“Achoo!”
Ethan sniffled loudly, then blinked at the sunlit hallway as if it had personally offended him. “Ugh. That felt weird.”
Jack, walking beside him and still tousling his slightly-damp hair from their post-training shower, gave a half-interested grunt. “Everything feels weird today.”
“No, I mean like… like something’s coming. Like how the air feels before lightning strikes.”
Jack stopped walking, raised an eyebrow, and looked Ethan over. “You getting sick again or just being dramatic?”
“Bit of both,” Ethan muttered, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.
The hallway stretched ahead of them, quiet and too clean. It was odd how empty the Keller Estate felt when Ken was being... off. It had been an hour since their half-hearted training session, and even their playful ambush—standard post-shower horseplay involving towels and tactical rolls—hadn’t drawn more than a flat “Not now” from Ken. Not even a smirk.
And that just wasn’t right.
“You know,” Jack said slowly as they neared the west wing stairs, “he’s been acting weird ever since we got back from that alley.”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah. Since before the funeral. Maybe even since the fight. It’s like… like he’s here, but not REALLY here.”
Jack crossed his arms. “I think he’s hiding something.”
Ethan tilted his head. “From us?”
“Yeah. I mean… Anansewa told us we used to be adult vigilantes, right? But Ken never talks about that. Not even a word. And lately, he doesn’t even yell at us when we call him 'Sensei Sweat'. He just… shuts down.”
“I thought he was just mad we didn’t want more training.”
“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “He’s sad.”
That word hung between them, unexpected.
“Sad?” Ethan repeated.
Jack nodded. “Yeah. Not mad. Not annoyed. Sad.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the shadows drift along the polished marble floor.
Ethan broke it. “So, what do we do?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “We do what sidekicks do best when the big guy’s acting shady.”
Ethan blinked. “You mean…?”
“We spy on him.”
—
Ken’s room was locked, of course. But nothing in this mansion stayed locked long around two determined and too-skillful for their own good twelve-year-olds.
Especially when Jack still had that hairpin he'd found in the Gym's tool drawer.
“Gotta respect the classics,” Jack said as he picked the lock with the easy confidence of a kid who’d once probably done it blindfolded as a bet.
Ethan kept lookout, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I don’t like this,” he whispered.
“You never like it until we’re already in trouble.”
“Exactly!”
The door clicked.
They slipped inside like shadows, leaving it slightly ajar.
Ken’s room was cluttered with dirty clothes on the floor, posters of bands and Karate champions. A katana mounted above the bed. A bookshelf loaded with fantasy novels and comics set across from the unmade bed. Next to the shelf was a gigantic desk holding a large computer covered in sticky notes and various textbooks.
Ethan moved to the desk. Jack checked the bookshelf.
“Nothing juicy,” Jack muttered. “Just mission logs and… is that a romance novel?”
Ethan was flipping through a small notebook. “He wrote something here. Notes. Half in code. But look—look at this part.”
Jack leaned over his shoulder.
“Wish stable but irreversible. Memory severed. Djinn magic incompatible with healing loss.”
Jack blinked. “What the heck does that mean?”
Ethan’s face paled. “I think it’s about me. And you.”
Jack squinted at the page. “You mean… the wish? From the alley?”
Ethan nodded slowly. “I don’t remember making it. But you said I did.”
“I saw you,” Jack said quietly. “You made a wish. Right after you hugged me. But I didn’t understand what it meant. You were crying.”
There was silence again. Ethan stared at the note, then at the slight indentation of Ken’s pen strokes on the paper.
They weren’t just spying on a sad older friend.
They were poking around the mind of someone who had been carrying something heavy—and not telling them about it.
“Maybe he was trying to protect us,” Ethan said.
Jack’s voice was soft. “But maybe we didn’t want that.”
A soft 'thud' from the hall made them both jump.
“Quick!” Ethan hissed.
They dove under the desk just as the door opened wider.
Ken entered the room, sighing as he rubbed his forehead. His voice was a low mutter. “Why did I ever think I could do this alone…”
He crossed to the desk, sat down in the chair—legs just inches from where the boys were hiding.
Ethan held his breath. Jack squeezed his shoulder silently, calming him like he used to on rooftops before a jump.
Ken opened the notebook and stared at the same page.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fingers brushing the text. “You trusted me with your second chance. And all I’ve done is fail you.”
The weight of his voice fell on the boys like bricks.
He wasn’t hiding things to be cruel.
He was drowning in guilt.
Ken grabbed a book from the desk and stood again, heading to the hallway. His footsteps faded.
Ethan and Jack crawled out slowly.
“Okay,” Jack said softly. “That’s not what I expected.”
“Nope,” Ethan replied, staring at the closed notebook. “But I think I get it now.”
They left the room quietly.
No banter. No jokes.
Just the strange, heavy realization that maybe—just maybe—Ken was grieving something they couldn’t remember losing.