Ethan Vale stepped out of the bookstore, his back arching in a stretch as though his spine might thank him later. The sigh that followed wasn’t so much dramatic as it was the sort of sigh that escapes when no one’s looking—quiet, resigned, and unmistakably human.

  'It’s been a long day,' he thought, though even long felt insufficient to capture it.

  Above him, Arland City’s sky had been taken over by the sort of sunset that seemed to exist purely to mock busy people. The clouds blushed pink and orange, and the setting sun stretched itself across the horizon like a lazy guest lingering too long at supper.

  Below, the city was in full swing—trains rattled, street vendors hawked their wares with voices as sharp as coins, and a gaggle of teenagers laughed loud enough for the whole street to hear.

  Ethan pulled out his phone. 7:13 p.m. Hours seemed to race faster in summer—“like someone turning the pages of a book you haven’t finished reading,” his mother would say.

  Summer break. The phrase, he decided, ought to be taken to court for false advertising. Instead of lazy days and restful nights, his summer had been spent restocking dusty shelves, counting change that never seemed to add up to much, and nodding patiently while customers explained—at great length—how “customer service has really gone downhill these days.”

  His part-time job was a necessity, of course. Someone had to keep the fridge stocked and the lights on. And while he was just managing to help cover groceries and a bill here and there, the gap always seemed to be just a bit too wide to leap.

  Lost in thought, his phone buzzed against his palm—a small vibration, but it might as well have been a cannonball. He thumbed the screen.

  Mom (Voice Message): “Hey honey, can you grab some groceries on your way home? And… the landlord stopped by again. We need to pay the rent by Friday. Can I ask you to help this month?”

  The words hung in his ears longer than they should’ve. Funny how responsibility had a weight, like stones added quietly to your pockets. Ethan stood there, one foot in the sunlit evening, the other stepping into reality, and tried not to let the tiredness win.

  'How am I going to manage this time?' he thought. It wasn’t said in anger, only in the quiet, bewildered tone of someone trying to carry a little more than they ought to.

  Pulling up his banking app—Arland Trust, a name that always struck him as slightly optimistic—Ethan muttered, “All right, let’s see how much my kingdom is worth today.”

  He watched the screen load, the tiny spinning circle feeling far too smug for his liking. Then, the number appeared.

  Account Balance: $1,370.80

  He stared at it for a moment, long enough that someone passing by might have assumed he was gazing into the meaning of life. And in a way, perhaps he was.

  'Not terrible,' he thought, 'but not enough either.' It was always like this: close enough to seem hopeful, far enough to feel impossible. A constant game of almosts and maybes.

  The city buzzed around him, unconcerned with his small corner of trouble. Somewhere, a child shrieked with laughter; somewhere else, someone barked into a phone about a deal gone south.

  Ethan breathed in the air, thick with heat and the faint smell of street food, and reminded himself—as all grown-ups must learn to do eventually—that he’d find a way.

  “I’ll manage,” he said aloud, as if saying it would make it true.

  And maybe it would.

  With a sigh that felt heavier than it should, Ethan slipped his phone back into his pocket and began weaving through the crowd. It was the kind of evening that made the city look almost forgiving.

  The streetlights blinked on one by one, dots of amber pooling on the pavement like shy fireflies, and shop windows threw their gold across the streets as if trying to outshine the dusk.

  Arland City, Ethan thought, had always been a curious sort of place—beautiful, but not in the way postcards would have you believe. It was a city of contradictions, a place where wealth and want sat next to each other without so much as a nod.

  Across the river, the skyscrapers lit up like Christmas trees, their reflections stretching long and regal in the water. Yet here, in Edgewater, the light faltered. The streets were narrower, the buildings weary, as though they had spent too many winters bracing against wind and rain.

  Edgewater was honest in its roughness. People here worked because they had to, and often, it was all they could do just to stay afloat. The idea of a better life wasn’t so much a dream as it was a rumor—one spoken about in quieter moments when no one was listening too hard.

  Ethan’s feet carried him forward without much thought, his mind elsewhere, until—

  “HONK!”

  The horn’s sharpness sliced through the hum of the street, and Ethan jerked back just as a grey car skimmed past him.

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  “Oi! Watch where you’re going, kid!” the driver barked out of his window, his face briefly appearing before he sped off again as if his outrage were worth more than the seconds he’d lost.

  “Sorry!” Ethan called instinctively, though the apology felt a bit silly now. He raised a hand, half in surrender, half in peace, and continued walking, the incident dissolving as quickly as it had happened.

  This, he thought, was the problem with city life—it didn’t leave much room for lingering. Everything rushed past you, from cars to time itself, while you stood still, the only unmoving piece on the board.

  Ethan wasn’t afraid of work. Work, after all, was the oldest agreement there was: do this, and you get that. What bothered him was that he always seemed to be doing this—working, earning, surviving—but that never seemed to change.

  Part-time jobs, tutoring, programming projects—it was all just treading water, a quiet splashing sound against the vast sea of actual progress. At times, he imagined himself watching the world rush past him from a little dock, unseen and unmoving, like some forgotten boat waiting to set sail.

  “Ethan! Wait up, man!”

  The voice came from behind, and Ethan turned to see Jordan, with his athletic body, jogging toward him, the picture of someone who hadn’t quite learned what it meant to look tired.

  Jordan had always possessed that enviable sort of ease, the kind of person who could walk into a room and, without much effort, convince you that everything was going to be all right.

  Ethan waited until Jordan caught up, slightly breathless but grinning all the same.

  “Man, I thought you’d already bailed,” Jordan said, brushing his unruly hair back with a hand. “Shift just end?”

  “Just now.” Ethan nodded. “I’m grabbing some groceries for my mom.”

  “Groceries, huh? Sounds thrilling.” Jordan tilted his head with mock seriousness. “I was about to grab a coffee, but why not? I’ll come along. You know, keep you company in the glamorous world of eggs and bread.”

  Ethan shrugged with a small smile. “Suit yourself.”

  The two of them fell into step, the noise of the street filling the gaps in conversation as they headed toward the grocery store. Their friendship had the kind of rhythm that only time could create—effortless and well-worn, like a favorite sweater.

  They’d been friends since their awkward high school years when mutual jokes about their lack of opportunity in life had cemented a bond.

  Jordan, true to his nature, had taken the road less stressful after graduation, opting to “find himself” before jumping into college. Ethan, meanwhile, had leaped straight in with both feet and was only now beginning to wonder whether it had been bravery or just impatience.

  “So,” Jordan said casually, as they passed a busker plucking a guitar, “how’s life treating you? I assume it’s paying you compliments and offering free vacations?”

  Ethan gave a low chuckle. “Something like that. I work. I help at home. I sleep. Repeat as necessary.”

  “Sounds riveting,” Jordan teased, though his tone turned softer after a beat. “You’re twenty, Ethan. You shouldn’t spend your whole summer hunched over cash registers and textbooks. We’ve got to hit the beach at least once—make a day of it.”

  Ethan let out a small sigh, not unkindly. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Thinking is a trap, my friend.” Jordan grinned. “You’ve got to do. Otherwise, before you know it, you’re old and boring like… like, I don’t know, teachers.”

  They reached the little corner grocery store, and then, its flickering neon sign buzzed faintly against the evening quiet. Ethan pushed the door open, and a soft bell above jingled as they stepped inside.

  “Anyway,” Jordan said, falling in behind Ethan as he reached for a basket, “what’s on the list? I vote for chips and soda.”

  “Bread. Milk. Eggs,” Ethan replied, unamused but not unhappy.

  Jordan sighed dramatically. “You’re a hard man to sway, Vale. But I’ll keep trying.”

  And as they made their way down the aisles, the weight on Ethan’s shoulders—though not gone—seemed, for now, a little lighter.

  Jordan leaned in conspiratorially as they ambled toward the checkout, his voice dropping to the level of schoolchildren swapping ghost stories. “Did you hear about the robbery? Electronics shop. Just down the block.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow halfway through, grabbing a loaf of bread. “Robbery? When?”

  “Last night,” Jordan said, as though he were unwrapping something truly thrilling. “A whole group of thieves broke in and cleared the place out. And get this—nobody heard or saw a thing. Not a peep.”

  Ethan blinked, taking that in. “Well, that’s… odd.” He placed his items on the counter, where the cashier—a middle-aged man who looked equally tired of life and small talk—began scanning them without ceremony.

  Jordan nodded sagely, his face growing more serious, though his eyes betrayed the delight of someone enjoying his own story far too much.

  “Right? Makes you wonder—what if they weren’t just any old thieves? What if…” He paused for effect, lowering his voice to the merest whisper. “…they were professionals?”

  Ethan couldn’t help but notice the small laugh that slipped out. “Professionals? Jordan, it’s not Mission Impossible. You’ve been watching too many heist movies.”

  “Laugh all you want,” Jordan replied, grinning wide as they stepped aside so the cashier could print the receipt. “But it’s always the weird stuff people dismiss that ends up being real. The world’s funny like that. Full of surprises, Vale.”

  Ethan shook his head, paying for his groceries with a faint smile. “I’ll take your word for it, Sherlock.”

  They stepped back into the street, where the air had grown cooler, and the hum of the city had softened. It wasn’t quiet—cities never really are—but it was a different sort of noise. Muffled. More considerate.

  Ethan lingered for a moment as he let the evening settle around him. Something was soothing about it, as though the day itself had finally sat down and loosened its tie.

  Jordan, always one to break the peace, gave Ethan a hearty pat on the shoulder, the kind that probably bruised ribs back in medieval times. “Anyway, think about the beach, will you? Don’t be boring. You’re allowed to have fun, you know.”

  Ethan adjusted the grocery bag in his hand, tilting his head with a faint smile. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Of course, the words were a placeholder, something to say when you couldn’t promise more.

  “Good man.” Jordan flashed a grin, then turned and strolled off in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, humming some tune that sounded suspiciously like the theme from Ocean’s Eleven.

  Ethan lingered a moment longer, watching Jordan’s figure fade into the restless city. Then, gripping the bag a little tighter, he began walking back toward Edgewater.

  The city had a different soul at night. The lights that seemed so garish by day were softer now, as though they were keeping secrets of their own. The sound of his footsteps fell into a rhythm, steady and reassuring, as his thoughts wandered down their usual paths.

  For just a while—a precious, fleeting while—he felt lighter. The constant weight of responsibilities and bills, of expectations and empty account balances, slipped ever so slightly from his shoulders.

  It was as if the evening had conspired with the darkened streets to say, “There now. You can rest for just a moment.”

  But such moments are always brief. As he turned the corner and the outline of his apartment building loomed ahead, reality returned, as it always did—steadfast and unyielding.

  The stairs creaked beneath him as he climbed, the bag of groceries shifting against his palm. He took a deep breath and steeled himself because tomorrow would bring more of the same—work, obligations, the quiet stretching of time that never quite seemed to stretch far enough.

  And yet, there was something in the cool night air, some whisper of hope, like a voice saying, “Not all of it will be this way forever.”

  For now, though, there was only the night and the waiting hours ahead.

  Hey everyone! I'm back!

  Just a quick update. I've been going through all the feedback you've been giving me before, and I want you to know that I'm editing this series to make it even better.

  Your thoughts and suggestions have been super helpful in shaping the story, so thank you for sharing them! Every comment and piece of advice really means a lot and helps me improve.

  Thanks so much for reading and sticking with me. Let's keep making this story amazing together!

  Cheers,

  Noah Caelum