By the time Brandon and Tariq stepped out of the library, the rain had thinned to a fine, silver drizzle. The streets of New Ashara glistened under the streetlights, slick veins of water curving down into the drains. The night air smelled faintly of ozone and wet stone.
Tariq locked the door behind them and stretched, exhaling. "Man, I swear those terminals are older than Ms. Greaves. Half the code looks like it was hammered out on a typewriter."
Brandon laughed softly, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "But you fixed it, right?"
"Fixed it, patched it, maybe even resurrected it," Tariq said proudly. "Those admin accounts were a disaster. Whoever built that system didn't believe in firewalls. It felt like watching someone leave every door open and then wondering why raccoons kept breaking in."
Brandon smirked, kicking lightly at a puddle as they walked. "So you're basically the library's digital exterminator."
"Exactly," Tariq said, grinning. "Next time someone complains about pop-ups, I'm charging hazard pay."
Their laughter echoed down the empty street, fading into the hum of the city. The air was cool, the mist swirling low around their legs. Brandon clutched the crimson-covered book he'd found—Myths and Cults of the Western Territories—its spine rough beneath his fingers. The weight of it felt heavier than it should. He hadn't even read much of it yet, but the symbols and words inside still lingered in his mind like ink bleeding into water.
"So what exactly did you do to fix it?" he asked after a moment, glad for the distraction. "You were talking about isolating user profiles or something?"
"Oh yeah," Tariq said, slipping into explanation mode immediately. "Basically, I separated the shared access from the core admin permissions. Those old terminals were daisy-chained like it was still 2005. Once I locked them out of the root process system and did a full registry sweep, I ran a virtual sandbox patch to isolate user data. It should stop anyone from accidentally nuking the login servers. Not flashy, but necessary."
Brandon nodded, half-listening as he tilted his head toward the distant sound of dripping water. The drizzle had settled into a soft rhythm, tapping quietly against the pavement—but beneath it, something else stirred.
It wasn't sound, not really. More a low vibration running up through his shoes, humming faintly in his ribs. A sense of being noticed.
As Tariq spoke, Brandon's gaze drifted across the street—to an alley between two narrow buildings, shadowed and half-swallowed by fog. Beyond that alley, at the far end, he saw the faintest outline of tree branches.
Not city trees. Not the stubby, decoratively planted ones that lined downtown sidewalks. These were tall, ancient, their limbs sharp like bones against the gray sky.
He stopped.
Tariq kept walking a few steps before pausing. "Yo, you good?"
Brandon didn't answer right away. The world felt like it had slowed to a murmur. The thin mist pouring from the alley seemed to pulse once with the same rhythm he'd felt before—like the steady beat of a heart far away. He could have sworn he heard something faint, like a whisper in the leaves, low and coaxing.
Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
"Brandon," Tariq said, waving a hand in front of him. "Hey, earth to you, man. Your phone."
Brandon blinked, the feeling snapping like a thread. He glanced down. The screen glowed: Maya calling.
He swiped to answer. "Hey, Maya."
"Finally," her voice came through, clear over the soft static of city reception. "You guys still alive in there, or did one of those computers bite you?"
Tariq leaned closer, smirking. "Barely. We think we met some vampires, actually."
Maya laughed on the other end. "That sounds about right for New Ashara. You two always attract the weirdest stuff."
"Seriously," Tariq went on. "Tall people, too dry for this rain, no reflections—total dark academia energy."
Brandon chuckled, though part of him still couldn't shake the image of the pale man from the library. "Don't say that too loud," he said softly. "You might summon them."
"I'll take my chances," Maya said. There was a pause, followed by a sigh. "Anyway, speaking of weird… you'll never guess what happened at work tonight."
"Oh no," Tariq groaned. "Did someone break another printer?"
"Worse," she said, chuckling faintly. "A couple came in—said they got lost looking for an event downtown. Something about a 'restoration circle.' They were dressed like they walked out of the nineteenth century. Didn't smile. Barely blinked. When I asked for their ID, they both looked at each other like I'd said something funny."
Brandon stopped walking again. "A couple?" he asked carefully. "You mean, two people?"
"Yeah," Maya said. "A woman with auburn hair and this really pale guy in a gray coat. They left right before closing. Why?"
Tariq laughed nervously. "Dude, don't tell me—"
Brandon's hand tightened around the phone. His reflection blurred in the wet glass of the nearby shop window, and for just a second—before he blinked it away—he thought he saw movement behind him in the alley. Something pulling back into the fog.
"No reason," he said, forcing his voice steady. "Just… thought we might've seen them earlier."
"Well," Maya said slowly, "if they come back, I'm letting security deal with them. People that quiet unsettle me."
"Yeah," Tariq said. "Join the club."
They said their goodbyes, and when the call ended, Brandon slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket. The mist had thickened, curling down the street like smoke.
He glanced once more toward the alley, where the faint line of trees still swayed in silence—and for the briefest moment, he swore he saw two pale outlines standing just beyond them.
He blinked, and they were gone.