Luke finally entered the lobby.
The place was dimly lit. A few weak candles barely illuminated the space.
‘Only thirty minutes,’ Luke thought bitterly.
He walked toward the center, preparing to sit… but noticed a movement behind him.
A figure flipped down from the upper part of the lobby, landing cleanly in his position.
Luke twisted his torso and stepped aside. His attacker’s foot slammed against the ground.
He took a few steps back and raised an eyebrow, already knowing who it was.
“You too? The lobby is supposed to be a safe zone.”
“Your trainers can’t attack you,” said Natasha, advancing with light steps, “I’m not part of the official program.”
Natasha’s red hair fell almost over her shoulders, her gaze fixed on Luke. She wore tight combat clothes, ready to fight.
‘Let me rest, damn it,’ Luke thought, dodging another strike from Natasha by barely tilting his head.
Natasha continued her assault. Her fists sliced through the air with precision.
Her technique was flawless. Her body, agile and strong.
But it wasn’t enough. Not now, not against Luke’s current level.
When they first officially met and lived in Jericho before classes started, Natasha could take him down with a finger.
Even when Luke used his telekinesis back then, he was no match for Natasha, who trained him in martial arts, and he never managed to defeat her.
But now, he was different.
He had been through many battles and countless training sessions. He had four auras.
Luke’s current level was enough to surpass her effortlessly.
He dodged three more attacks without stepping back. His body moved fluidly, as if he already knew what she was going to do.
And in fact, he did.
“Are you going to keep going? Or do you want to see if I’ve already surpassed you?” Luke asked, sidestepping a kick.
“I don’t need to see anything,” Natasha replied without stopping. “I already know. But I like seeing your current level.”
Luke spun and, with a quick feint, caught her wrist in one hand. Natasha tried to use the momentum to twist out of it, but he was already a step ahead.
He brought her down gently, without force, guiding her to the ground in a single smooth motion.
Their breaths mingled for a second.
Natasha tried to use her free hand to strike him, but Luke stopped her, catching it as well.
“Hey, that would’ve hurt,” Luke murmured, close enough for Natasha to hear him.
“Why are you complaining? You would’ve dodged or blocked it anyway,” said Natasha with a slight smile.
She tried to move, but couldn’t. Luke’s hands held her wrists firmly against the floor.
“Alright, you can’t move now. Do you give up? I want to sleep,” Luke said in a tired tone.
Natasha stayed silent, her eyes locked on Luke’s, who was also looking straight at her.
She remembered clearly the times when he couldn’t beat her, not even in a sparring match. When he would end up on the floor, panting, while she corrected his stance with strict precision.
And now he was there.
Holding her down with both hands. No telekinesis, no blue aura. Just strength and control.
There was no surprise or irritation in Natasha, only pride.
“Alright, I’ll leave you alone,” Natasha finally said.
“Great, thanks,” said Luke, loosening his grip.
He got up slowly and walked toward the only resting place in the lobby: an old two-seater couch with no cushions, a stiff frame, and a low backrest. Uncomfortable, but better than the floor.
He let himself drop with a sigh, closing his eyes as soon as he settled in.
Natasha watched him from the floor, now sitting. Her hair slightly messy, her breathing still a bit unsteady.
She looked at him with her head resting on one hand, eyes half-closed, as if studying him… like before, when she corrected his posture, but now with a different expression. Softer.
“Are you going to sleep like that?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, it’s better than nothing,” Luke replied without opening his eyes.
Natasha caught the tone in his voice. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion.
It was the weight he carried. And she knew exactly what he was going through.
The training Fester, Gomez, and Stanley put him through was brutal. But beyond that, she also knew something else: if Luke had wanted to, he would have already set boundaries.
He could have told them directly.
And even though the three trainers were eccentric, sometimes outright irrational, if Luke stood his ground, they would listen.
They wouldn’t keep attacking him at night. They’d give him rest.
But Luke didn’t do that. He accepted it because he demanded it of himself.
Natasha stood up without a word and walked over to the couch.
Luke still had his eyes closed.
She sat down next to him in silence, then lightly patted her legs twice.
“Come here.”
“What?” Luke asked, cracking one eye open, glancing sideways at her.
“Lie down. You’ll sleep more comfortably than sitting upright on this cushionless couch,” Natasha replied without changing her tone.
Luke looked at her for another moment.
In the past, receiving a gesture like that from Natasha would’ve seemed impossible.
She had protected him since he was a baby, looked after him, but never showed affection or care, whether maternal, sisterly, or anything else.
Even when she discovered his true identity a few years ago, when he first arrived in Jericho, their relationship didn’t change much.
They lived together for a few months, sure, but then Luke was sent to the boarding school, Nevermore, and they were separated again.
Their relationship only started to improve after Natasha was seriously injured while being hunted by assassins sent by the Spellmans.
That was when Luke showed real concern for her, and their bond began to grow.
Since then, there had been more closeness between them. Small gestures. Longer conversations.
But never anything openly affectionate.
Until Elliot. In that fight, Luke died, literally, and came back a few seconds later.
Natasha cried for him. And fought Elliot with fury, in a battle she couldn’t win, but didn’t care.
After Luke came back to life and killed Elliot, Natasha hugged him tightly and let herself be emotionally vulnerable.
Since returning to the Addams mansion and the beginning of his grueling training, she hadn’t left his side.
She wasn’t just present, she was open, close. Affectionate.
Almost… warm.
Strange and unsettling for Luke, who had already built a fixed image of Natasha: a strict, emotionless, sarcastic, and extremely disciplined housemaster.
And now, there she was.
Sitting beside him. Offering her lap as a pillow.
Luke hesitated for a moment longer. Natasha noticed.
And although she didn’t say anything, she briefly thought it would be… embarrassing to be rejected.
Without a word, Luke finally settled in. He rested his head on her legs.
He immediately noticed how comfortable they were, like a pillow—or better. He could actually get some real rest.
Natasha looked down at him, unmoving at first. She simply observed his relaxed face, his calm breathing.
It was hard to believe that the young man resting in her lap was the same scrawny kid she had quietly cared for all those years.
The one who got expelled from multiple schools for his rebellious behavior.
Natasha slowly raised her hand, as if every inch upward demanded more courage than facing an enemy.
She paused for a second, then cautiously brought her hand to Luke’s hair, and finally, touched him.
With open fingers, she ran her hand through his hair in gentle, steady motions, as if she feared waking him… or being pushed away.
Luke felt her caress, but said nothing.
It felt good. And if it helped him sleep better… he wasn’t going to complain.
“Wake me up in twenty-five minutes,” he murmured, eyes still closed.
Natasha raised an eyebrow slightly, continuing to stroke his hair.
“No,” she replied, her tone firm and strict.
“What…?”
“You’re going to sleep as long as you need to. You can allow yourself a break every now and then,” she said flatly.
“If anyone tries to attack you, I’ll stop them.”
Luke fell silent.
He realized she wasn’t joking. Her voice wasn’t sweet or soft.
And thinking about it, he did deserve a proper rest, after three grueling months of training.
He could afford to sleep for a few hours.
“Fine,” Luke murmured at last.
Within minutes, his breathing deepened. His body relaxed completely, and he fell asleep.
Natasha didn’t move. She kept gently stroking his hair, in silence.
The lobby time ran out. Exactly thirty minutes.
The double doors at the far end creaked open.
Fester entered first, full of his usual chaotic energy, fingers sparking with electricity and a crooked smile on his face.
Behind him came Stanley, hands clasped behind his back and walking with purpose, as if already planning the next phase of training.
But the moment they stepped through the threshold, they stopped. Natasha slowly turned her head and gave them a single look.
Fester froze instantly. The smile vanished from his face.
Stanley, who rarely reacted to expressions or words, also stopped. He said nothing.
Neither of them needed an explanation. That cold stare was enough.
Without exchanging a word, both of them slowly backed out.
The door closed behind them.
After a long time, Luke finally got the long and well-deserved rest he needed.
A few days later…
Finally, Luke was leaving Addams Manor. After three months of isolation and brutal training, the open air called to him like a distant echo of freedom. But his enthusiasm was dimmed by the nature of the mission.
At last, Edgar would guide him to the Poe Soul Weapon. Which meant that once his great-great-grandfather found the weapon, he would disappear forever. His consciousness would be absorbed into the object, strengthening its essence but silencing his voice for good.
Luke knew it. That day would mark their final goodbye.
The mission itself didn’t seem too difficult, since Edgar would guide him to the weapon like a treasure hunt. But his three deranged trainers, Gomez, Fester, and Stanley, would never allow something so important to be treated like a casual outing. They had a plan.
Use Luke as bait.
It was no secret that the Spellmans wanted Luke dead. Not just because of the centuries-old grudge between their families, but also because of everything Luke had done to them. He was considered the Poe who had caused them the most damage.
And then there was still the prophecy Elliot mentioned during their fight. A prophecy stating Luke was dangerous to them. They didn’t know the exact details, but it was yet another reason to remove him from the board.
Luke had become the number one target of an entire ancestral bloodline of powerful psychics.
The idea was simple, and suicidal: while Edgar guided him to the weapon, Luke would make himself visible. The demonic elders wouldn’t be able to resist hunting him. The hope was that one, maybe two, would show up. A perfect trap to catch monsters.
Luke accepted, confident.
“If a third one shows up, we intervene,” Gomez had said in a rare serious tone. “Don’t even think about playing the martyr. If my little viper hears you got hurt, or worse, it’ll be the end of me.”
Luke nodded.
Gomez then reached into his coat and pulled out two small rectangular objects. They were made of smooth, polished black stone, no larger than a matchbox. Each one had ancient runes carved into it, fine as silver veins.
“Here,” he said, handing them to him. “Reverse teleporters. And yes, they’re just as rare and valuable as they sound.”
Luke took the stones, examining them without much interest. “How do they work?” he asked, more out of politeness.
“If you break the one with the raven,” Gomez pointed to it, “I teleport to your exact location. The other one, with the lightning rune, summons Fester. Doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing. We’ll be there. Instantly.”
“Remember, for those old demons to bite the bait, my brother and I have to be far from your location. Otherwise, they won’t dare show up. So we’ll be publicly, visibly far away to lure them out,” Gomez explained.
“Mm. They need to believe I’m alone, with no reinforcements,” Luke nodded.
“Exactly. So if everything goes wrong, if there are more than expected, if one of the older elders shows up, or Edward himself, you need to break those stones immediately. That’s the only way we’ll get there in time. Without them, there’s no chance. Understood?” Gomez asked, serious.
“Understood,” Luke repeated.
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