The moment the briefing room door shut behind us, the collective weight hit—but only for the length of a breath. Then Silva was waving us over, keys in hand, already herding us toward the parking lot like a stressed mother duck.
We packed our luggage into the trunk, Mira arranging things with military precision while Theo shoved his duffel in sideways like he was challenging the laws of physics. I just tossed mine in and pretended not to hear Silva muttering about "children" and "discipline."
"Food first!" Theo declared once we all piled into the car.
"No." Silva said.
"Yes." Theo repeated, louder.
Mira sighed. "He's not wrong. We're not driving five hours on empty stomachs."
Silva grumbled something, but she made the turn anyway.
Ten minutes later, we were in a drive-through line staring at a menu with ingredients none of us trusted.
"If we die today," Theo announced, "let it be known my last meal was something called the 'Mega Cluck Crunch.'"
"Why would you order that?" I asked.
"Because I have no fear," he said proudly.
"You have no standards," Mira corrected.
Silva just rubbed the bridge of her nose. "And uh... no taste buds either. I think."
By the time we collected our very questionable lunch and squeezed back onto the highway, the car smelled like fried regret and artificial cheese. Theo was already happily munching through his Mega Cluck Crunch like it was a religious experience.
The road stretched long and open ahead of us—grey sky, distant hills, and the faint hum of the engine beneath us. Five hours to Pale Shore. Five hours before everything got… worse.
But right now?
Right now it was peaceful.
Silva switched on the radio, scrolling until upbeat music filled the car. Something poppy and annoyingly catchy.
Theo immediately started singing along, completely off-key and far too enthusiastic.
"Stop," Mira warned.
"You cannot silence art," Theo declared.
"It's not art," I said. "It's auditory assault."
Theo placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "Your cruelty knows no bounds."
I leaned my head back against the seat, letting the rhythm vibrate through the car. The windows were cracked slightly, letting in a cool breeze and the scent of asphalt and early autumn. For a moment, I let myself enjoy it—the normalcy of being in a car with my team, everyone pretending not to be terrified.
Calm before the storm.
"So," I said after a while, unwrapping my far-too-salty fries, "bet you five credits Silva will Pull her famous Sun-Pun at least once during the drive."
"Bold of you to assume she won't do it twice," Mira said.
"Actually," Silva said without missing a beat, "They arent Puns. They're Wisdom. And I just happen to teach you guys so you can handle yourselves without me."
Theo grinned. "There she goes. Mother."
"I'm your superior," Silva corrected.
"Mother superior," he countered.
Silva made a noise like she was rethinking her entire career.
The scenery blurred softly past us—fields, trees, occasional clusters of buildings, then long stretches of nothing again. Every now and then a truck roared by, rocking the car. Otherwise, it was just us and the road.
Somewhere around the one-hour mark, Mira stole the aux cable and put on her playlist.
A quiet instrumental track filled the car—melancholic, but warm.
Theo blinked. "I didn't know you listened to sad music."
"It's not sad," Mira said. "It's atmospheric."
"It sounds like the soundtrack to a very emotional deer walking into a forest."
Mira stared at him. "What does that even mean?"
"It means it's tragic."
"It is not—"
"I like it," I interrupted, before Mira could murder him. "Feels… calming."
It did.
The music softened the edges of my nerves, made the world seem slower and gentler. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, listening to the subtle shift of wind against the window.
"You tired already?" Theo asked.
"I'm conserving energy," I replied.
"For what?"
"For not dying."
"Solid plan," he said. "Very ambitious."
Silva took one hand off the wheel long enough to flick Theo's forehead.
"Ow!"
"You deserved that." Mira said.
The car filled with laughter—real laughter this time, not the brittle kind we used in the briefing to mask fear.
Hours passed in comfortable cycles:
Jokes.
Music.
Silva's mouth twitching in an attempt to smile at us through the rearview mirror.
Mira pointing out interesting cloud shapes with hypnotic seriousness.
Theo trying (and failing) to rap along to songs he definitely didn't know the lyrics to.
Me quietly taking pictures of the landscape out the window, even though I didn't know why. Maybe I wanted proof later that the world was still normal somewhere.
Around hour three, Theo started a game of "What horrible thing do you think the shore core looks like?"
"A massive jellyfish," he guessed. "Like, nightmare jellyfish."
"A sinkhole," Mira said. "Except the hole is alive."
"Disgusting," Theo nodded approvingly.
"I think it looks like regret," I said dramatically.
Silva spoke "I uh... im fairly certain most Anomalies do not feel regret..."
'...Her sense of Humor is one of a rock.'
The closer we got, the more the mood softened into something quieter—still cheerful, but gentler, as if we all felt the invisible shift on the horizon. The sun dipped slightly behind clouds, casting pale light across the road.
But there was still warmth.
Still laughter.
Still music humming softly between us.
Five hours was long.
But together, it didn't feel so heavy.
Eventually, Silva glanced at the GPS and tightened her grip on the wheel.
"Twenty more minutes," she said. "Then we'll see the outskirts."
A silence slipped into the car—not tense, but thoughtful.
I watched the road stretching out ahead of us, straight and calm, and thought:
'Please...Let this moment last just a little longer.'
Because The Pale Shore waited.
And after we crossed into it—
everything would change.
But when we finally rolled past the "Welcome to Pale Shore" sign…
It looked shockingly normal.
Like painfully normal.
A small, fog-coated coastal city—quiet streets, modest buildings, the distant outline of the shoreline. A few people walking their dogs. A guy buying groceries. A couple arguing at a bus stop like it was any regular Tuesday.
I blinked.
"Are we… sure the apocalypse is scheduled here?"
Theo squinted out the window. "Maybe Pale Shore is shy."
Mira frowned. "Fog's thinner than the reports suggested."
Silva didn't speak. Her jaw tightened, eyes scanning every alley, every rooftop, every passerby.
Normal wasn't comforting.
Normal meant something was hiding.
We pulled into the driveway of our accommodation shortly after—an old-fashioned two-story house; borderline antique, but charming. White paint slightly peeling, a curved roof, and a small garden in the front that definitely hadn't been watered intentionally in at least six weeks.
Silva stepped out first, stretching her back. "Grab your luggage. Pick any room. We'll resync in the living room in ten."
The interior smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner—like someone tried to make the place presentable and then gave up halfway through. Old wooden floors groaned underfoot, and the hallway lights flickered in that I'm not haunted but I could be if you disrespect me kind of way.
My room was on the second floor.
Spacious. Two separate beds. A desk with a chipped lamp. A small mounted TV that looked like it was one glitch away from bursting into static and showing cursed imagery.
And a glass door leading to a surprisingly neat balcony.
I dropped my bag onto one of the beds and looked around.
"It's a little dusty but… honestly? I wouldn't mind booking this place for a vacation," I murmured.
[Indeed, my friend!]
I froze.
'What the fu—'
[The wooden floor and old-fashioned furniture gives this place a really cozy vibe.]
The voice echoed clearly inside my mind—warm, amused, and unmistakably belonging to him.
The Owner of the Golden Moon Parade Market.
My heart skipped a beat. "How—how can I hear you?"
I spun around the room even though I knew damn well he wasn't physically here. The air felt the same. No cold breeze. No shift in pressure. Just… his voice.
[Because you're carrying my gift.]
"Oh hell no," I whispered. "Telepathy? Seriously?"
[Calling it 'telepathy' is a bit crude, don't you think?]
A soft laugh resonated in my head. [Let's say our connection has strengthened. You're in a location saturated with anomalous energy. It amplifies things.]
"That feels like something you should've warned me about."
[And ruin the surprise?]
I rubbed my temples. "Are you—like—going to comment on everything now? Because I need at least one voice in my head that belongs to me."
[Relax.]
His tone softened, reassuring but with that playful edge he always carried.
[I won't intrude unless necessary. Think of me as… a concerned patron watching over his favorite customer.]
"I'm not your customer."
[Mm. Keep telling yourself that.]
I groaned.
"Great. Fantastic. Perfect. I'm losing my mind before the mission even starts."
A knock sounded on my door.
"Yuwon?" Mira's voice. "Briefing downstairs in five."
"Coming!" I called—then muttered under my breath, "Please don't talk while I'm around other people."
[…No promises.]
"Owner—"
[Kidding.]
A beat.
[…Mostly.]
I exhaled sharply.
Yeah.
This was going to be fun.
I grabbed my jacket, took one last glance at the strangely peaceful little room, and headed downstairs where my team waited—unaware that I had just gained an unexpected passenger in my mind.
And somewhere beyond the fog-coated streets of Pale Shore…
Something had already noticed us arrive.