The boy without a system

CHAPTER 8 — THE LIST

Evan woke up to the scent of toast.

It wasn't burnt this time, just plain, simple toast.

He headed downstairs to find Lily sitting at the kitchen table with two plates of eggs and toast laid out. She looked up as he entered the room.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning."

He took his seat, and she slid a plate toward him.

"Thanks."

They ate in silence. It wasn't a heavy or awkward silence, nor was it fueled by anger. It was just... quiet.

"You okay?" he eventually asked.

"Yeah." She took a bite. "I’ve been thinking about what you said."

"And?"

"I don't get it. None of it," she admitted, meeting his eyes. "But you're my brother. I trust you."

Evan felt a knot form in his throat.

"Thanks."

"Just don't lie to me again," she warned.

He nodded. "I won't."

Another lie.

He arrived at the dojo at six sharp, Chen was already there, waiting.

"Two hundred skips. Then we get to work."

Evan pushed through the routine. His legs were still aching from the day before, but he didn't let it slow him down. After the skips came the heavy bag, followed by intensive footwork drills. By the time they were finished, he was drenched in sweat.

"Better," Chen noted. "Your hips are finally starting to loosen up."

Evan just nodded, grabbing his water bottle.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

He grabbed his gear and headed out.

Sarah was leaning against the wall just outside.

Evan stopped in his tracks. "You're here."

"I told you I'd find you." She pushed off the wall and started walking. "So, who's the old man?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody who spends his time training people to fight just three weeks before the Awakening?" She fell into step beside him. "He knows something, Evan."

He remained silent.

"Relax. I'm not going to interrogate your sensei," she whispered, keeping her voice low. "I'm here because I found something."

"What?"

"Another ripple. A third reborn."

Evan stopped dead. "Who?"

"I don't know yet." Sarah’s expression hardened. "But whoever they are, they aren't hiding. They're moving fast three different cities in the last week."

If there’s a third reborn out there and they aren't staying under the radar, it means they want to be found. Or they’re trying to find us first.

"What's the plan?" Evan asked.

"We find them before they find us." Sarah pulled a folded piece of paper from her jacket. "This is everything I've gathered so far. Addresses, names, potential locations."

Evan unfolded the paper. There were five names listed. His eyes locked onto the fourth one.

Marcus Hale. Elm Street.

He looked up at her, wary. "Why is Marcus on this list?"

Sarah tilted her head curiously. "Who's Marcus?"

Evan stared at her, stunned. *She followed me for two days. She literally said she saw me at his house.*

"You told me you saw me at his place," he said.

"I did. I just didn't know his name," she replied with a shrug. "Is he someone important?"

Evan folded the paper back up and slid it into his pocket.

"No," he lied. "Not important."

Sarah watched him for a moment, her gaze lingering a little too long.

"Okay," she said finally. "I'll check the first two names tonight. You handle the last two."

"Fine."

"Be careful, Evan." She turned to walk away. "Whoever this person is, they aren't a friend."

As she walked off, Evan stood there, his heart hammering against his ribs.

She's lying. She knows exactly who he is. And Marcus has no idea she exists.

He broke into a run.

Marcus was working in his garage when Evan arrived.

"Kid," he muttered, not looking up from the shelf he was organizing. "You're early."

"We've got a problem."

Marcus turned around.

Evan laid it all out, Sarah, the reborn, the list, and the lie. Marcus listened intently, never once interrupting. When Evan finally finished, a heavy silence filled the garage.

"Do you trust her?" Marcus asked.

"No."

"But you're working with her anyway."

"I don't have a choice."

Marcus wiped his hands on a greasy rag. "So, there's someone else out there. Another reborn. Maybe more. And this Sarah girl is holding back."

"Yeah."

"Then we play it safe." Marcus walked over to his workbench, picked up a knife, and held it out to Evan. "You know how to use this?"

"I've used one before."

"In the old timeline, maybe. Not here." Marcus grabbed a second knife and tossed it at a wooden board. It thudded into the wood, dead center. "Show me."

Evan threw his. It hit the wall and bounced off.

Marcus didn't laugh. He just said, "Again."

Evan picked it up and threw. Another miss.

"Your wrist is snapping too early," Marcus coached, stepping in to adjust his grip. "Throw from here. Let the weight of the blade do the work."

Evan tried again. This time, it stuck into the edge of the board.

"Better."

They spent the next hour training. By the time they were done, Evan could land a hit about one out of every three tries.

"That's good enough for now." Marcus gathered the knives. "Go home. Eat something. Spend some time with your sister."

Evan felt that familiar tightness in his throat again. "Yeah. Okay."

He took the long way home.

The sun was beginning to set. Kids were out on their bikes, and the smell of backyard grills drifted through the air.

It all looked so normal. It'll stay this way for a few more weeks, at least.

His phone buzzed in his hand. A text from Lily.

Where are you? Dinner is getting cold.

He smiled.

On my way. Five minutes.

You said that last time.

I mean it this time.

He pocketed the phone and kept walking. He was halfway home when he noticed a car parked across the street. The engine was idling, but the lights were off.

He didn't look back; he just kept moving.

The car didn't budge.

He turned a corner, catching the car's movement in the reflection of a shop window. It began to pull out, moving slowly, trailing him.

Evan’s hand instinctively went to the knife in his pocket. He quickened his pace.

The car matched him. Then, it accelerated, pulling up alongside him. The window rolled down.

A woman in her thirties with dark hair and a composed, calm expression looked at him.

"You're Evan Cross," she said.

Evan stopped. "Who are you?"

She offered a small smile.

"You can call me Director Vasquez." She gestured toward the passenger seat. "Get in. We need to talk about your future."