Brian bent down, helping her gather the scattered folders. As he did, he noticed a small black gear-shaped tattoo on her right cheekbone, mostly hidden beneath her bangs.
"Uh… are you from around here?" he asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. "I just moved in a few months ago. Got discharged from the army recently."
She looked up and smiled again. "Not exactly. I live outside the city limits. But—welcome to Phoenix~ haha" Her tone was warm, almost playful—the kind that made him forget what he'd meant to say.
She reached out a gloved hand to shake his but fumbled, nearly dropping the folders again.
"Oh no—not again!"
Brian caught them just in time, stacking them neatly.
She laughed softly. "Thank you~ I'm always making a right pig's ear of things."
He chuckled. "I don't doubt that. Uh—I'm Brian, by the way. If we ever, you know, bump into each other again… Maybe you can tell me if there's any mechanical work around here? Been looking for a job recently. I used to fix vehicles—big ones mostly."
The woman tilted her head, then nodded. "Actually, I might know a place." She smiled and reached into her bag, handing him a sleek card. "Adeline Callaghan. Nice to meet you, Brian."
He looked down at the card. "Callaghan's Motor Industry."
"T-Thanks," he said while pocketing it.
As she turned to leave, Brian couldn't help but feel a strange pull in his chest—a sense that they'd met somewhere before. Weird… Probably just my head playing tricks again. He sat down on a nearby bench, slipped on his earbuds, and stretched a little before continuing his jog. Just as he took his first step, his phone buzzed again.
Dantonix Tomato: Oooh, mamasita—who's dat girl, dude? 👀
Brain has Brian: WDYM? dat girl?
Dantonix Tomato: On your left, Big guy. 😎
"Oh" Brian turned his head toward the left intersection.
There they were—Dan, wearing his usual tracksuit and cheeky grin, standing beside Matt, the long-haired guy Brian hadn't seen since basic training. Both were smirking at him like cats who'd just caught something juicy.
Brian sighed, shaking his head. "Back to reality, huh?"
He chuckled to himself—and kept jogging.
THUD!
The sound of a thick book closing echoed through the silent room, followed by the calm, raspy voice of an old man.
"Well then, until next time, Mr. Dixon. Tell me—have you ever wondered why every step you take forward leads nowhere? Perhaps it's because ghosts of the past still cloud your eyes. That… is a pain far worse than death itself. If you think about it, maybe what you've left behind wasn't so worthless after all. Maybe that's why it keeps coming back to haunt you, even now."
"Speaking of war… hmm." The old man paused, his fingers brushing along the edge of the desk.
"I once knew a pope who wrote a rather peculiar verse. Let me recall it for you…"
Gunpowder falls to the soil below;
Roses paint the walls in a crimson glow.
The earth trembles beneath the heavenly glare.
And when you descend, golden fields await your stare.
You leave behind those who wail and kill for pride.
Even the world forgets—was I ever truly alive?
He gave a faint smile and shut the book gently. "I do hope that poem helps you see things differently. You know, thinking too darkly about the world doesn't make life any more meaningful."
The legs of a wooden chair scraped against the floor as he stood. Footsteps echoed through the dimly lit room. The gray-covered book was returned neatly to its place on the shelf.
"Well now," he said with a lighter tone, brushing the dust off his vest. "You all seem rather gloomy today. How about we—ah, yes—look at things from another angle, shall we? Let's talk about the steam painters for a change. The trains—chug-chug, choo-choo!" He chuckled. "Or perhaps the art of dance! I believe our last book mentioned her already, didn't it? You know, she's nearly thirty now—though still as adorable as a fourteen-year-old. And don't worry about Mr. Dixon; he's doing quite well, if memory serves. In fact, I believe he appears in this very book I'm about to read next."
He reached for another volume—an immaculate, cream-colored book that gleamed faintly in the low light. It wasn't thick, but it was beautifully bound. The cover bore elegant orange lettering surrounded by the sigil of a long-legged spider. "Set Your Fire to the Rain."