The sun had barely risen over Brooklyn on Monday morning, 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 voice dropped to almost a whisper. "It's about Sarah Lee."
Alastor stopped cleaning, his attention shifting fully to Jack. "What about her?"
Jack looked up, his eyes heavy with guilt. "I just… I can't stop thinking about her. About what happened. Why someone would target her. Why I couldn't do anything."
Alastor's brow furrowed. "You couldn't have known what would happen, Jack. None of us could."
"That's the thing," Jack said, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't even try. I froze, Al. I stood there while people were screaming and running. I felt useless."
"You're being too hard on yourself," Alastor said, his tone softer now. "You survived. That's not nothing."
"But it's not enough," Jack said firmly. "I don't want to feel like that again. Helpless. Scared. I want to figure out why Sarah was targeted. Who's behind it all. Maybe… maybe if I understand, I can make up for doing nothing... And for that reason too... 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."
Alastor studied him for a moment, then nodded. "It's not a bad goal. Just make sure you're ready for the answers when you find them."
Jack let out a shaky breath. "Thanks, Al. I knew you'd understand."
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 carried that familiar teasing undertone.
"It's time," she said, skipping any pleasantries. "You free after work, or do I need to pry you away from whatever thrilling thing you're doing?"
"Yeah, I'm free. What's the plan?"
"I'll send you the address. And, Alastor? Try not to look so serious all the time—you'll scare the locals," she added with a light laugh before hanging up.
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 Sarah's disappearance?"
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. She glanced up when she heard them approaching and smirked at Alastor.
"About time," she quipped, her tone playful but edged with impatience. Then her eyes flicked to Jack, and her smirk vanished. "What's he doing here?"
"He insisted," Alastor said simply.
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Oh, he insisted. Well, as long as he said so, I guess that settles it," she said with mock sweetness before snapping back into seriousness. "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 crossed her arms, looking Jack up and down like she was measuring his resolve. Then, she turned back to Alastor with a smirk. "You're really batting a thousand, huh? First cults, now babysitting."
Jack bristled slightly but held his ground. "I'm not asking for your approval."
Rachel tilted her head, letting out a short laugh. "Good, because you wouldn't get it." Then she turned 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 rolled her eyes but finally sighed. "Fine. But don't expect me to carry your ass if things go sideways."
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, the beam cutting through the gloom. "This place has charm," she said dryly, scanning the room. "I mean, if you're into creepy abandoned chic."
"There," she said, her voice sharpening as the light settled on a symbol painted in dark red on the far wall. Its jagged lines and swirling patterns were unmistakably tied to the cult.
Alastor stepped closer, his jaw tightening as he studied it. "Looks fresh," he muttered.
Rachel crouched slightly, inspecting the edges of the paint. "Definitely. They've been here recently. But why pick a dump like this?"
Jack, standing a few steps behind, spoke up. "Whatever it is, it's not good."
Rachel shot him a glance over her shoulder. "Thanks for the expert analysis, Sherlock." Then, straightening up, she nodded at Alastor. "You know what this means, right?"
Alastor nodded grimly. "They're planning something."
Jack's brows furrowed, his expression unusually serious. "Do you think this has something to do with Sarah Lee?"
Rachel straightened up and turned to face him fully, her flashlight beam casting a shadow across her face. "What makes you say that?"
Jack hesitated, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I mean... she's Sarah Lee. Who wouldn't want to target her? She's talented, gorgeous, and—"
Rachel interrupted with a smirk, crossing her arms. "Oh, I see. You're not here because of the cult; you're here because you've got a crush on a pop star."
Jack's face turned a deeper shade of red. "I don't—okay, maybe I'm a fan, but that's not the point!"