1. Ella

1

ELLA

I 'm on a mission to rid this town of scumbags.

Harborview at midnight is like a cat on a hot tin roof—jumpy, unpredictable, and a tad too shiny in places where it shouldn't be.

Most of the town slumbers like a tired giant. At this odd hour, suspended between night and dawn, only few choose to remain awake. My target is one of them.

The yachts in the marina gleam like oil-pulled teeth, and the windows of absurdly expensive boutiques reflect the moon, casting warped glimmers onto the cobblestone streets.

I lurk the same streets, blending seamlessly into the shadows. There isn't a lot of glamor to what I do, but then again, someone's got to keep the streets clean. And if I'm being honest, I love what I do at nights. Here I am, Ella Masters, part-time barista, full-time secret vigilante.

No cape, though. I have a thing for stumbling at the most inopportune moments. Capes are a hazard.

The damp streets of Harborview glisten under the streetlamps, the fog rolling in from the sea wrapping the town in a shroud of misty secrecy. It's late, way past the bedtime of decent folk, and that's exactly why I'm here, prowling in the shadows. I tug my black hoodie closer around my face, my heart thrumming with the adrenaline of the night's mission. Every sense is heightened, attuned to the silence around me, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.

Tonight, I'm on a particular kind of hunt. My target is a slick charmer who's been leading a double life at the expense of an innocent mother and her baby. The tip came in through an anonymous message, desperate and tinged with enough heartache to get me involved. I've tracked him to a cozy little house on Cedar Lane, lights still on, laughter spilling out onto the street. The perfect fa?ade.

I've made sure to hide myself as well as I can. I've draped my body in an oversized coat, chosen goggles big enough to cover most of my mercifully small face, and donned a cherry-red shade for my lips, overlining them slightly for added impact. This is not how I'd dress during the day, but it's imperative for me to avoid recognition.

Creeping closer, I peer through a gap in the curtains. Inside, he's playing the devoted father, a scene so saccharine it almost masks the bitterness of his deceit. But I know better. This man has another family across town, another child who sleeps without goodnight kisses from their father.

Not tonight. Tonight, the fa?ade crumbles.

I wait until he steps out, probably thinking he's off to meet a lover or sneak back to his other life. As he locks the door behind him, I step out of the shadows, blocking his path. He startles, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with annoyance.

"You're out late," I say, my voice low and even.

"And you are?" he counters, trying to sidestep me.

"Someone who knows about Sarah. And Julie." I watch as his face pales, the names hitting him like physical blows. "Seems like you've been busy, huh?"

He begins walking, clearly hoping I'll get the hint and leave him be. He's wrong. I slink behind him until we're at a fair distance from the house.

"You can run as long as you want," I call out smoothly. "But it's not going to help."

He recovers quickly, his posture shifting to one of defiance. "What do you want?"

"I want you to make it right. Tell them the truth. If you don't, I will."

He scoffs, a nervous laugh. "You think you can threaten me? You have no idea who you're messing with."

That's when I step closer, invading his space. "Oh, but I do. And if I have to come back here, you'll find out just how much I know."

He scoffs, stepping closer, invading my personal space. "I should teach you a lesson."

I don't flinch. "Try it."

It's quick—the way he moves, as if to grab me. But I'm quicker. Years of self-defense training, plus a few tricks from my old gym coach, have honed my reflexes. I sidestep, grabbing his outstretched arm, twisting it behind his back with enough pressure to make him wince but not enough to break.

"Listen," I hiss, my face inches from his, "I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to be honest. To them, and to yourself. But if you try anything like this again, I'll make sure you regret it."

He struggles, but the grip I have is solid, trained. "You can't… you have no right?—"

"Rights?" I push slightly on his arm, eliciting a grunt of pain. "What about their rights? Your families'? Think about them instead of your own selfish needs."

For a moment, he's silent, and I feel him relenting slightly under the force of my hold and my words. I loosen my grip, just a bit, keeping him in place. "Go home. Sort your life out. And remember, I'll be watching. And not just me. I have friends, people you don't want to mess with. This is your only warning."

Fear flickers in his eyes, and for a moment, he seems like he might buckle. "I'll… I'll fix it. I swear."

I nod, backing away slowly. "Remember, honesty. Or I spill everything."

He nods, rushing back inside, and I turn, my job here done but with no illusions that it'll be that easy. People like him, they never learn until the lesson is seared into their lives.

Shaking off the tension, I decide a late-night bite is in order. The fog leads me down to a little bistro by the waterfront, a place glowing with warmth and the promise of strong coffee. The bell above the door tinkles as I step inside, the smell of fresh pastries and brewed coffee enveloping me.

The place is nearly empty, just a couple of night owls like me hunched over their laptops or lost in the pages of dog-eared books. I slide into a booth by the window, my back to the wall, always facing the door, and take off the oversized goggles. Old habits.

"Rough night?" The waitress, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a quick smile, sets a menu in front of me.

"You could say that," I reply, smiling back.

She chuckles, pointing at the menu. "The blueberry pancakes are good for the soul. And our coffee's strong enough to kick start a dead battery."

"Coffee, then, and those pancakes sound like a winner."

As she bustles off, I let myself relax into the vinyl seat, staring out at the foggy night. Harborview, with its quaint charm and seascaped backdrop, feels like two worlds merged into one—the picturesque surface and the shadowy depths where secrets dwell.

My coffee arrives, steaming and as strong as promised. I wrap my hands around the cup, the heat seeping into my chilled fingers bringing a sense of calm. The pancakes follow, fluffy and topped with a generous helping of blueberries. For a moment, I allow myself the simple pleasure of the meal, the sweet and tart flavors mingling on my tongue, the caffeine slowly sharpening my tired mind.

It's then I notice him—the man from earlier. He's headed toward his old home, back to his daytime wife. I grimace and focus on my coffee once more. I'll have to keep my eyes peeled on this one. Once the meal is done, I head to the bistro's washroom and clean up, removing the excessive make up from my face. Under the soft yellow lighting, I look tired, almost gaunt. No point fretting about it. ..

Stepping outside, I leave enough cash on the table to cover the bill and a generous tip. As I step out into the cool night air, I pull my coat tighter around me.

The encounter with the duplicitous father weighs heavily on my mind. My footsteps echo softly on the cobblestone as I head toward the oceanfront, where the sound of the waves can soothe my restless spirit. The fog swirls around me like a cold, damp cloak.

I find myself at the pier, the wooden boards creaking under my boots, the salty spray of the ocean filling the air. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore tries to offer solace, but tonight, my thoughts are too tumultuous. Leaning against the railing, I stare out at the dark, heaving waters, allowing myself a rare moment of vulnerability. How many more nights like this? How many more souls in turmoil before I find a different path?

The self-pity spirals, sucking me into a vortex of doubt and weariness. I've always believed in my mission, but the solitude of this double life is a heavy burden. The secrecy, the lies—it's isolating. And for what? A momentary victory in a sea of endless battles?

Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice the approach of someone until he's almost beside me. The sound of heavy boots on the wooden planks snaps me out of my reverie, and I instinctively straighten up, alert.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," a deep, friendly voice breaks through the fog. I turn to find a man standing next to me, his firefighter's jacket unzipped, revealing a T-shirt that hugs his muscular frame. He's tall and broad-shouldered with a kind, rugged face that's hard to ignore.

"It's okay. I was just…" I trail off, not really sure how to explain.

"Taking in the night?" he offers with a gentle smile, leaning on the railing beside me.

"Something like that," I admit, returning the smile. His presence is strangely comforting, a beacon in the fog.

"I'm Ethan." He extends his hand, and I shake it, feeling the calluses on his palms, the grip firm and warm.

"Ella," I reply. There's an ease about him, a sincerity that invites trust, even from someone as guarded as me.

"Ella. What are you, Ella?"

Well, that's an odd question. I quirk a brow at him. "A nanny," I quip. It's not really my job right now, but it's what I'm best at. That's all the questions I can tolerate right now, so I turn my focus to the ocean in the distance.

Ethan nods in the direction of my gaze. "Beautiful, isn't it? But it can be pretty intense, especially on nights like this."

"Yeah, it matches my mood perfectly," I say, half-joking.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "Want to talk about it? I hear I'm a good listener."

I hesitate, the offer tempting. It's been so long since I've had a real conversation that wasn't about my missions or someone else's crisis. "Just life, you know? Wondering whether I'm really making a difference or just putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound."

Ethan nods thoughtfully. "I get that. In my line of work, it sometimes feels like we're just waiting for the next fire, literal or metaphorical. But you know, even a Band-Aid helps. It's protection, it's care… it matters."

"Thanks, Ethan. That actually helps," I confess, surprised by the comfort his words bring.

He smiles again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Anytime, Ella. And hey, if you ever need a break from the superhero stuff, the station's always open. We've got good coffee and bad jokes in abundance."

I laugh, the sound mingling with the sea breeze. "I might take you up on that."

As Ethan starts to walk away, something impulsive tugs at my heartstrings, an unfamiliar urge to not let this moment end. "Ethan, wait," I call out after him, my voice louder against the backdrop of the ocean's roar.

He turns, his expression curious. "Everything okay?"

In a few quick strides, I close the distance between us, my decision made in the span of a heartbeat. "I… can we walk a bit more?" There's a raw edge to my voice, one I don't often let slip.

"Of course." He smiles, and we start walking along the pier, our footsteps in sync. The fog seems to curl around us, creating a world that feels detached from the rest of Harborview, a space that's just ours for now.

We reach the end of the pier where a small, weather-beaten gazebo offers a semblance of seclusion. It's darker here, the only light coming from the occasional flicker of a distant street lamp trying to penetrate the mist. Ethan leans against the wooden railing, looking at me with a potent intensity in his eyes that makes my toes curl.

"What's on your mind, Ella?"

His directness strips away the last of my reservations. I step closer, closing the space between us, guided by a compelling mix of admiration and a sudden, intense attraction. "I'm usually not this forward," I start, my voice a whisper, "but there's something about you… something very real."

Ethan doesn't move away. Instead, his hands find the small of my back, pulling me slightly closer. "I feel it too, Ella. I wasn't sure if it was just me."

It's all the confirmation I need. Rising on my tiptoes, I bridge the gap between us, pressing my lips against his. The kiss is tentative at first, a question asked with the touch of lips, but it quickly deepens as Ethan responds with an intensity that mirrors my own. The ascension is passionate, consuming, as if he's been waiting to do this just as much as I have. He tastes of pine and the sea.

His hands tighten on my back, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel the strength of his body, the power and warmth that radiate from him. The world narrows down to the sensation of his lips on mine, his body against mine, and the soft, muffled sounds of the ocean around us.

When we finally break the kiss, we're both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. The mist envelops us, a cocoon away from reality. "Wow," Ethan breathes out, his voice a husky murmur.

"Yeah," I agree, unable to stop a giddy smile from spreading across my face. "Wow."

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my cheek. "I didn't see that coming when I decided to take a walk tonight."

"Me neither," I confess, feeling a lightness I haven't felt in years. "But I'm glad it did."

We stand in the muted glow of dawn, reluctant to let go, until my phone blares, shattering the serene cocoon. I flinch, the sound abrasive in the quiet morning air. I pull the phone from my pocket, the screen illuminating a message. Work for another night, courtesy of another cheater.

Another reminder why relationships don't work.

"I have to go," I say abruptly, the warmth draining from my voice as I pull away from him. The words feel cold, even to my own ears.

Ethan looks puzzled, hurt flashing briefly in his eyes. "Can I help?"

I shake my head, stepping back, building a wall between us with my reluctance and fear. "No, this is something I need to handle alone." My tone is final, a door closing.

His hand reaches out, as if to bridge the distance, but I turn away, unable to face the concern—and something more—that I see in his eyes. "Ella?—"

"Please, just… don't," I interrupt, my voice a whisper of despair. The vulnerability and connection I felt moments ago now feel like liabilities, dangers I can't afford.

I start walking fast, the cool morning air biting at my cheeks as I fight back a surge of emotions. Ethan doesn't follow. He respects my wish, standing still, watching me leave with a mixture of confusion and worry.

I reach the main street, my pace quickens to a run, and I flag down a passing cab. The city is waking up, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. I slide into the backseat, giving the driver an address without thinking. As the cab pulls away, I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching tall buildings recede behind me.

"I'm never going to do relationships," I vow quietly, the words forming a shield around my bruised heart. The risks are too high, the costs too great. I can't afford distractions, not when others depend on my strength, my clarity.

But even as I build these fortifications, a voice inside whispers, you're deluding yourself.