The greenhouse fell silent.
Not the natural kind of silence — not the kind made by wind or distance or emptiness.
This silence was intentional.
Palo could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as the shadow moved slowly along the outer wall. Each footstep crunched the gravel with a deliberate rhythm, like someone tracing the perimeter… or hunting.
Ash didn't move.
His hand hovered over the back-door handle, frozen mid-reach. His jaw clenched as he kept his eyes forward, refusing to turn toward the sound.
"Ash," Palo whispered, barely audible. "What do we do?"
Ash didn't look back.
"Don't make a sound."
Palo swallowed hard and pressed his back against a broken metal shelf. Glass shards shimmered faintly under his shoes.
Outside, the footsteps paused.
Then shifted direction.
They were approaching the greenhouse entrance — the same door Palo had walked through minutes ago.
Ash's breathing quickened, the first crack in his usual calm.
"This is bad," he murmured. "He must've tracked my call."
Palo felt a jolt of fear spike through his chest. "Ash… who is he?"
Ash finally turned his head slightly, just enough for Palo to see his expression — tight, pale, strained.
"Someone who doesn't leave witnesses."
Palo's blood ran cold.
A faint shadow moved across the greenhouse wall.
Ash grabbed Palo's wrist — not hard, but urgent.
"We're leaving," Ash whispered. "Now."
He pushed open the back door only a few centimeters — slow, careful — trying not to make a sound.
But the old hinge gave a tiny groan.
Barely audible.
Barely.
The footsteps stopped.
Palo's breath caught in his throat.
Ash mouthed: Run.
They slipped out the back and into the fog. The night air felt colder than before, slicing against Palo's skin. Ash moved quickly but quietly, keeping low, his grip on Palo's wrist firm.
Behind them, the greenhouse door creaked open — the front door this time.
A heavy step.
Then another.
The man had entered the greenhouse.
Ash and Palo darted behind a collapsed shed and crouched low, hidden in its shadow.
Palo tried to steady his breathing, but fear made it come out in sharp, trembling bursts. Ash pressed a finger to his lips without looking at him.
From inside the greenhouse came the faint crunch of footsteps.
He was looking for them.
Ash leaned in close — not in a romantic way, but in pure, desperate caution — and whispered into Palo's ear:
"He's armed."
Palo's stomach dropped.
"Armed how?" Palo whispered back, voice shaking.
"I… don't know what he carries. But my mother warned me once." Ash's voice cracked quietly. "She said if he ever showed up unannounced, we had to get away. Fast."
A cold realization washed through Palo.
Ash had been preparing for this.
For years.
Suddenly, a sharper sound echoed from inside the greenhouse — metal scraping against metal.
Then the man's voice drifted out, calm and low:
"I know you're nearby."
Palo shut his eyes, heart racing.
Ash grabbed Palo's sleeve. "Move. Now. Stay low."
They slid along the back fence, keeping to the deepest parts of the fog. Each step felt like stepping into a trap, like the darkness itself was watching.
When they reached the far edge of the property, Ash paused and listened.
Silence.
For a moment, Palo dared to hope the man hadn't found their trail.
But then —
A soft click sounded from the greenhouse.
A door latch.
Opening.
Ash's eyes widened.
"He's coming out the back."
Palo felt adrenaline surge through him. "We have to go!"
Ash nodded sharply. "Follow me and don't look back."
He broke into a sprint.
Palo ran after him, lungs burning, fog whipping past them. The greenhouse shrank behind them as they crossed into the old industrial zone — a maze of abandoned factories, with dark windows like hollow eyes.
Only when they reached the shelter of a rusting overhang did Ash finally stop.
Palo doubled over, gasping for breath.
"Ash," he said, voice shaking, "is he still—?"
Ash held up a hand.
Listening.
The fog shifted.
Wind howled faintly between broken pipes.
Metal creaked in the distance.
But no footsteps.
Ash let out the smallest sigh — not relief, but temporary survival.
"We're not safe," he said quietly. "We only bought time."
Palo looked up at him, chest still heaving.
"Where do we go?"
Ash stared into the darkness ahead.
"There's only one place he won't follow us," he said. "A place my mother never wanted me to touch."
Palo swallowed.
"And that is?"
Ash turned toward him.
"The archives."
---