The sun had barely risen over the Monday morning of Brooklyn, casting a golden glow on the bustling streets. Inside the Brooklyn Brew café, the aroma of fresh coffee mixed with the chatter of early customers and the sound of clinking mugs filled the air.
"Alastor, can you help with that cappuccino order at table three?" Mr. Thompson called out from behind the counter, his sleeves rolled up as he prepared a stack of receipts.
"On it," Alastor replied, weaving through the café with the ease of someone who'd been there much longer than a few weeks.
Jack zipped by carrying a tray of breakfast plates, narrowly avoiding a collision. "Careful, man! I've got precious cargo here!"
Mr. Thompson chuckled, wiping his hands on a towel as he glanced at the steadily growing line of customers. "You two make a good team," he remarked, half to himself.
Alastor arched an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Feels like I'm babysitting."
"Hey!" Jack shot back, balancing his tray on one hand. "I'm doing just fine, thank you very much."
Mr. Thompson shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just keep up the good work, both of you. The rush isn't slowing down anytime soon."
When the rush subsided, Alastor found himself cleaning the counter while Jack leaned beside him, uncharacteristically quiet.
"Something on your mind?" Alastor asked, glancing sideways.
Jack hesitated, then spoke, his tone unusually serious. "Al, can I ask you something?"
Alastor glanced at him, wary. "If it's about me having superpowers again—"
"It's not!" Jack cut in and stared at the counter with his hands fidgeting. His face grew serious, a sharp contrast to his usual puppy-like demeanor. "I've been thinking... about what happened at the concert." He hesitated, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I can't just stand by and do nothing anymore. I don't ever want to feel helpless again. Watching people panic, seeing them hurt... It was like I froze. I couldn't do anything."
Alastor paused, setting down the rag. "You got out of there alive. That's not nothing."
"But it's not enough," Jack said, his voice firm. "I've been thinking about learning martial arts. Maybe some self-defense classes. I want to be able to protect myself and others if something like that ever happens again."
A small, rare smile crossed Alastor's face. "You've got the right mindset. Just don't forget—knowing when to walk away can be just as important as knowing when to fight."
Jack's somber expression melted into his usual enthusiasm. "Thanks, man. I knew you'd get it." He gave Alastor a playful nudge. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got tables to clear!"
Alastor shook his head with a faint laugh, watching as Jack darted off with renewed energy.
As the café settled into its mid-morning rhythm, Alastor's phone buzzed in his pocket. He stepped outside to answer, but not before Jack caught sight of him.
"Rachel?" Jack teased, leaning over the counter with a grin. "Your girlfriend calling you again?"
Alastor rolled his eyes. "Get back to work, Jack."
Jack smirked. "Hey, I'm just saying, dating the boss's niece? Bold move."
Ignoring him, Alastor answered the call. Rachel's voice was calm but direct.
"It's time," she said. "You free after work?"
"Yeah," Alastor replied. "What's the plan?"
"I'll send you the address. Be ready."
After the call ended, Alastor slipped his phone back into his pocket, only to find Jack waiting with an all-too-curious expression.
"What?" Alastor asked, brushing past him.
Jack grinned. "So… what's Rachel up to?"
"It's nothing."
"Come on, Al. You can tell me," Jack said, falling into step beside him. "Does it have anything to do with the cults you were mumbling about last week?"
Alastor stopped, his jaw tightening. "Maybe."
Jack's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Then let me help."
"No."
"Why not?" Jack pressed. "I can handle myself!"
"It's dangerous," Alastor said, his tone firm. "You don't just walk into something like this without knowing what you're getting into."
Jack crossed his arms, his expression determined. "That's exactly why I need to do this. I froze during the concert. I ran. I don't want to be that guy anymore."
Alastor regarded him silently, the weight of Jack's words sinking in. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. But if anything happens to you—"
"I'll be fine," Jack interrupted with a grin. "Promise."
That evening, Alastor and Jack arrived at the meeting point, a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn. The building loomed over them, its cracked windows and rusted walls bathed in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight.
Rachel was already waiting, pacing near the entrance. The moment she spotted Jack, she crossed her arms and fixed Alastor with a glare.
"What's he doing here?" she demanded.
"He insisted," Alastor said simply.
Rachel threw her hands up. "Do you even realize how dangerous this is?"
"I'm standing right here," Jack interjected, his voice light but firm. "And I'm not a kid. I can help."
Rachel glared at him before turning back to Alastor. "If he gets hurt, it's on you."
Alastor nodded. "I know."
Jack stepped forward, his usual grin tempered by determination. "Look, I just want to help. That's it."
Rachel sighed, her frustration giving way to resignation. "Fine. But don't expect me to save you if things go south."
Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit by moonlight filtering through shattered windows. The air was damp, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the cavernous space.
Rachel's flashlight flickered to life, its beam sweeping across the room. "There," she said, her voice a hushed whisper.
On the far wall, a symbol was painted in dark red, its jagged lines and swirling patterns unmistakably tied to the cult. Alastor stepped closer, his jaw tightening as he studied it.
"Looks fresh," he muttered.
Rachel nodded. "It's definitely one of theirs. But what are they doing here?"
Jack, standing a few steps behind, spoke up. "Whatever it is, it's not good."
The three of them stood in tense silence, the weight of the discovery settling over them like a heavy fog.