They didn't speak again until they had left the industrial district behind. The fog thinned into drifting silver ribbons, revealing cracked sidewalks and old lamp posts leaning like tired sentinels.
Palo's nerves were still shaking, but at least the shadows here felt like normal shadows — not the kind that watched you.
Ash walked beside him, silent, focused, every sense tuned to danger.
Palo finally broke the silence.
"Ash… that thing we saw… that version of you—what did it want? Why appear now?"
Ash didn't answer right away. He kicked a loose pebble on the pavement, eyes fixed straight ahead.
"My mother once told me," he said slowly, "that every person who enters the archives leaves something behind."
Palo frowned. "Like what?"
"A thought. A fear. A moment."
Ash's jaw tightened.
"Or a memory they tried to forget."
Palo felt a sharp, cold shiver.
"So… if your childhood was erased…"
"Something had to fill the space," Ash finished quietly. "Something the archives kept."
Palo swallowed. "Ash… are you saying that thing is your memory?"
Ash shook his head. "No. It wasn't just a memory."
His voice dropped.
"It was a version of me that never grew up."
Palo stopped walking.
"That's—" He hesitated, trying to find the right word. "Impossible."
Ash looked back at him, eyes shadowed.
"Everything that happened tonight should've been impossible."
Palo wanted to argue, but he couldn't—not after seeing that silhouette in the fog.
He stepped closer.
"If that thing is a piece of your past," Palo said softly, "then maybe it's trying to tell you something."
Ash's expression tightened, wounded by something silent.
"Or warn me," he said quietly. "Or… punish me."
The idea left the air heavy between them.
---
The Old Bridge
They reached an old stone bridge crossing a narrow canal. The water below was stagnant, barely moving, reflecting the dim moonlight in broken patterns.
Palo glanced over the side. "Where are we going, Ash?"
Ash checked behind them before answering.
"My mother had a second safe place. Not as hidden as the archives, but harder to track."
Palo followed him across the bridge. "Why didn't we go there first?"
Ash exhaled sharply. "Because I didn't think he'd return. Not after all these years."
Palo frowned. "Ash… who is he? The man from the greenhouse?"
Ash's step faltered — just barely, but enough for Palo to see the hesitation.
"He worked for the people who ran the program I was in," Ash said quietly. "The same people who kept those files. He was one of their handlers."
Palo's mouth fell open slightly. "Handlers? You make it sound like—"
"I know what it sounds like," Ash cut in, but not angrily. More like he was holding something fragile inside.
Palo lowered his voice. "Ash… what did they want from you?"
Ash didn't answer.
Not because he was hiding.
Because he looked like he didn't fully know.
---
The Sound Beneath the Bridge
A soft splash echoed underneath them.
Palo stiffened. "Did you hear that?"
Ash nodded once and motioned for silence.
They leaned over the side of the rail.
The canal was dark.
Still.
Nothing visible beneath the surface.
Until—
Another ripple formed, slow and widening.
Palo's voice shook. "Is something down there?"
Ash didn't move. His eyes narrowed, scanning the dark.
"Water carries sound differently," he whispered. "Could be anything."
But Palo knew Ash well enough by now to hear the lie.
Ash straightened abruptly. "Let's keep moving."
Palo glanced back at the water one last time — and froze.
A handprint appeared on the underside of the stone bridge.
Pressed from below.
Not a real handprint — no fingers, no palm.
Just an indentation forming in the damp stone, like something unseen was pushing against it.
Palo grabbed Ash's sleeve hard. "Ash—look!"
Ash jerked around.
His face drained of color.
"Run."
---
The Second Safe Haven
They ran until the bridge vanished behind them and the fog turned into a smear of white and gray. At the edge of the district, Ash slowed, scanning their surroundings.
They had arrived at the outskirts of an old neighborhood — houses boarded up, mailboxes rusted shut, grass tall and unkempt.
Ash approached one house in particular, a two-story structure with peeling blue paint and dark windows.
"This is it," Ash said.
"My mother's safe house."
Palo caught his breath. "Will we be safe inside?"
Ash didn't answer right away.
He looked at the door.
At the windows.
At the shadows between the houses.
"We're safer than out here," he said finally.
Palo nodded, heart still pounding.
"Okay," he whispered. "Let's go in."
Ash reached for the doorknob—then stopped.
Palo's stomach flipped. "What is it?"
Ash slowly pulled his hand back.
"The door's already unlocked."
Palo whispered, "Ash… is someone inside?"
Ash's eyes darkened.
"No," he said.
He pushed the door open with one finger.
A faint, cold draft slipped through the gap.
"Someone was here," Ash said quietly, stepping into the darkness.
"And they were waiting."
---