The gym smelled of sweat, rubber, and the faint tang of ozone from the lights overhead. Balls dribbled rhythmically against the polished hardwood, sneakers squeaked, and shouts of encouragement mixed with laughter. Ethan moved effortlessly across the court, demonstrating a play for Lucas, who mirrored every movement, their synchronization near flawless.

It was supposed to be a regular practice. But something in the air prickled at Coonie's skin, an unease that had been gnawing at him for days.

He shuffled at the edge of the court, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His eyes scanned the room: Louie's energetic antics at point guard, Brandon calmly positioning himself near the paint, Ryan cracking jokes between drills. The familiar chaos of his teammates should have comforted him. It didn't.

Coonie took a deep breath. He forced his feet forward, closing the distance between him and Ethan.

"Hey… Ethan," Coonie said, voice tight, almost too casual.

Ethan stopped mid-dribble, turning with his usual calm expression. The ball never left his hands as he assessed Coonie. "Oh, Coonie. What's wrong?" His voice was steady, not accusatory just that quiet concern Ethan had for anyone on his team.

Coonie swallowed. (I can't let him trouble my situations… He doesn't need to know what's really going on. He'll only make it worse.)

"I… uh… nothing," he said finally, shrugging as if the weight he carried could be shrugged off like a jacket.

Ethan's golden eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't push immediately. Instead, he followed Coonie with a quiet patience. "Are you sure?"

Coonie's mind raced. (If I tell him, he'll try to fix it. I don't even know how to fix it myself.) He glanced toward Lucas practicing a complex mimicry move with Louie. His friend's smile was bright, almost blinding. (They have no idea. None of them do. It's not just some bad day… it's them, the pastor, that whole messed-up cult situation.)

"Yeah… I'm fine," he said finally, forcing a grin. It didn't reach his eyes.

Ethan tilted his head, studying him like a general studying the enemy's formation. "Coonie… I know when something's off. You can't hide it from me."

Coonie's jaw tightened. (Damn it… he can see through me.) He forced a casual tone. "Really, Ethan. Just tired, that's all. It's been a long week."

Ethan didn't buy it. Not for a second. "Coonie… if it's something serious, you tell me. I've got your back. Always." His words weren't just encouragement they carried a promise. A weight.

Coonie clenched his fists, staring at the polished floor. (Always… yeah, right. But he can't protect me from that. Not them.) His mind flashed back to his home: the empty dining room, the cold silence after his father died, and the pastor's smooth, suffocating smile as he whispered to his mother night after night. How she had changed, how the light in her eyes had been replaced by a fanatical devotion that made her almost unrecognizable.

(That pastor… Delrio. He's part of something bigger. And now they're interested in me.)

Ethan took a step closer, the ball tucked under one arm, the other gesturing as if reaching into Coonie's tangled thoughts. "Coonie, you're not alone in this. Whatever it is, we figure it out together."

Coonie exhaled sharply, as if trying to expel the tension lodged in his chest for weeks. "It's nothing you can fix, Ethan. This… it's… complicated."

Ethan frowned. "Complicated how? Just tell me, I'm not going to freak out."

Coonie shook his head. His voice dropped. "It's… my mom. That pastor she follows. He's… dangerous. Not just to her… to me too. And now… now there's someone else."

Ethan's eyes narrowed further, the calm in his posture transforming into an alert intensity. "Someone else?"

Coonie nodded, swallowing hard. "I don't know their name. But they're… organized. Like, they watch, wait, plan. And that pastor? He's just… part of it. They've been grooming my family for something."

Ethan's mind went immediately to the broader picture. He had learned enough about the dangerous in this world

"(Tsk… so we're in that chapter now. That bastard pastor, he's connected to those people. In the novel, the pastor causes trouble for one of Lucas Graves' teammates… I think it was Coonie. It wasn't clearly specified, though. The novel only says Lucas faced trouble when one of his teammates committed suicide after the cult took his mother.)"

"Okay," Ethan said, lowering his voice. "Here's what we're going to do. First, you stay close to me and the team. You're not facing this alone. Second, we gather info—quietly. Third, we plan. You don't run, you don't hide. We handle it. Together."

Coonie felt a flicker of relief, the first in weeks. (Together… yeah, maybe… maybe they'll help.) But fear was still there, gnawing at the edges.

He looked at Ethan, seeing the unwavering resolve. (Damn it… he's right. I can't do this alone. I never could.)

Ethan's voice broke through his thoughts again. "You trust me?"

Coonie met his gaze. Golden brown eyes met gold. "Yeah… I trust you."

Ethan's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Good. Then listen closely. We need to make sure the pastor's influence doesn't spread, at least around you. No sudden moves, no acting alone. And if anyone comes near your family, your mom, your home, you tell me immediately. No excuses."

Coonie nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I… okay. I can do that."

Ethan patted him on the shoulder. "You're stronger than you think, Coonie. And remember… strength isn't about fighting alone. It's about knowing when to let people fight with you."

Coonie felt the weight on his chest lighten just slightly. It didn't disappear, the pastor's shadow, the cult's reach, the unknown threat looming over him none of that was gone. But for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel completely trapped.

He thought about his father. Thought about his mother. And thought about the team: Lucas, Louie, Brandon, even the sarcastic comments from the bench that usually annoyed him.

(They're my anchor. Maybe… maybe I can survive this.)

Ethan released him with a nod and turned back to the practice, resuming drills with a calm precision that made every movement seem effortless. Coonie lingered for a moment, then joined the team, following the ball, listening to the rhythm, feeling a tiny thread of normalcy tug at his fear.

The court wasn't safe. His home wasn't safe. But here, with the team, with Ethan, he could breathe. He could plan. He could fight back in his own way.

Meanwhile on Mrs. Smith side

The small living room smelled faintly of incense, a mix of lavender and something more acrid something that made Coonie's stomach knot every time he stepped inside. The curtains were drawn, leaving streaks of pale afternoon light slicing across the worn carpet. Korre Smith sat upright in her chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the pastor.

Pastor Delrio's voice flowed like honey over gravel, smooth but edged with control. "Everything I do… everything I teach… it's for Coonie. For his protection. For his future."

Korre nodded, lips tight. "Yes… yes, I know. I trust you."

But a flicker of unease passed through her eyes, like a shadow she couldn't fully chase away. She believed she was acting out of love for her son, that every word she accepted, every command she followed, was to keep him safe. She didn't see the chains wrapping tighter around her own mind, didn't feel the strings tugged behind the scenes.

(I'm doing this for him… for my boy. I just want him safe… everything else… doesn't matter.)

Delrio stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You must understand, Mrs. Smith, the world is not kind. People out there… threats everywhere. Only with guidance… only with obedience… can Coonie survive."

Korre swallowed hard, nodding again, the weight in her chest heavy but justified in her own mind. "Yes… I understand."

She didn't realize how tight her own grip had become not on Coonie, but on the illusion that she was protecting him. Every prayer she recited, every counsel she absorbed from Delrio, wove a tapestry that convinced her she was the savior, not the pawn. She didn't see the wider network, the Bald Old Man, Ron, Drew, Madame Vena all pulling strings beyond her understanding.

Delrio smiled, soft, patient, predatory in its calm. "You are doing well. You've followed the path faithfully. Soon… all will be revealed, and you will see the necessity of every step. You will see why you must continue. For him."

Korre's hands trembled slightly, clutching the edge of her chair. "I… I just want him to be safe. He's my son. I can't… I can't lose him."

(I'm protecting him… this is all I can do. He's already lost his father… I won't let him lose me too.)

Delrio leaned closer, voice dropping to a near murmur. "And you won't. You are strong. Stronger than anyone realizes. But strength must be tempered. You must do as I say. For Coonie."

Korre exhaled shakily, bowing her head. Her mind flitted to her son—Coonie, the boy whose laughter had once filled the house, whose presence made the empty rooms seem alive. (He doesn't know… he can't know. I have to protect him… even if it hurts me.)

Delrio straightened, adjusting his robes. He didn't see the micro-expressions of doubt that flickered across her face, tiny fissures that could one day shatter the careful control he had over her. To him, she was perfect compliant, manipulable, utterly devoted to the illusion of her son's safety.

(Everything I do is for him… even if I don't fully understand.)

Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but filled with conviction. "I… I'll do it. For him."

Delrio smiled again, more to himself than to her, the predator satisfied with his prey's faith. "Good. That is all I ask. Coonie will not see it now, but soon… he will understand. Soon, all of this will make sense."

Korre nodded, unaware of the larger game. To her, every manipulation was an act of love. She didn't see the Bald Old Man's eyes, the careful monitoring, the secret plan to study her son as their next potential pawn. She didn't see the whispers behind the shadows, the way Delrio answered to a higher order, and the strings connecting her family to a network far more dangerous than any basketball game, any local rivalry.

For now, she sat, obedient, believing she was a shield. But in reality, she was another link in a chain she didn't know existed, a chain that might one day drag Coonie directly into the heart of the organization he didn't yet understand.

And as Delrio left the room for a brief moment, she leaned back, eyes closing, whispering softly: "I'm doing this for you… my boy… always for you."

The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to deepen, almost watching, almost breathing, waiting. And somewhere beyond the walls, the Bald Old Man and his cadre noted every flicker, every micro-expression. Coonie's life, his mother's devotion, Pastor Delrio's blind obedience, it was all material, all data, all chess pieces in a game whose stakes neither mother nor son fully realized.

The room remained silent, but the tension hung like a storm cloud. And for Korre Smith, for now, she was certain: she was acting out of love. She had no idea how much she was being played.

To be continue

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