lone wolf.

"Wait!" Summer's voice could be heard, even though she was talking to no one in particular—maybe one of the many voices in her head?—and reaching her hand out in a stopping motion. "This. Is. Perfect." It was not a squeal—not even a shriek if you think about it—but it was definitely there. There was little she loved more than perusing trinkets at garage sales or antique shops, this one being the former. She would never understand what would bring someone to put their shit on display for a whole neighborhood to see, but boy, she was glad they did it. She was meant to be there—with her hair in a messy bun, her cuttoff shorts, and the graphic tee that said podcast people are people too ( one of the many dead air merch that had gone poof in her shop ). She was meant to be there, and find that precious tiny doll that looked like it had seen better times. "Don't you think this looks haunted? It definitely looks haunted, right?" The doll was shoved in her unsuspecting victim's face. Summer was never good at personal boundaries, and it showed.

While he'd grown up antiquing with his parents, Enzo had never been one to seek out a garage sale unless there was the promise of tools or unique car memorabilia. Half the garage sales he passed were full of plastic toys, sun-bleached lawn chairs, and old bicycles covered in cobwebs. But every now and then, you’d stumble across a vintage oil can, an old hood ornament, or something cool enough to hang in the shop, and that was what made the hunt all worthwhile. Which was exactly why a client's recommendation had brought him to this cracked driveway, squinting down at a table full of dusty ceramics and brass knickknacks when a voice rang out from beside him.

Don’t you think this looks haunted? He turned just in time to find the porcelain doll inches away from his face. Enzo leaned back on instinct, eyes narrowing as he looked between its piercing eyes and the woman holding it like she’d just found her Holy Grail. “Uh…” Enzo muttered, blinking at the doll again. “I mean… yeah, if that’s what you’re going for.” His brow furrowed. “I guess I'm just trying to figure out why anyone would want to own something that was haunted?”

She didn’t know what her mother had taken in, if anything. But there’d been something in the way Isabel’s eyes had lingered on Enzo—a flicker, a narrowing, like a ghost of recognition trying to claw its way through the fog. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

And Enzo had stayed. He hadn’t backed away from the moment or her grief or the complicated silence of the room. He’d stood beside her like he had every right to be there. Like he’d never left.

The nurse came in eventually, her voice gentle as she let them know Isabel needed to rest. Elena leaned down to press her lips to her mother’s temple, whispering a goodbye she wasn’t quite ready to say out loud. Then she stepped into the hallway with Enzo, letting the door click shut behind them.

Outside, everything felt suspended—the harsh lighting, the faint antiseptic sting in the air, the low hum of a nearby monitor. Her arms folded over her chest as she exhaled, grounding herself in the moment.

She glanced at Enzo, her voice quiet but certain. “Do you want to go find your mom?”

There was no pressure in it—just an open door. And then, after a beat, her mouth tugged into the faintest smile. “Or… I could buy you a terrible hospital coffee as a thank-you. For being here. Or maybe as a bribe. To catch up.”

As they stepped back out into the hallway, Enzo offered his ex a sympathetic smile. It was one thing to see your parent struggle, and another to know that there was absolutely nothing you could do to help them. Either you learned to accept their new life for what it was, or spend the last of their days mourning the person you had before they were really gone. Neither one of those options felt any easier than the other.

At the mention of catching up, his instinct was to steer the conversation back toward their parents. To default to familiar ground. But truthfully, the thought of bringing Elena into that room stopped him dead in his tracks. Nancy would light up the second she saw her—of that, he had no doubt. His mother had adored Elena, and she’d never been shy about letting him know just how royally he’d screwed things up. “She did nothing but love you, and you pushed her away,” the woman had said on more than one occasion. Enzo didn’t need to hear it again, not today. Not when he was already turning over every choice he’d ever made and wondering if he'd ever really stopped being the scared kid who thought that distance would protect him from ever being abandoned.

So instead, he turned toward Elena with a crooked half-smile and a nod of his head. “Nothing I love more than a cup of weak coffee. Maybe they'll even have a few stale muffins left. Let's go."

“That’s the thing about monsters,” she says after a beat, her voice quieter again, more thoughtful. “They’re not always hiding in closets or crawling out of TVs. Sometimes they look like family. Like a past you thought you outran. And sometimes… they just sound like your own damn voice at three o'clock in the morning.” She tilts her face slightly then, just enough to glance up at him. “So yeah, knowing I’ve got someone on speed dial who won’t make me explain why I’m calling? That’s worth more than I probably will ever admit out loud. So accept it while you can.” Her gaze lingers on his for a moment, something unspoken tucked behind her gaze, quiet and steady. Afterwards, she bumps his shoulder gently with hers, letting the heaviness drift away from them like it was just another ghost slipping back into the dark. “Texas Chainsaw, huh?” she smirks, that familiar spark flaring back to life behind her eyes. “Okay fine. But only if you let me talk shit about their fashion choices. I mean, who the hell wears bell bottoms to a murder house? And if one more person trips while running in a straight line, I swear to God—”

She pauses, if only to take a sip from her now-warm drink, before leaning a little more into his side, blanket tugged up lazily around her waist. “Also,” she adds, if only to tease him some more and keep the mood light. “You’re a better public service than most. Even if you still make questionable popcorn choices.”

Just as Sonny settles deeper into the couch—half-draped over Enzo now, the kind of relaxed that only comes after a long day and the right kind of company—her phone buzzes. Once. Twice. A sharp, insistent vibration against the coffee table that instantly cuts through the warmth like a blade and disrupts it. She doesn't move at first. Simply tries to ignore it. But, he can probably sense the shift in her as her body tenses—not too much, but enough. It's the kind of quiet stiffening you notice only if you knew her. Which he did.

Sonny exhales through her nose, reluctant. before giving in and reaching forward to grab her phone with a huff. One look at the screen and her jaw clenches. "It's him." She stares at the texts like they're written in another language—part of her world, but not the part she wants around her anymore. For a moment, Sonny hesitates, her thumb hovering over the screen like she might just delete the messages before she properly read them and pretend like, she hasn’t seen them. But that isn’t who she is. Not anymore. She told herself she wasn't going to keep running and she meant it. "What the hell...." After biting the bullet and opening his texts, Sonny feels her heart immediately plummet into her stomach. It's video footage of herself and Pinar, breaking into her father's safe house a couple nights ago. "Fuck, he knows." Panicked, Sonny kicks the blanket off herself and right away begins anxiously looking for her keys. "She's not safe. I should've never dragged her into this. I have to go check on her. Like NOW."

Enzo barely had time to register her warmth before the tension was coursing through the room. One moment, Sonny was curled up on the couch beside him, joking about bell bottoms and bad popcorn, and the next, she was untangling herself with the kind of urgency that only came when someone you loved was in danger. The second she said “It’s him,” something in Enzo's chest tightened. He didn’t need her to spell it out to know who she meant. Elio. Enzo sat up straighter, brows furrowing as he caught sight of the fear in her eyes. That wasn’t a look Sonny wore often. And never without a damn good reason.

He stood slowly, watching her as she moved with growing panic, practically tearing through the room. “Sonny, slow down,” he said, voice low but steady, trying to anchor her as she spun out of control. “What do you mean he knows? What are you talking about—what happened?” Enzo dragged a hand down his face, forcing himself to stay calm even as a rush of adrenaline ran through his body. “You said she’s not safe—who’s not safe? I need you to tell me what's going on.” His mind raced with the implications, every worst-case scenario flashing through his mind.

Rather without a purpose, Livia was walking through the aisles of the supermarket. She was searching for something to eat for that night, but so far she was failing at finding anything she was liking at that time. She rounded the corner and her gaze fell upon the familiar emblem on the back of the leather cut. A smile formed upon her face at the sight of it. From the sight of it, it was someone of her age and Livia would probably recognise him out of thousands.

"Enzo de Luca, it has truly been too long since I've last seen you. How have you been?"

Enzo had been standing in the produce section, sorting through a pile of potatoes when a familiar voice cut through the hum of the grocery store. He glanced up, instinctively assuming the worst before he was met with a familiar face. Livia. Her smile certainly came as a relief compared to many of the other potential run-ins he could have had. Straightening up, Enzo raised a brow, a half-smirk tugging at the man's lips. “Oh, hey Liv."

He took her in for a second, noting the subtle changes in her appearance since he'd last seen her. Perhaps the biggest difference was the fact that Sonny wasn't standing by her side. “I’ve been…” he started, allowing the words to trail off with a breathy laugh. “Alive. Mostly. How about you?"

Mateo's lips pressed into a thin line as Enzo spoke, the buzz of the needle briefly drowning out the unspoken heaviness in the air. Two men, wondering if they could truly trust each other, yet having no choice but to do so. He kept working, cleaning up a line with the corner of the paper towel. Something of a humourless chuckle escaped him, low in his throat. "Yeah, well," he echoed, shaking his head, "we all got our problems, huh?" He paused, flicking his gaze up to meet Enzo's. His eyes were sharp, searching the other's gaze, but there was something tired there too. "You're in too deep? Welcome to the fuckin' club." His mouth twitched into a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I've been in too deep since the day I started walking."

The machine buzzed back to life for a moment before he paused again, letting out a breath as he wiped at the ink, his hand hovering for a second. “You know, it’s easy to say I’m not him. —But, I've got his blood. His name. I've got the same fuckin' temper that ruins everything it touches.. sometimes I wonder if it's all enough to keep me from turning into him." Probably the realest thing he's ever told anyone, ever.. one of his deepest fear. He knew all too well how hard it was to start something without backing out, the way it gnawed at you, wondering just how deep you were sinking before it was too late to climb back out. “Maybe caring is the only thing keeping you human in all this, you know? People get power, and it’s like… they forget how to be human. They stop giving a shit about anything but themselves.” He paused, letting out a quiet breath. "Anyway, just.. be careful. My father's.. not the kind of man you want to cross."

Enzo sat with the steady hum of the needle vibrating through his skin, but it was Mateo’s words that sunk in deeper than any ink. “Yeah,” Enzo murmured, voice roughened with quiet understanding. “I know what it’s like to feel cursed by your own upbringing, even if we come from different backgrounds. It's easy to wonder if you’re ever gonna be more than the worst parts of your past.” The damage had shaped who he was, stitched into every line of loyalty and resentment he walked with. “But that thing you’re scared of?” he added, looking up at Mateo now. “The fact that you’re even worried about becoming like him... That’s what proves you’re not.”

He tipped his head back against the leather chair, allowing the weight of the moment settle. “I’ve been careful. But careful doesn’t always mean safe, and I’m not naïve either. I know what kind of man your father is. I've stopped pretending I can ever walk away clean.” His gaze dropped to the half-finished ink, a subtle symbol of how deep they had both fallen into this. “If I go down, I’m just making damn sure it’s for the right reasons.”

Her mother’s eyes fluttered weakly, confusion swimming behind the glassy surface, but as Enzo’s words settled, a flicker of something almost like recognition sparked in her gaze. She blinked slower, her lips parting as if to speak but hesitating.

Elena’s breath caught. For a moment, her mother’s eyes lingered on Enzo, narrowing slightly, as if seeing not the man before her but someone from a distant, sunlit past—a younger boy with the reckless grin and grease-stained hands she once knew.

Then her gaze shifted to Elena, softening just a fraction, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting on her lips. It was like her mind was grasping at fragments, mistaking them for the teenagers they once were, wrapped in a simpler time.

Elena’s chest tightened with a bittersweet ache. She reached out slowly, her fingers trembling as they found her mother’s hand.

“Mom,” she whispered, voice catching but steady. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

The silence wrapped around them, fragile yet profound, punctuated only by the steady beep of the monitors. In that quiet moment, Elena allowed herself a flicker of hope—maybe, just maybe, the past could still reach through the haze.

She glanced at Enzo, a faint flicker of a smile tugging at her lips despite the heaviness in her chest.

“Do you need to find your mom now?” she asked softly, her voice steady but warm. “We’ve found mine—I just… I want you to be there for her, like you’ve been here for me.”

Her fingers flexed at her sides, a subtle sign of the quiet hope she carried—that maybe they could both find strength in each other, even if in different rooms.

She didn’t want to let him go just yet. But she knew this was likely what he needed.

Enzo stood quietly at Isabel’s bedside, watching her eyes struggle through the fog of memory, reaching for something that might never come fully into view. That flicker—the way her gaze had narrowed slightly when it landed on him—hit him harder than he expected. Maybe it wasn’t recognition exactly, but something else. A ghost of who he’d once been to her. It had been years, after all.

His gaze drifted back to Elena, standing at the foot of her mother’s bed like a lighthouse in a storm, a beacon of hope, even as the waves of grief crashed against her. Not everything had stayed the same over the years, but the way she showed up for those she loved certainly had.

Letting out a breath, Enzo offered a small, steady nod. “This isn't my mother's first rodeo. She’s probably chatting with a nurse or doing one of her beloved crossword puzzles. I promise, she won’t notice if I’m gone for a few more minutes.” Enzo’s gaze softened as he looked at Elena again, catching the quiet tension in her posture. “Unless… you’d rather be alone with her right now. I get that too. Whatever you need.”

location— his place or hers, doesn't matter

The glow from the TV flickers across their faces, painting them in the grainy, blood-streaked light of some low-budget 2000s horror flick that neither of them were really even watching anymore. It was the third one they’d queued up for the night, each one worse than the last—the exact way Sonny always liked it.

She sits curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, an oversized hoodie swallowed halfway up her hands. The throw blanket she grabbed at the beginning of the night was bunched haphazardly between them now, doing a terrible job of pretending it was necessary. The popcorn bowl sits loosely over Enzo’s lap now, down to nothing but burnt kernels and whatever seasoning she’d tried shaking over it earlier like she was trying to hex somebody.

For a while, the only sound save for the thunderstorm outside, was the shriek of some final girl being dragged into a basement and the soft crunch of Enzo chewing on whatever miserable leftover he’s committed to. Eventually, Sonny shifts just slightly, her shoulder brushing his, as she glances over at him through the soft light.

“You remember when I used to sneak into town to visit, show up outta nowhere, and make you watch these with me?” Her voice is low, but not heavy. Soft around the edges—reminiscent, and coated with a laugh. “I used to tell myself it was just for the movie marathon. That I just needed a break. I missed the horror. But I think… I just missed feeling like someone knew I was still alive." Aside from Mateo, he was the only one, who knew where she was, where she'd been. "You never asked questions. You just passed me the blanket, threw on The Descent, and let me pretend, for a few hours at least, that the rest of my life didn’t exist.”

She smiles, barely. It's small, but real. “You'll never know how much that meant to me. How much it still does.” The movie screams again—some monster lunging from behind a corner emerges—and Sonny rolls her eyes, resting her head lightly on Enzo's shoulder now. “They really don’t make ‘em like they used to,” she mutters, voice soft, “but I’m glad we’re still doing this.”

There's a beat. Then—slightly more hesitant, but still her, she goes on to add, "You know I trust you, right? Even with everything that's gone down… even with how messy it’s gonna get... You’re still the one person I can call in the middle of the night if or when the monsters come knocking. I appreciate that.”

Enzo let out a low chuckle as he tossed another sad, half-burnt popcorn kernel into his mouth. Her words sank in with a soft gratitude that only Sonny knew how to give—never too much, never too little, just honest. And yet, it caught him off guard for a second, like it always did. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured, glancing down at her before raising his shoulders in a small shrug. “Those nights helped me too. It was nice to take a break from the overwhelm for once and just exist.”

Enzo shifted, letting the smallest grin tug at the corners of his mouth. “Besides,” the man went on, voice dropping to a playful tone, “aside from your love of the Scream franchise, your taste in horror needs some work. I wasn’t doing you a favour, I was doing a public service.” There was a beat where his grin softened, eyes crinkling as he released a quiet chuckle, “But for what it’s worth… you can call me anytime, Sonny. I mean that. Middle of the night, monsters, real or imaginary, doesn’t matter. You’ve had my back more times than I can count. Least I can do is keep yours.”

Clearing his throat, Enzo flicked his attention back to the TV and gave a small shake of his head. “And don’t worry, Hereditary is off the table tonight. I’m thinkin’ we go old school. Texas Chainsaw. The original. No possessed grandmas, no cults, just a good, honest chainsaw massacre. Can’t go wrong with that.” He shot her a sideways look, half daring her to challenge him. "Or we could go with Halloween. Your pick. I'm clearly in the mood for a slasher."

“Yeah.” Levi gave a, slow acknowledged nod, tone rasping in a profound manner. “I meant what I said. You were doing what you could…you had to.” Grappling with his mother’s medical setbacks called for any, all extenuating measures. No matter the cost. “— You really thought I’d quit because of it?” Returning the loyalty Enzo had trusted with him mattered most. 

His calculated expression drew a dazed blank once more as the other man proceeded. Adding additional fuel to the fire. “— Shit…and you had no idea? That your name wasn’t the only one on the deed?..” The garage was his friend’s life and passion. “Have you had talks with the buyer at all yourself?..if there’s something I can do..” If anything, he could set leveraging with the suit into motion. 

Despite the fact that he hadn't disclosed every dirty detail, his friend's understanding was enough to truly warm Enzo's heart. Living with so many secrets had certainly taken its toll and while those secrets existed to protect his family and friends, the man was happy to have someone he could confide in. At least about things on a surface level.

"Nah. For all I know, he's making this person up to scare me now that he knows he owns a share of the company. But even if they're real, I'm not sure I would want to entertain it. The more time you give these people, the better they become at getting under your skin." With a breathy sigh, the man ran his fingers back through his hair. "I'm not sure what you could do, man, but I'm happy to listen if you have any ideas."

Elena’s fingers tingled where Enzo’s had brushed hers—brief, but enough to remind her of all that remained unsaid. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered—not just for the papers, but for him showing up.

They fell into step side by side, the bright hospital corridor stretching ahead—a path neither imagined walking together again. For a moment, the past felt lighter, their shared concern for their mothers building a fragile bridge. Elena kept her eyes forward, wrestling with the ache of everything left behind and a cautious hope stirring inside.

The hallway opened into a quiet corner. Elena paused before pushing open the door marked 112. Inside, the sterile air mixed with the faint beeping of monitors. Elena’s breath caught as she saw her mother—smaller, fragile, hair tousled, eyes glassy with confusion, drifting without focus.

Elena stepped closer, voice steady despite the ache. “Mom.”

Her mother blinked, lips trembling. “Who… who are you?”

The words hit Elena like a cold wave.

She forced a soft smile. “It’s me, Mom. Elena.”

Her mother’s eyes searched her face, then drifted away—clouded, distant.

Elena’s chest tightened, but she held back tears, steeling herself to stay strong—for both of them.

Enzo stood just inside the doorway, the too-bright fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow across the small, sterile room. It took him a second to really see Isabel — to see past the tangle of tubes and the unfamiliar vulnerability that clung to her like a second skin. Back then, she’d been a force, sharp and witty, never shy about calling him out or fussing over whether he’d had enough to eat. He had respected her, even loved her in the way you did for your partner's parents. But now… seeing her like this, adrift in a haze she couldn’t escape, hit him harder than he could’ve ever prepared for. Alzheimer’s, he realized, the word anchoring itself painfully in his chest. That hadn’t been there before. That was something new, something he’d missed in all the years he’d stayed away. And damn, it was cruel.

He cut a glance toward Elena, his heart twisting when he saw her trying so hard to hold it together. It was the same brave face he’d seen her put on a thousand times. And now, standing beside her, Enzo wanted to shoulder some of that pain, take even a fraction of it off her back. This woman had been her anchor for so long, and to watch her slip away piece by piece… it felt wrong. Unfair.

Clearing his throat softly, Enzo stepped closer, drawing in a slow breath before he spoke. “Hi, Mrs. Duarte,” he greeted her gently, his voice catching for just a second before he steadied it. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m your daughter’s… uh, friend. Enzo.” He offered a soft, almost hesitant smile, hoping it might land somewhere familiar in her fading mind. “It’s good to see you again.”

Her confusion turned to anger as he continued speaking. She had nothing to be so petty over. He was the one who had rejected her, for pete's sake! "For your information, Cem is pretending to be my boyfriend so that my grandparents will get off my back." She explained, tone terse and voice low with barely contained anger that she used as a shield to cover her embarrassment.

Everything about this situation was embarrassing. From admitting she'd had to employ a friend to be her fake boyfriend, to standing in front of the man she'd quite literally thrown herself at at New Year's. Why did Allah want to humiliate her?

Folding her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself from further hits to her ego, she bit out. "Besides, after New Year's, I didn't think you cared who I was or wasn't seeing?"

Enzo’s head spun for a moment as Alara’s words sank in. Pretending. His gut twisted, partially in relief and partially in the realization of something a little more complicated. He’d spent most of the day letting this jealousy eat at him, convincing himself he'd blown his chance.

Still, Enzo couldn’t stop the way the doubt crept in. Pretending or not, it had looked real. Too real. The way Cem had hovered protectively, the way that Alara's smile had reached her eyes. Was it really all just for her grandparents? Enzo swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he studied her. “Yeah, well, you could’ve fooled me,” he admitted, his edged with a tired honesty. “The way he looks at you... I wouldn't be surprised if there was something more."

Though the mention of New Years caught him off guard, he didn't allow himself to dismiss her or shy away from speaking his truth. After all, he'd told what he was thinking then and there. She'd just been far too drunk and far too angry to absorb it. “I didn't reject you on New Years because I didn't want to kiss you. Believe me. You were drunk and emotional, and I didn't want to take advantage of that the way I did after your father's funeral. Take something you didn’t really mean to give.” He exhaled, a shaky breath. “I wanted to be the guy you could trust and lean on, not one who was benefitting from your pain. That’s all.”