Chapter 87: Rachel’s Discharge (Patreon)

The last bell of the school day rang, and before Ethan could even shoulder his backpack, Paige and Amy flanked him like a pair of conspirators.

“C’mon, Kane,” Paige said with her southern drawl. “We’re goin’ gift shoppin’. Rachel’s gettin’ out today, and she deserves somethin’ sweet.”

Amy nodded earnestly. “It’ll mean more if it’s from all three of us.”

Ethan wanted to argue—his mind was occupied with the warehouse, Delilah’s new identity, and Oscorp—but he knew better than to refuse Paige. Refusing would sour the mood, and while Rachel’s recovery was important, Paige’s trust was something he would need soon. So he allowed himself to be “dragged,” wearing his usual faint smirk as Paige looped her arm through his.

They stopped by a small boutique near the hospital. Paige browsed endlessly, holding up stuffed animals with dramatic flourishes.

“What about this lil’ guy?” she asked, shaking a floppy-eared rabbit at Ethan.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously considering a stuffed animal for someone who just survived a demon possession.”

Amy giggled. “He’s right. Rachel would probably just throw it at you.”

“Fine,” Paige said with mock indignation, tossing the rabbit back in the bin. “You two are no fun. At least I’m tryin’.”

Amy leaned toward more practical things, like soft blankets or journals. She held up a lavender throw blanket. “This feels nice. Warm, but not too heavy.”

Ethan touched the fabric briefly, then nodded. “Good choice. Comforting and actually useful.”

“Practical as ever,” Paige teased. “You’re like a seventy-year-old trapped in a teenager’s body.”

“Better than acting like I’m seven all the time,” Ethan shot back dryly, handing the blanket to the cashier and paying before either girl could argue.

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You always do that. Pay before anyone else can even move.”

“It’s efficiency plus I’m a gentleman,” Ethan said simply.

Amy stifled a laugh. “You mean controlling. Also, a gentleman would offer first and not just do it.”

Ethan just smiled faintly. “Agree to disagree.”

Rachel looked much stronger when they arrived at the hospital. She was sitting upright, hair brushed, a hint of color back in her cheeks. The haunted vacancy in her eyes had almost faded, though slight traces of it still lingered like shadows.

Paige rushed forward and wrapped her in a careful hug. Amy handed her the blanket with a shy smile. Rachel blinked, touched, her voice cracking. “You guys didn’t have to…”

“Of course we did,” Amy said quickly. “We’re friends.”

Paige perched at the end of the bed. “Anyways, you owe me big time. I’ve been dealin’ with these two all by myself.”

Rachel managed a small laugh. “That sounds like torture.”

“You got no idea,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “Amy’s sweet, but Ethan here? He’s a right ol nightmare. Won’t let me copy his homework, won’t even give me test answers. Selfish.”

Ethan leaned against the wall, arms folded. “You’d fail anyway if you relied on me.”

“That’s cold,” Paige shot back, grinning despite herself.

Rachel shook her head, the warmth of the moment easing the tension in her posture.

Ethan stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. “Remember the breathing exercises. In through the nose, slow. Anchor yourself. No one controls your mind but you. This is all you.”

Rachel followed his lead, her shoulders relaxing a little. She clutched the blanket tighter. “Thank you… all of you.”

Amy suddenly brightened. “Oh! Did you hear about the school dance next month?”

Rachel blinked. “They’re actually doing one this year?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, smirking. “And I already know who’s not gonna show.” She jabbed her thumb toward Ethan.

Ethan deadpanned. “I’ll try to pencil it in between sleeping and maybe watching a movie.”

Paige laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed. “That’s the most Ethan-like answer ever.”

Amy tilted her head. “You know… you could go. Just once. Before you lost your memory, you liked doing things like that. So how about trying to be normal again?”

“I’ll consider it,” Ethan said with mock seriousness. “If I can not find anything else to do first.”

Rachel smiled wider than she had in weeks. For the first time, her eyes looked genuinely alive.

After goodbyes and promises to visit again soon, Ethan slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the hospital with Paige and Amy. They parted ways outside, and as Ethan started down the street alone, his bag began to vibrate.

He ducked into a side alley, scanning for cameras. Empty. He unzipped the bag, pulled out the burner phone, and answered in the measured cadence of Luc Moreau.

On the other end, Robert Hughes’s nervous voice spilled out. “Mr. Moreau—it’s done. Both properties secured. The warehouse is under your name, but the… the house—well, I wasn’t sure if you wanted it the same way.”

Ethan’s lips curved faintly. “Non. The warehouse belongs to me. But the house…” He paused, savoring the irony. “…put it under the name Fiore Artino.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Fiore—? But that’s…”

“Spare me your thoughts, Robert. I have little to no interest in them,” Ethan cut in smoothly. “I’ll send you the documentation tonight. All you need to do is file it. Do that, and your… personal life remains intact.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Robert’s voice trembled. “I’ll take care of it immediately.”

“Good.” Ethan ended the call without farewells, slipping the phone and voice changer back into the hidden pocket.

By the time he reached the hotel, his parents still hadn’t returned from their meeting with the inspector. Perfect. He went straight to his room, locked the door, and pulled out his laptop and files.

On the screen, the bones of a new identity flickered into shape:

Name: Fiore Artino.

Background: Italian immigrant, forged academic history seeded across minor U.S. records. Sparse but credible.

Age: Matches Delilah’s apparent years.

Occupation: Freelance consultant—ambiguous enough to cover comings and goings.

Every keystroke was deliberate. Cross-referencing databases, planting breadcrumbs, weaving a digital shadow. By the time he finished, “Fiore Artino” would be as real as anyone who had ever walked the Newark streets.

Sighing, Ethan emailed the details corresponding to Robert so he could finalize the sale of the property. Since Robert, as the agent, could handle the legal documents, Ethan used an account under Luc to wire $465,000. The breakdown was $170,000 for the mistress's house plus the bribe, $280,000 for the warehouse, and an extra $15,000 to placate Robert for now, in case he had future use for the man.