C | Chapter 1.3 | The Stranger | Crack in the Ordinary

“There’s nothing! There are plenty of other hackers out there. I can’t keep bringing you these trivial jobs, alright? I’m a broker; I need a reputation. Keep this up, and I’ll end up looking like a small-time dealer. This is business, Ian. We’re not friends.”

Tim made his stance as clear as possible. Finally, Ian seemed to realize that Tim had made up his mind.

What a pain.

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Ian sighed inwardly. He’d wanted to avoid any jobs that might get him tangled up with the police, but it looked like he had no choice. Talking to Tim about it would only lead to the same argument.

Ian knew that every dollar he made from hacking came with the risk of a run-in with the law. He couldn’t explain his strong aversion to the police, but he figured it was a sort of instinct—something ingrained in him.

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But he needed money—a lot of it. After a long call with the bank’s loan officer that morning, he’d managed to get a two-week extension on his loan payments. That meant he needed Tim’s help, despite everything.

Even selling the house would take too long, and if he missed the deadline, the bank would swoop in and foreclose. Seeing Lloyd again to arrange a sale was a last resort. Ian would rather take his chances with a risky job than deal with him.

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“Then give me whatever else you’ve got. Something a hacker would do.”

Tim blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in tone.

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“…Wait, are you serious?”

Ian closed his eyes instead of answering, letting out a sigh.

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“I don’t have a choice. I need the money.”

Ian muttered to himself, unaware of Tim’s conflicted expression.

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Just this once. He would extend the payment period and then sell the house. He kept repeating to himself that the house held nothing for him anymore.

There was nothing left. Nothing at all. So he could leave… right?

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***

Even a $3,000 hacking job wasn’t all that different from the ones Ian had done before.

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Tim Hogan’s latest request was to hack into the database of a telemarketing company to retrieve its customer information. It didn’t involve complicated details like credit card numbers or account passwords—just addresses, names, phone numbers, and social security numbers.

Ian quickly scanned the company’s website and decided to focus on its internal network. Companies like this typically kept their internal network and e-commerce site separate, and the former’s security was usually more vulnerable.

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He ran a scanning tool and found that the job wouldn’t be too difficult. Taking his laptop to the bed, he put on a pair of headphones, set up some background music, and settled in to focus on his monitor.

Identifying the server type, choosing the right hacking tools, cracking the firewall, and extracting the password to infiltrate the system would all take time. Hacking required more patience than most people realized. Skilled hacking came from experience—gradually refining techniques and building an arsenal of tools.

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As Ian ran a blind scan on the network’s ports to bypass the IDS¹, a faint, persistent noise managed to pierce through his headphones—even though they were set to high volume.

Deep in concentration, he ignored it at first. But the sound continued, nagging at the edge of his awareness, until suddenly—with a loud pop—the sprinkler system in his room activated.

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Startled, Ian tore off his headphones. The air in the house felt unusually hot.

Dodging the sprinklers’ downpour, he shoved his laptop under the bed and ran out of his second-floor room. The hallway leading to the stairs was even hotter than his open-windowed room.

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It didn’t take long for him to realize—the intense heat was coming from downstairs.

An ominous crackling sound, like the fluttering of a thousand wings, accompanied a surge of thick smoke.

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Ian erupted into a coughing fit, his throat burning as he gasped for breath. Instinctively, he headed toward the stairs, but halfway down, he was forced to retreat—the first floor was already engulfed in fierce flames and choking smoke.

His mind went blank, struggling to process the chaos. All he could do was rush back to his bedroom, the only place that showed the least signs of fire.

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Bang!

Shutting the door, Ian scanned his room, deciding he’d better grab his laptop. He dropped to the floor, snatching it up from beneath the bed.

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Barefoot and dressed only in pajama pants, he made his way to the window. Though he was on the second floor, the height was comparable to a third-floor window in most houses.

He climbed out onto the roof—only to see a neglected flower bed below, overgrown with sharp, spiky plants.

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Cold sweat rolled down his forehead. He wiped it away, only then realizing that despite the heat surrounding him, his skin was cold and clammy. His trembling hands were slick with sweat.

There’s a fire.

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He sat dumbfounded on the roof for a moment, finally piecing it together. There was a fire, and he was trapped here—wearing only pajama pants and clutching his laptop. Grateful he had saved his laptop, he reminded himself that without it, he’d have to return the $1,000 advance Tim Hogan had paid him. But his relief was short-lived.

“…Ah!” He screamed

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As he grabbed the laptop, he felt its heat and quickly let go, pulling his hand back in pain.

The flames had already spread to the second floor, ready to devour the roof. He couldn’t waste time.

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The laptop slipped from his grasp, sliding down the sloped roof until it stopped just at the edge, caught in the rain gutter.

Sweat dripped down as Ian realized just how hot the roof had become. Until now, he’d been too shocked by the fire to notice the blistering heat around him. But now, all at once, his senses snapped awake, alerting him to the searing environment.

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Gritting his teeth, he inched downward, leaning back against the roof. His arms trembled as he pressed them against the scorching surface, using them to steady himself.

Carefully, he slid along the slope, finally reaching the edge where his laptop lay.

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Just a bit closer…

As sweat dripped from his brow, a bead slipped into his eye, making him wince. Just then, his fingers touched the corner of the laptop.

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“Got it.”

In the next moment, he lost his balance. His body lurched forward, his foot striking the rain gutter—sending the laptop tumbling down.

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“No!”

Ian instinctively reached out, but in that instant, he too slipped and fell into the open air.

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He thought he might have screamed or shut his eyes in disbelief. But the fall was over in an instant—too fast for him to even register his fear.

And yet, the terror of what lay just beyond that brief fall was chilling.

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“Argh!”

Ian yelled as he collided with something that reverberated throughout his body. It felt like a huge hammer had struck his entire frame, leaving him dazed and unsteady.

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He didn’t crash into the ground. Instead, he collapsed onto something softer.

Someone had caught him, bearing his weight as they fell backward.

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A pair of arms wrapped firmly around his back, holding him tightly. Ian could feel the press of flesh and bone against him, the stranger’s warmth filling the air around them. At last, Ian opened his eyes, meeting a striking pair of blue eyes, clear as waves, staring back at him.

“W-who… who are…?”

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It was the man. The tall figure in the trench coat who had been watching his house a few days ago. The same man who had helped him up when he fell from his bike, only to be told not to touch him.

The same eerie feeling from before gripped him as he looked into those blue eyes. Ian jolted, trying to pull away, but the man’s arms held him firmly.

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“Don’t move. Let’s check if you’re hurt. Where does it hurt?”

Everywhere hurt, but nothing specific stood out. More than anything, Ian wanted to know why this man was here again. The sense of distrust was like a creeping fear, filling every part of his awareness.

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“Who… who are you?” Ian’s voice was sharp with suspicion.

The man’s expression shifted slightly, but his soft, almost whispering tone soon covered it.

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“Looks like you’re fine.”

His words made Ian realize he wasn’t in any real pain—his body was more shocked than injured. He squirmed, twisting in an attempt to break free from the man’s hold.

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“What the hell are you? Why are you in my house? Who are you, and why…?”

“If you’re fine, then let’s get up.”

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The man finally released Ian, whose muscles still felt the lingering ache from the man’s stronghold. Even after being let go, Ian stayed there, his body tense and confused, his heart racing wildly.

He wanted to believe it was the usual unease he felt around men who showed him unwanted attention.

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Thump. Thump-thump.

However, his body wouldn’t respond.

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It wasn’t because of the man’s warmth or the firm feel of his body bringing him comfort. No—it was the scent.

Ian caught a whiff of something mingling with the man’s body heat, a scent that left him in a daze. He didn’t know whether it was because the smell was unusually alluring or simply because it unsettled him—the scent of another man.

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Before he realized it, he was lowering his head, almost leaning in to inhale directly.

Just as his nose brushed close to the man’s neck, skimming his jawline—

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“Move aside now.”

The man gently yet firmly pushed Ian back, as if signaling that further contact was unwelcome.

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As Ian clambered away, he watched the man slowly sit up. His mind cleared slightly, but he was still reeling from the encounter.

Today, the man wore a black blazer instead of his usual gray trench coat—but near the shoulder, it was deeply stained.

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“You’re… bleeding.”

Ian opened his mouth to warn him, but the man simply ran a hand along his neck, casually dislodging a small broken branch tangled in blood.

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More blood trickled down his shoulder, and Ian paled.

“Did that… puncture you? Are you badly hurt?”

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The man’s blue eyes turned to Ian.

Finally grasping the expression in those eyes—an amused, almost intrigued look—Ian felt a surge of anger. Unlike the mindless men who ogled him, the man’s gaze never lingered on his half-bare state.

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Despite holding Ian tightly and even getting hurt to catch him, he showed no concern for his own injury.

He was different, and that difference irritated Ian.

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“The house seems like a bigger issue than I am,” the man noted.

It was only then that Ian remembered he had just fallen off the roof of a burning house.

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“And your laptop, too.”

Ian quickly looked around for his laptop, spotting it on the ground, one corner severely damaged. A wave of despair washed over him as he heard the distant wail of fire truck sirens. Someone must have reported the fire.

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Watching Ian’s face twist with hopelessness, the man reached over and lightly patted his head with his bloody hand.

“It’s alright.”

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Maybe it was because he knew this man was different.

Despite his overwhelming presence, he didn’t evoke the usual disgust Ian felt around others. And for a moment, even the fear he’d felt toward this stranger faded.

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“You’re safe, after all.”

Ian’s eyes stung, and he trembled as tears spilled down his cheeks, warm against the cold air.

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Watching the house go up in flames, he felt the weight of his losses crash down on him—like ashes piling over his consciousness. The sirens grew louder, drowning out his hearing, numbing his thoughts.

Ian cried, tears falling as he watched the last remnants of his life vanish into the flames.

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The stranger watched him the entire time, his gaze unsettling yet gentle.

With only minor scrapes and burns, Ian’s treatment was brief—limited to some antibiotic ointment and bandages.

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He carefully pulled a shirt over his battered body, his shoulders wrapped in bandages, and fastened the buttons.

Except, the shirt he wore wasn’t actually his. It was the man’s black blazer, still stained with blood on one shoulder.

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Ian glanced at the man lying on the nearby bed, receiving treatment.

Though the doctor had warned that the broken branch could have punctured an artery—potentially fatal—the man remained indifferent. Even the bruises on his arm from catching Ian’s fall would last more than a week, yet he showed no reaction.

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Ian, on the other hand, winced every time the doctor explained his injuries, as if he were the one in pain.

“All done. Here’s your prescription, and make sure to take your meds tonight in case you run a fever. Also, come back tomorrow. We’ll monitor the deeper wounds for a few days.”

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The doctor, clearly busy, handed over the prescription and left in a hurry. The man picked up his shirt, which he’d removed for treatment. Though his expression remained stoic, his movements looked a bit awkward as he tried to pull the shirt over his injured arm.

“Need some help?”

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Ian offered without thinking. The man frowned slightly.

“No, I’m fine.”

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“You look uncomfortable.”