh and punch his arm at the same time.
Why did this feel like something he’d felt before?
Jack shook his head quickly and tightened his grip around Ken’s waist.
“I’m fine,” he muttered to himself. “Just gotta focus.”
They zipped around a corner, where two figures waited near a side alley: Anansewa, perched on the edge of a dumpster, silk-spell gloves glowing faintly orange; and CT, crouched over a sleek tablet brimming with green-coded maps and pulsing blips.
“You’re late,” CT said as the moped slowed to a halt.
“We had to stop so this guy could grab a granola bar,” Ken said with a smirk.
“Hey, field rations are important,” Jack shot back, hopping off the moped. His cheeks were still a little red.
CT rolled his eyes. “You sure this kid’s gonna be any use?”
“I’ll show you who’s a kid,” Jack grinned, pulling a knife from his satchel and spinning it between his fingers. The movement was effortless. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips as it sank tip-first into a wooden post nearby.
CT raised both brows.
“Okay. That’s… something.”
“Focus, boys,” Anansewa cut in, stepping forward. “CT found it. The Sorcerer Scientist’s hideout—it’s buried underneath an old power conversion station just two blocks from here. We triangulated the energy pulse when she escaped with Ethan and followed the signature back to this point.”
She flicked her wrist, and a web-like map shimmered into view in the air between them, spun of magical orange strands.
“Three entry points,” she continued. “One’s guarded—expected. Another’s a tunnel through the storm drains—possible, but slow. The last is through a ventilation system—narrow, but perfect for someone small and stealthy.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Pick me!”
“You’re our best bet for that route,” Ken agreed. “CT and I will go through the east access. Anansewa, you provide cover and link up with us inside.”
“Got it,” she said, already weaving a protection ward over her belt pouch.
Jack couldn’t help bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.
It’s happening. We’re really doing this. We’re gonna save Ethan.
And even though his memories were scattered—still scattered—and his brain kept trying to pull together puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit, Jack had one clear thing at the center of it all.
He had to reach Ethan.
No matter what.
He looked at the team. His team.
The names still didn’t all stick. The past still felt like a wiggly shadow he couldn’t quite catch.
But this—this moment—was real.
He gave Ken a thumbs-up.
“Let’s go save him.”
Ken smirked. “That’s the spirit, Stealthy Scout.”