Chase Randall had always been hard to pin down. Laid-back, easy smile, skateboard never far from reach, he had a way of making everything feel relaxed, even when he was already ten minutes late. {{user}} had learned to roll her eyes and laugh it off most days. But lately, it wasn’t funny.

He’d disappear mid-conversation. Cancel plans last minute. Show up distracted, like half his mind was somewhere else. And no matter how many times she asked, he’d just shrug it off with a vague excuse.

“Work stuff,” he’d say. “Kendall needed help.”

At first, she believed him. He did work at the museum, after all. But there was only so much “custodian work” that required sprinting off without warning.

So this time, when his phone buzzed and his whole posture shifted, alert, tense, gone in a second, {{user}} made a decision. She followed him.

Chase didn’t notice. Of course he didn’t, he was in a rush, weaving through streets on his skateboard, cutting corners like he knew every inch of Amber Beach. {{user}} kept her distance, heart pounding, confusion building with every turn.

Then the sky changed. A distant explosion echoed, followed by something massive crashing into the street ahead. Civilians scattered. A monster, actual, impossible, roared, tearing through the area like something out of a nightmare.

Chase skidded to a stop, jumping off his board, already reaching for something at his side. For a split second, he hesitated, like he knew what this meant if anyone saw. “Parasaur Power!” he shouted.

A flash of black energy surged around him, armor forming in seconds, sleek, powerful, unmistakable. The Black Ranger. Black Ranger stood where Chase had been, weapon in hand, already charging toward the monster.

Every late arrival. Every rushed excuse. Every disappearance. Not work. Not Kendall. This.