Marcus, please tell me, but you're not seriously considering. I haven't decided anything. Marcus' eyes hadn't left Ethan's. How long would you need? The boy's answer came quiet and steady and utterly certain in a way that made the noise of the whole crowd seem to fall away around it.
One minute, the words hit the yard like a stone dropped into still water. Somewhere behind Marcus, someone actually laughed out loud a short disbelieving bark of a sound and it seemed to break something loose in the crowd because suddenly there were voices everywhere. Reporters murmuring to each other, prospects shaking their heads, a ripple of disbelief spreading outward from the gate like it had a current of its own. One minute, Reaper repeated like the words themselves were an insult. Marcus, we've had three specialists in there for days and this kid's telling you he needs 60 seconds.
I didn't say I could fix it in a minute, Ethan said calmly. not raised, not defensive, just matter-of-fact in a way that somehow made it worse for the people who wanted to dismiss him. I said, "I need one minute to know if I can." Marcus stared at him for a long moment. Behind him, he could feel Dutch's eyes could feel the whole weight of the club watching to see what we he'd do, whether he'd humiliate himself. further by giving a teenager a shot at something three professionals had already failed or whether he'd send the boy away and lose whatever strange stubborn hope had just flickered to life in his chest for the first time in four days. Dutch's voice was low and urgent, meant only for him.
Think about what this looks like. The cameras are still out there. If this kid fails, too. I know how it looks. Then why are you even considering it?
Marcus didn't answer right away. He was looking past Dutch, past Reaper, past the whole crowd of doubters, at a 17-year-old boy standing perfectly still at the edge of his property, hands in his pockets, waiting without a trace of desperation for an answer that would either open a door or close it forever. Because, Marcus said finally quiet enough that only Dutch could hear it. Everyone who's walked through that gate this week has come in talking. Talking about degrees, talking about equipment, talking about how impossible this whole thing is.
He nodded toward Ethan. That kid hasn't said one word about how hard this is. He's the only person who's shown up here without trying to explain to me why he might fail before he's even tried. Dutch didn't have an answer for that. Marcus turned back to Ethan and the yard went so quiet that the boy could hear his own pulse in his ears.
Could hear the low murmur of the crowd hanging on whatever came next. Could see the flicker of doubt still fighting for space behind Marcus Hail's eyes even as the man made up his mind. One minute, Marcus said slowly. That's all you're asking for. That's all I need to know if I can help.
Reaper stepped forward one more time and there was something almost pleading under the hardness in his voice. Now, Marcus, don't do this. Don't let some kid make it a fool of you in front of every camera on that road. Marcus didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on Ethan on the calm, unshaken stillness of a boy who hadn't once tried to convince him of anything, and something in that steadiness settled the last of the doubt in his chest.
"Open the gate," Marcus said. The words moved through the crowd like a current. Cutter hesitated for half a second before stepping aside. Reaper's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. And Ethan Carter, 17 years old, wearing a faded shirt from a garage 2 hours outside of Flagstaff, carrying no equipment, no degree, nothing but a strange and total quiet, stepped through the gate and walked toward the Black Phantom toward the machine that had already defeated three of the best minds in the country.