After that, everything unraveled quickly.
Tyler was arrested and transferred to Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital in Vermont—the kind reserved for outcasts whose crimes couldn't be explained away or ignored.
Sheriff Galpin argued until his voice went hoarse, but there was nothing left to argue. Too many witnesses. Too much damage. Too much blood.
All he could do was stand there and watch his son be taken away.
Nevermore Academy closed soon after. Officially, it was for repairs—the quad was destroyed, parts of the grounds burned, stone shattered beyond quick fixing.
Unofficially, it was because the school had just survived an attempted massacre, a resurrected fanatic, and the revelation that one of its own teachers had orchestrated the entire thing.
Marilyn Thornhill.
A fake name. A fake past. A very real body count.
The authorities searched for her anyway, unaware they were already too late.
At the gates of Nevermore, Wednesday and Ethan stood facing the school one last time. Enid had already left—but not before giving Ethan a deep, lingering kiss.
"So, Wednesday," Ethan asked, glancing back at the towers, "are you satisfied with the outcome?"
"Yes," Wednesday replied evenly. "Especially because a certain authority figure finally acknowledged her mistake."
She didn't smile.
"There's something uniquely gratifying about watching someone who repeatedly labeled you delusional concede you were right—and thank you for it." She paused. "Vindication is far more satisfying when it's reluctant."
Ethan huffed a quiet laugh. "You really know how to enjoy a win."
"I don't enjoy it," Wednesday said. "I preserve it."
Ethan shifted his weight, hands in his pockets. "Still… I can't believe I'm going to miss this place. Never thought I'd say that."
Wednesday glanced at him sideways. "Why? You didn't attend a single class properly. Missing something you never cared about seems inefficient."
"That's not what I meant," Ethan said. "I'll miss you. And Enid."
She didn't answer.
He smiled, a little too casually. "Also—before I passed out in the crypt. I saw you."
A beat.
"You were crying. Did you cry because you thought I was going to die?"
Wednesday slowly turned toward Ethan, fixing him with that familiar, unsettling stare—half-dead, half-judging, and entirely unreadable.
For once, she had nothing to say.
Ethan's smile faded. "Wait," he said, surprised. "You actually did?"
The silence stretched.
Then Wednesday's hand shot out and caught the front of Ethan's shirt.
He blinked. "What—?"
He didn't get to finish.
She pulled him down and kissed him.
It was quick, but it carried weight—warm, unexpected, and unmistakably real. Not dramatic. Not careful. Just honest in a way Wednesday rarely allowed herself.
For a split second, Ethan forgot how to breathe.
His eyes widened, shock flashing through them as he focused entirely on her—on the closeness, on the fact that she was actually there, doing this.
Then she pulled away.
The air between them felt different—charged, quiet.
Wednesday met his gaze, her expression composed again, though something unguarded lingered in her eyes.
Ethan was still leaning forward, clearly stunned, trying to process what had just happened.
"That," she said evenly, "was the answer I'm willing to give for the pestering you've subjected me to since the start."
She turned toward the waiting car, braids swaying, her voice calm and controlled. "And for the record—crying isn't the only way sadness shows itself. Sometimes it stays inside."
Ethan stood frozen, fingers still half-curled in the air where she'd left him, a slow grin spreading across his face as the moment finally caught up to him.
"…Well," he murmured, watching her get into the car, "it seems she did cry. Just in her own way."
Inside the car, Wednesday allowed herself the briefest smile, the image of his dumbfounded expression flickering through her mind—then, just as quickly, her face returned to its usual calm.
Ethan watched the car move away.
"Her lips taste like dark chocolate," he muttered.
Now that he was officially two-timing—Wednesday on one side, Enid on the other—the next school year was shaping up to be… complicated.
A problem, sure.
One he fully intended to manage.
[Dimensional travel is now available]
The system panel flickered into view.
Ethan glanced at it once, lips curling.
"So it's time," he murmured. "Let's see what kind of trouble waits next."
***
Night City.
Rain hammered the streets in relentless sheets, neon bleeding into the puddles below like open veins of light. Sirens cried somewhere in the distance, then vanished—swallowed whole by thunder.
The camera climbed. Past glass towers. Past steel ribs. Higher.
At the edge of a skyscraper, a lone figure stood unmoving.
A black trench coat snapped violently in the wind, rain running off its edges. Ash-brown hair clung to his face, heavy with water. He looked down at the city the way predators look at territory.
Lightning tore the sky apart.
For a single, terrifying heartbeat, his eyes caught the flash—red, unnatural, alive with quiet amusement.
The thunder followed.
He smiled.
*****
Yep, Wednesday Season 1 has finally come to an end.
And you can probably guess what comes next.
The Underworld.
The world of vampires and lycans.
Now Ethan is stepping into it, and things are about to get messy. Really messy. Everyone has a plan—vampires, lycans, all of them.
And Ethan was about to ruin every single one.
And on Patreon, UnderWorld is finished, and Evil Dead has started.
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 110, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
👉 patreon.com/JamesA211