Emily found him exactly where she suspected he'd be — leaning against the hood of his car like it was his throne, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone he wasn't really looking at.
She marched up before she could talk herself out of it. "We need to talk."
Ethan's gaze slid to her, slow and deliberate, like he'd known she was coming all along. "Afternoon, angel. You're skipping the part where you say hello."
"Why is everyone telling me to stay away from you?" she demanded.
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Because I'm not their idea of safe?"
"Safe? They're saying people disappear around you."
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Do you believe them?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But a teacher came to my room to warn me. A teacher, Ethan."
He finally pushed off the car, stepping closer until she could feel the shadow he cast over her. "And what did you say to him?"
Emily swallowed. "I… didn't say anything."
"Good girl."
Her pulse jumped. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need." His voice was low, smooth, dangerous. "People fear what they don't understand. And they hate what they can't control."
"I'm not sure if that's supposed to make me feel better."
"It's not," he said simply. "It's supposed to make you decide."
She frowned. "Decide what?"
Ethan leaned in, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "If you're going to listen to their ghost stories… or if you're going to trust me."
"And why should I trust you?" she asked, though her voice had softened without her permission.
He smirked. "Because I haven't hurt you yet."
That yet hung between them like a match hovering over gasoline.
Before she could respond, he stepped back, unlocked the car, and held the door open. "Come on, angel. Let's go for a drive."
Emily hesitated for a long moment, every warning she'd heard replaying in her head — and then she got in.
--