“Hello?” I call, stepping just inside the open garage.
Silence. The place looks active—tools laid out, a car half-lifted—but there’s no one there.
“Archer?”
Nothing. I step back out, frowning.
“Of course,” I mutter.
I stand there for a moment longer, then shake my head and head back to the bookstore. Fine. If he doesn’t want thanks, he doesn’t get thanks. But I’ll remember it.
The rest of the day passes in a steady rhythm of work. Cleaning. Sorting. Making small, manageable progress. By evening, I’m exhausted.
The sun dips low, casting long shadows across the street as I lock up for the night. I linger on the sidewalk for a moment, stretching my sore arms, letting the quiet settle around me. That’s when I notice it. Movement.
At the far end of the street, a small group of people gathers near a parked truck. Another group a little further down. Doors open. Engines start. I frown, watching. One by one, vehicles begin to pull away. Not just one or two. Several. All heading out of town. At the same time.
“Okay… that’s weird,” I murmur.
It doesn’t look like an event. No one’s laughing or lingering. It’s quiet. Purposeful. Coordinated. A faint unease curls in my stomach. Where are they all going? And why does it feel like I’mthe only one not in on it? I hug my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how unfamiliar everything still is.
“Small town,” I whisper. “Different rhythms.”
That has to be it. Still…
As the last set of taillights disappears down the road, the silence that follows feels heavier than before. And I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just watched something I wasn’t meant to notice.
I stay outside longer than I mean to. The street has gone quiet again, like nothing unusual happened at all. Like I didn’t just watch half the town leave in a strangely coordinated exodus without a single explanation.
“Maybe it’s normal,” I say.
It doesn’t feel normal.
I lean, arms folded, staring down the road where the last car disappeared. The sky has shifted into that dusky blue that always makes everything feel suspended—like the world is caught between one thing and another.
In-between. That’s exactly how I feel here. Not settled. Not grounded. Just… temporarily placed. I glance toward the mechanic shop again. Dark now. Closed. No sign of Archer. Which, for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, is disappointing.
“That’s ridiculous,” I mutter.
I barely know the man. Our entire interaction consists of him saving me from being crushed and then criticizing my life choices. And fixing my shelf. Quietly. Without asking.
I push away from the wall and head back inside, locking the door behind me this time with more intention. The click echoes slightly in the empty space, sharper now that the town outside has gone so still. The bookstore feels different at night. Less chaotic. More… hollow.
The shadows stretch longer, deeper, filling in the spaces between the shelves. The repaired unit stands solid where it nearly collapsed before, a quiet reminder that someone had been here when I wasn’t.
Someone who hadn’t needed permission. I walk toward it slowly, trailing my fingers along the wood again.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, even though he’s not here to hear it.
It feels important to say anyway. The air shifts slightly, a faint draft brushing against my arm. I turn, scanning the room, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from. Somewhere near the back, maybe. Another thing to add to the list.
Another problem to solve. I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“You wanted a fresh start,” I remind myself. “This is what it looks like.”
Not clean. Not easy. Not predictable. But real.
I grab a small lamp from one of the boxes and plug it into the nearest outlet. It flickers once before settling into a steady glow, pushing back just enough of the darkness to make the space feel manageable.
