I could hear Jughead’s boots crunching against the gravel as we walked through the quiet streets of Riverdale, the town just waking up from its usual unsettling slumber. The air was thick with mystery, or maybe it was just the eerie stillness that made every little noise seem louder. I glanced at him, watching as he scribbled furiously in his notebook, his eyes darting between the pages and the dim-lit storefronts.

"So, what are we looking for exactly?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Jughead didn’t look up, his pen pausing for a fraction of a second before resuming its rhythmic dance across the paper. "Anything that doesn’t fit, obviously," he said with his usual nonchalance, the words tumbling out like a familiar refrain.

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "That’s not exactly helpful."

His lips twitched upward, but he didn’t take his eyes off the notebook. "You wouldn’t be so bored if you learned to appreciate the art of deduction."

I rolled my eyes, but a small laugh slipped out. "I’m here for the drama, not the detective work."

He finally glanced up at me, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, lucky for you, drama tends to follow us everywhere we go in this town."

We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind we’d known for years. It wasn’t like we were solving anything yet, but there was something about working with him that made the whole thing feel more possible. I always knew he’d figure it out before anyone else. He was the smartest person I knew, and the more I followed him through the twisting streets, the more I realized I didn’t need to ask questions—I just needed to trust him.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of an old diner, squinting at something in the window. "That’s odd," he muttered, stepping toward the glass.

"What is?" I asked, walking up beside him.

"That," he said, pointing at the reflection. "It’s the same logo from the warehouse on the edge of town. Didn’t think it’d be this close to the center."