Ash didn't wait for Palo to catch his breath before moving again.
The industrial zone stretched before them like a dead labyrinth, every rusted pipe and broken window a jagged silhouette in the fog.
Palo followed close, every step tense. He hated how the quiet made his heartbeat sound like footsteps behind him.
"Ash," he whispered, "what are the archives? And why wouldn't he follow us there?"
Ash didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the rooftops, the alleyways, the shadows that pooled in the spaces where the streetlights had long burned out. Every few seconds, he glanced behind them — not paranoid, but trained.
Finally, he spoke.
"The archives are older than anything else in this district. Older than the town itself, probably. My mother used to say it's a place people forget… or a place that forgets people. Depends who you ask."
Palo felt a prickling at the back of his neck. "That doesn't answer the question."
They reached a chain-link fence, twisted open just enough for a person to slip through. Ash dropped to a crouch, squeezed inside, then held it open for Palo.
"It answers all of it," Ash said quietly. "Some places in this town are left alone for a reason."
Palo slipped through and dusted the grit from his hands. His voice trembled despite his best effort to sound steady.
"So this man—he's afraid of it?"
Ash hesitated.
"No. He's not afraid of anything."
A pause.
"That's why the archives are the only place with walls he won't cross."
---
A Hidden Entrance
They wove through an abandoned loading yard scattered with crates and broken conveyor belts. The fog thickened here, as if it clung to the place. Ash slowed, then stopped beside a pile of collapsed pallets.
"This way."
He pulled aside a rotting plank, revealing a narrow stairwell descending underground.
Palo blinked. "That leads to the archives?"
Ash glanced around one last time, making sure the mist behind them stayed empty. Then he started down the steps.
"It leads to the place my mother said would keep us alive."
The stairs spiraled downward. The deeper they went, the colder the air became. Not the natural cold of damp stone — something sharper, like the chill of a locked memory.
Palo wrapped his arms around himself. "How do you even know this way?"
"My mother showed me once," Ash murmured. "She made me promise I'd never come here unless I had no other choice."
"And now…?"
"Now we have no other choice."
---
The Archive Door
At the bottom of the stairwell stood a heavy iron door, bolted from the outside — as if meant to keep whatever was inside from leaving.
Palo stepped back. "Ash… why is it locked like that?"
"Same reason you lock a room with something dangerous in it," Ash said.
He lifted the bolt. It screeched loudly, echoing down the stairwell. Palo flinched.
"That was loud," he hissed. "He'll hear that."
Ash exhaled slowly. "If he followed us this far, we're already dead."
Not exactly comforting, but Palo swallowed hard and stayed close as Ash pulled the door open.
The hinges groaned, the sound long and metallic.
Cold air rushed out.
And darkness.
Total, breathing darkness.
---
Inside the Archives
Ash stepped in first, running his fingers along the wall until he found an old switch. When he flicked it, weak yellow lights sputtered to life in a long corridor lined with shelves.
Not bookshelves.
Shelves of metal boxes. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
Each labeled with numbers, not names.
Palo whispered, "What… is all this?"
Ash walked slowly down the corridor, eyes sharp. "Reports. Records. Files that were never meant to be public."
Palo trailed behind him. "Why would your mother bring you here? This is like—like a government vault."
Ash stopped walking.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet and tight.
"Because some of these files belong to my family."
Palo froze.
"And to him," Ash added.
Palo's skin chilled. "The man who was after us?"
Ash nodded once, jaw clenched.
"He's connected to everything in these archives. And if we want to know why he wants us gone…" His hand brushed the nearest metal box.
"We'll find it here."
---
The Light Flickers
Before Palo could respond, the hallway lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Ash's body tensed immediately.
"That's not good," he whispered.
The lights flickered again — then steadied.
Palo swallowed. "What does that mean?"
Ash didn't look away from the ceiling lights.
"It means someone else is down here."
A chill climbed Palo's spine.
"Someone… else?"
Ash stepped in front of him, pushing him gently but firmly behind.
"Stay close to me," Ash murmured. "And don't speak unless I tell you to."
Palo's voice cracked. "Ash… do you think it's him?"
Ash kept his eyes down the dim corridor.
"No," he said softly.
"Worse."