She wanted to ask someone if they, too, had seen something turning the corner of the shelves, but she was the only one on that floor, and one of the few souls in the library at all. The freshness of spring still lingered on the newborn breaths of a summer that had yet to officially announce its arrival, but, nonetheless, waited around, charming the moods of the town. Today, it seemed summer had retreated elsewhere to enliven another location still reeling from winter, and left the grey moodiness of an underappreciated spring.

Focusing had thus been a difficult prospect for Lara as she returned newly discharged books to their homes. With only a few to distract her, she had had to lengthen the anticipated time of her task in order to avoid analyzing shelves for an eternity until her shift ended. In this way, she was able to travel between floors – a miniscule change of scenery, yet a change nonetheless compared to the daunting task of “shelf reading”. Dust had firmly settled onto the burnt and rusting metal of shelves whose empty spaces told stories of time, to compensate for their missing companions. Some of the missing lay in patient wait around the building for Lara to scavenge and deliver to their rightful home. Others had had the current fortune of voyaging to the homes of patrons, to please and captivate the rare reader, while most missing books had basked in the same fortune half a century earlier, only to be eradicated into the memory of shadows alongside children, mothers, and other victims, etched into the ground by the burn of ambition, and the unintended consequences of human righteousness.

Lara never knew which to expect during her shelf reading. With two others, the ever-elusive Pavlov and his granddaughter, lending their efforts, restoring the library to its mid-century grandeur had silently been decided an impossible task.

Regardless, little else to do in her free time cornered her with the option to work full-time, although Lara’s informal contract currently held her accountable for only half. And so, many of her days were spent at length in solitude.

Albeit the moments she saw movement bordering her vision.

With little attention, she slipped the last petite novel onto a scorched shelf and pushed her empty cart past the elevator and to the stairs, glancing around with tense nerves. Even if the elevators did still work, she wouldn’t have waited around for one; although, on calmer days, she often wished that war and age hadn’t crippled its usefulness.

Turning her back to the steps, she quickly descended the stairwell with caution as to not slip under the creaking wheels of the rusting cart she pulled above her.

Finally reaching the main floor, she turned around to drag her inanimate companion towards the exit and exploded with fear, screaming.

“HOLY HELL!” The person she’d bumped into sprung back.

Lara exhaled briefly, “Sammi! Oh my God,” With quick blinks, she swallowed hard.

The owner’s granddaughter smoothed back her short, unkempt hair, sweeping the reddish strands from her eyes. “What on earth-“

A stream of barely audible apologies accompanied the embarrassment in the air around them, while the less damaged shelves reverberated with the dominating volume of Sammi’s awkward reassurance. Their mirrored placations served well to enforce their shallowly-perceived personalities of one another.

There was more effort poured into salvaging the unexpected interaction than there was in initiating it, as Lara inquired with strangled normalcy as to whether the owner’s granddaughter had seen any one enter the library that day -- a question which was useless enough even without the awkward collision. There was only one entrance into the stacks of what was once the second largest college library in the states, and having manned the front desk since opening that morning, Sammi’s lack of human admission into the literary tomb was unsettling.

“I think I saw, like, one person today but he didn’t actually come in. It was some old guy in overalls returning the books my grandad had you put away,” The dry amusement in her voice benignly mocked the notion that the day might be more eventful than any other. “Why, saw some ghosts?”

Although their gentle laughter soothed the air, the pounding of blood in Lara’s body threatened to break through her ear drums and soak her clothes, adding to the chills enveloping her. The pressure of it swarming through her skull made her ears ring alongside the drum of her fear.

As they walked down the long, concrete hallway straddled by pre-war metal and aging pages, their idle conversation helped to erase any idea of moving shadows, with Lara’s paranoia finally subsiding. Abandoning the cart to a graveyard with its brethren, Lara exited the stacks with the unfulfilled hope of relief.

Resting her elbows on the opposite side of the charred granite counter that guarded the main entrance to the stacks, she leaned over towards Sammi who had thrown herself into an office chair that she had conquered from some tiny, displeased crawlers.

“Pav’ll be sad he didn’t get to see you today,” She picked at her nails as she referenced the dismay of her grandfather, Pavlov. “But since he’s out sick, he’d definitely understand that you’re under the weather.” She noted Lara’s request to leave early for the day.

They both looked outside with mutual displeasure at the murky sky. The promise of sun was a rare gift after a terribly long and minimally radioactive winter.

On her way out, the chandelier glittered a faint goodbye from its grave on the great lobby’s dusty mahogany boards, and soon she was halfway home.

“Stupid thing.”

The bike creaked as Lara gingerly swung herself off and dusted away the left-over rust from the inner thighs of her light, torn jeans. It slammed to the ground, the impact forcing it in half at its rotting center.

She was about a block away from the house; it was visible past the street of wood, glass, and metals that once resembled homes. Now lost to the wild growth, the broken two wheeler forced her to continue on foot.

This hadn’t been a real issue, though, as she thought of how there would be less time for her to spend alone. Physical activity saved her from the company of deeper thoughts and her few, troublesome memories.

She’d barely touched on the subject when she noticed a reflection in the window of a disfigured shack. Lara looked around for another soul then back to the glass, to find only a long, pained crack where she hadn’t before. Cautious, she sprinted the remaining distance back.

Still breathing hard from the pace her legs had broken into, she inhaled the scent of the reemerging prairie licking at her knees as she struggled to settle her pulse and enter numbers onto a padlock against the front door. Lara heard it clack closed behind her as she and the lock sank to the floor.

Laying her head against the old boards, a strange kindred comfort embraced her as she regarded a jagged space in the ceiling which revealed a second floor up above. She could see the same horrid powder blue wallpaper with little pale yellow flowers that surrounded her below. They peered down at her as they had for nearly a year since she’d regained full consciousness.

With restlessness, her knees bent and angled her feet to propel her up. The need to physically engage herself reverberated through her body, every fiber of her being buzzing with an inexplicable necessity. She excavated the scratched, white cabinets, occasionally swiping the loose raven tendrils of hair behind her ears as she rummaged for calm. When cool, dusty glass pressed against the tips of her searching fingers, she withdrew a clear bottle of liquid. Its descriptive labels feigned less interesting than she’d once found them, but, with a twist of the cap, the vodka’s bitter warmth filled her mouth and stifled her anxiety.

The same warmth brushed her upper lip as a deep breath escaped her nostrils, and her pale eyes turned toward the petite window at the top of the white backyard door. She set the bottle down on the legless surface of a similarly colored broken table.

Once open, she stood in the doorway of the egress, greeted by darkening grey skies. The horizon stretched with disenfranchised residences, and the wild-flowering grasses basked in nature’s reclaimed sovereignty.

Lara stretched, still jittery, and observed the usual scene. Impulsively, her arms reached for top of the door, allowing her fingers and palms to wrap around the moss-blanketed door-frame. She felt her biceps tighten as she hoisted her body. There was a brief pause as she bent and crossed her legs underneath her, face-to-face with the little wallpaper flowers, until she lowered her body to once again see backyard’s dull, solemn peace.

She allowed the pull-ups to drain her energy while the vodka silenced her worry. And after a few hours she found herself upside down, staring at the green of the grass which contrasted the paleness of her milky skin as both hands beside her were devoured by the sea of vegetation. With some force, she felt herself fall backwards from her handstand, and for a moment the deep blue of approaching night spun in her vision before she landed on her feet.

She welcomed the pleasure of amusement as she tumbled about the backyard with abandon, her paranoia drowning in liquid courage, and she heard the hum of her voice as she watched the world spin around her again. How many laps had she managed, she wondered, when her eyes caught a figure in the inverted doorway.

Lara planted herself on her feet, allowing herself to take in the guest.

A brown bag choked in his grip crackled for release, with the grease of its contents beginning to soak through in darkened splotches.

He stepped to the side as Lara wandered back in, heading directly for the bottle of vodka she’d left out.

“Enjoying yourself, I see.” Auras said, listening as the bottle clanked back under the rusted sink, and he watched as Lara cleaned her palms against the dirtied ivory of her V-neck, further abused by bad habit.

She scoffed, her voice neutral, reminding him of how little the premises offered her to enjoy. The brown bag exchanged wardens, and she slumped down into the non-existent support of a depraved mustard-colored couch. Her stomach growled before she’d managed to unravel its contents, prompting Auras to inquire as to whether she’d learned how to cook for herself yet.

Hunger exaggerated each bite she took of the sandwich, “Ha ha, Aur,” the sogginess muffled her, “It’s always a great feeling to remember that nothing in this house works - like the stove.” She swallowed hard and attacked the bread once more.

“That’s not true,” His rough voice defended, “The lights are on.”

“Gas lamps,” Lara crumpled the empty paper casing of her meal and was shoving it into the grease-bottomed bag when her hand felt another. She handed it to him, only to have him deny her offer. After a hollow moment of hesitation, she accepted the second serving.

Continuing their brief exchange, he peered around the sitting room, its few furnishings untouched albeit the couch and blanket Lara utilized for rest, “I’m sure Samantha would provide meals, and company. She lives with her grandfather, I recall?”

She rejected the notion; one year had not changed her decision. Her unfailing neurosis also did little to persuade her from the wariness of her mental condition.

Faint shrieks echoed in her memories.

It had been one year of consciousness in modernity, yet Lara still experienced sporadic bouts of memorable awareness; inexplicable pain, a chaotic chorus of inhumane shrills that dragged her out from a sea of darkness to the cognizance of different rooms and years. The smell of ember, and burning flesh.

Her screams echoed once more as she abruptly returned from her thoughts.

Auras watched her, unblinking, the ghost of distress on his face. Their conversation was erased with ease.

Nearly twelve months prior, when she had awoken, he had brought her to Champaign, Illinois. The proximity to a number of targets and raids had left it a ghost of the devastation. With the unmistakable isolation of a town abandoned by its inhabitants after the war, “just enough” - he had said - remained to facilitate her social recuperation.

Nonetheless, “You’ve made excellent progress,” he reassured, the unnatural warmth in his face returning.

Had he any idea of the discomfort she felt about him when he put up his false visage, she was sure he’d say otherwise. Stagnation lingered in the stale world she had grown accustomed to, the bubble of a town with forgotten promises and dreams. To where all these dreams had gone, Lara knew not. It was difficult to imagine never leaving.

Yet, she drew so desperately at the muddled memories of what felt like someone else within her that the stagnation was stifling. Perhaps her confusion, of where or why or how she had come-to with this stranger, was the impediment of the progress she desired in this hindered town.

Life felt frozen. Albeit the shadows that seemed to move with her.

Lara warred internally over the inclination to divulge to him the dread of a follower she could never quite catch. But her opportunity presented itself as he worked to gauge her well-being. A moment of spontaneous judgement pushed the words out of her mouth in response.

“Do you ever come to visit me at the library anymore, Aur?”

“The library?” He recovered his position having rested an elbow on his thigh, a hand hanging between his ajar knees. There was a small chuckle, “Would you prefer I do, to improve your day?”

Lara, in an attempt to make light of the paranoia that had plagued her, forced a miniscule smile as she averted her gaze to the patches of skin revealed beneath her ripped jeans, “No, I just – you know – like, in the beginning, when I got the job, eight months ago. I told you I thought I saw you in the corner of my eye once, and you told me you happened to drop by just to see what I do every day, since I always give you the same monotonous,” she mocked, “Summary.” She lay her head against the frame of the couch arm to face him, searching for a more relaxed position to lessen the severity of her anxiety, although she knew the words had spilled neurotically from her mouth.

“I don’t quite understand,” He said, carefully, his face unchanged.

Nervously, she plucked at the skin of her bottom lip a couple of times before releasing the information, “For the last few weeks, I’ve been seeing – I mean, I think I’ve been seeing – something follow me in the library.” Her eyelids fluttered briefly, lulling off the resurfacing fear of the experience, “I asked Samantha today if she saw anyone come in because, the first week, it happened, once. Then, the next week, it happened on back to back days, then, nothing, the third week - but, today, I saw something turn the corner of the shelves. And, it sounds just a little crazy but, I swear it looked like it was a shadow.”

She returned her eyes to Auras’s face, having avoided eye contact throughout her rambling. The hope for the response of a genuine laugh quickly drained away, just as the blood appeared to have vanished beneath his mask of reassurance. The corners of her lips downturned with a sinking feeling.

Had her observation of him been less intense, the falter in his voice might have been unnoticeable, but she was sure it had happened.

“I believe that worry this persistent is completely understandable,” The lines in his face revealed themselves, betraying his age, when he smiled optimistically, “You suffered an incredible trauma, and you are alone for a dozen hours every day. Sometimes the mind believes in more than what it sees.”

The firmness of a hand on her shoulder in harmony with his muddy eyes construed a gift of truth that Lara gratefully accepted. Little desire existed within her to seek flaw in his reply.

“Thanks for the food, as usual,” she said with a small smile as he rose to dispose of the ransacked paper bag. She leaned over to drape the moth-eaten blanket across her body, and fidgeted around attempting to maximize the couch’s comfort.

Auras chuckled, and, with the promise of breakfast, retreated to an abandonment with the day’s waste.

In the tall-fenced backyard of a house several streets down, he finished burying the trash and tossed a mangled shovel back into its corner. Shutting the fence door, he heard a step behind him.

“Good evening, Auras.”

He turned to find two people.

“Violet,” he greeted the young woman. Her plum car coat matched the various shades of her purple hair, and both complimented her chestnut colored skin. “And… Lethe. I suppose I shouldn’t have ignored the unnatural chill.”

The second person was a young man whose straight, black hair messily framed the sides of his pale, unamused face and feathered just above his eyes. Their irises reflected the same strange lavender featured in Lara’s.

“Cold?” Auras added, eyeing Lethe’s charcoal short-sleeve.

Lethe ignored his joke, glancing in the general direction of Lara’s vicinity beyond the abandoned houses, “I’m using more Energy than I’d like, being here.”

“Is she-“ Auras began, a sudden flash of concern on his face.

Violet’s eyes lit up as a white glow overtook them. “She’s asleep,” She stated, answering Auras’ unfinished question. “Knocked out by… whatever you fed her.” Her face contorted into a disgusted look as the glow faded to reveal her glossy, brown eyes. “Did you find anything?”

“No,” Auras responded, grudgingly. “Very unusual of you to come all the way out here just to ask me that, however. A question such as this could’ve easily been asked in the Sentinel.” His eyes turned towards Lethe, who had leaned a shoulder against the fence of the dump house. “Thus, pardon my deduction when I say, this leads me to believe something is wrong.”

Violet blinked once, remaining stiff. “The Sentinel is exactly where I overheard your thoughts tonight, regarding the things Lara has claimed to be seeing. These… shadows,” He had just caught the flicker from her eyes to Lethe before she returned her attention to Auras. “And her paranoia that she’s being followed. I came to confirm for myself.”

Auras peered at Lethe, who averted his gaze, instead opting to watch the location opposite Lara’s.

“And?” He asked, turning his attention back to Violet.

Violet clucked her tongue, “She’s pulling too much Energy, Auras.”

“I’ve certainly felt an increasing… ‘buzz’, in her presence recently, but is it truly so concerning that you’d even bring him?” He asked, referencing Lethe.

“Not so much so for those of us with different energy schemas. But I brought him, to be sure.” they both glanced at Lethe.

It was then that Auras noticed Lethe was especially frigid in comparison to his usual demeanor.

Lethe was silent for a moment as he seemingly struggled to put his thoughts into words – or, more concerning to Violet, his emotions. “It’s like an epicenter.

“When I was last near her during the failed Transcendence, after her Surge,” he stayed focused on the tree-line he’d picked opposite Lara’s location. “She’d barely even had a pulse. Now–”

“Her Energy is eating away at the town.” Violet interrupted, cutting him off. “I don’t know how long she has before every one of the corrupted find her.”

“Are you and your sisters capable of creating another barrier?” asked Auras.

Violet’s eyebrow twitched as if she couldn’t believe he’d asked the question, “The Fates cannot generate another barrier for a single being, especially in addition to one that already requires two of the three of us to maintain.”

“You, here, while Scarlet and Indigo remained in Circa? Surprising.”

“I have the most capable sense of the present.”

“Obviously,” muttered Lethe, still watching the trees.

Violet continued, choosing to ignore his comment. “Whether she’s ready or not, she’ll soon destroy the fog my sisters and I placed over her memories; you need to bring her to us. Scarlet can safely extract what we need to find the Transcendent. We’ll have a greater chance of success the sooner she’s within our perimeters.”

“Continuing to lie to her will have repercussions.” Lethe said with a sudden vilification in his voice that prompted Violet. “You can’t take what makes her whole without destroying her.”

She raised an eyebrow, turning to him, “Because we could all use a lesson on the repercussions of our actions, after you left our reality hanging in a state of imbalance. This problem wouldn’t even exist if you had done your duty and let her die the way she was supposed to.”

For the first time, Lethe made eye contact, his eyes piercing, “Then perhaps you should learn from the past and recognize that repressing her humanity will only lead to a poison that won’t eat away at just her, it will directly impact us.”

“And do tell, who exactly was it that you were thinking of when you broke from stride?” Violet countered, harshly. “I want nothing more than to change the past. But luckily for all of us Scarlet understands the restrictions of her Energy. Unlike the sloppiness that led us to this ruin.”

“Violet,” said Auras, attempting to calm her.

She ignored him, continuing. “You would all do well to remember that we exist for the sake of existence. Humanity itself is a chaos, and for her to acknowledge that unfortunate part of her being will only lead to more chaos. The single chance we have to rebuild lies in Lara’s ability to focus. She must abandon everything else, for preservation’s sake.”

Lethe looked away, frustrated.

“Bring her.” Violet commanded, returning her attention to Auras. “Zanatos will provide you with transport to Indianapolis.”

“Take her to a living city?” Auras voiced, breaking his neutrality. He was taken aback by the notion. “It’ll be lurking with the weak, let alone the amount of corrupted–”

“Zanatos and Gethon will be there to help you scout a safe perimeter, but they mustn’t be near her. The less of our Energies clinging to hers, the safer. Wait for the go-ahead before we can provide you with final transport to Circa.” She concluded.

“Understood,” said Auras. “And what of the Other One?” He added.

Violet hesitated, for the first time since their arrival, before answering. “He’s been quiet... I haven’t felt a void in weeks.”

“Is there a chance he’s found Liliana?”

“He hasn’t found her sister.” Lethe answered, black veins steadily creeping up the sides of his face as a black smoke surrounded he and Violet.

Violet buttoned her car coat. “Swift action, decisive movements; efficacy is the key to the restoration.”

And with that, the black smoke consumed them and seeped into the ground, leaving a solemn Auras isolated on the sidewalk.

He returned to find a sprawl of limbs across the sofa that betrayed any conceivable notion of comfort. Carefully nudging Lara’s discarded jeans to the side, he removed the lamp’s cord from the makeshift metal battery he had given her, and averted his eyes from the privacy of her vulnerable image in the darkness. In the dim moonlight struggling to break through the downcast clouds, he sat on yellowed kitchen tiles, reconstructing fragments of the crippled dining table. Gears rattled away in his mind, as the shadow of night cradled the town in silence.