“Move, rookie—now!”

Monna’s voice snapped through the still air as she grabbed Ed by the wrist and pulled him back toward the forest trail. The ground beneath their boots was soft with moss, each hurried step sinking slightly into the earth. Behind them, the lake remained utterly calm, as if pretending nothing had happened.

“What was that thing?” Ed asked between breaths.

“Something we’re not equipped to deal with,” she said sharply. “And something smart enough to let us see it.”

They reached the jeep parked near the tree line. Monna slammed the door shut, started the engine, and sped down the narrow path, gravel spraying behind them.

For several minutes, neither spoke. The dashboard clock ticked past 19:42.  

Only when they were miles from the lake did Monna finally reach for her communicator and patch through a secure line.

“This is Field Investigator Larkins,” she said. “Reporting anomaly contact, Lake Norvane perimeter. Visual confirmation of humanoid manifestation—translucent composition, possible Class-III cognitive hazard.”

Static, then the familiar gravelled voice of **Director Barek Joseph** filled the cabin.  

“Copy that, Larkins. Status?”

“No casualties,” she replied, glancing at Ed. “But the lake’s area is massive, and the resonance we felt wasn’t localized. This isn’t something two agents can poke at with a stick. We’ll need containment logistics, sonar mapping, maybe even aerial support.”

There was a pause. Then Joseph said, “Understood. You did the right thing. I’ll assemble a task force under S-Division and draw up an operation plan. Good work, Larkins—both of you.”

Monna raised an eyebrow. “You mean the kid gets credit too?”

“I mean,” Joseph said, his tone faintly amused, “you didn’t get him killed. That’s good enough for me.”

The line clicked off.

Monna exhaled, leaning back in her seat. “Well, there you go. Praise from the top. You can frame that if you want.”

Ed managed a tired smile. “I’ll put it right next to my near-death certificate.”

The humor barely masked the lingering unease. Outside, the sky had turned dark, the clouds hanging low and heavy over the forest. A mist began to creep along the road, thin tendrils of white that seemed to follow the car.

After another half hour of driving, Monna slowed down as the faint glow of a sign came into view:  

**“Lakeview Inn – Rooms & Diner.”**  

The building looked old, its wooden walls damp from years of mist, but it was the only light for miles.

“Night’s too deep to head back,” she said. “We’ll stay here. Debrief in the morning.”

They parked beside the inn. The lobby smelled faintly of pine and old coffee. A sleepy clerk handed over a pair of keys without question—Monna flashed a forged government ID, something labeled “Environmental Safety Inspection.”

“Two rooms,” she said, then added after a beat, “next to each other.”

Ed followed her up the creaky stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway.

“You always carry fake IDs?” he asked quietly.

Monna smirked. “Comes with the job. We’re ghosts, remember? Nobody’s supposed to know we exist.”

When they reached their rooms, she handed him one of the keys. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we file the report and wait for Joseph’s orders.”

Ed nodded, though his mind was still replaying the image of that figure above the water—the way it had tilted its head, almost curious. “You think it knew we were watching?”

“Oh, it knew,” she said. “And it didn’t care.”

For a moment, neither spoke.  

Only the sound of rain beginning to fall outside, tapping softly against the windows.

“Monna,” Ed said finally. “Do you ever… feel like these things see more of us than we see of them?”

She leaned against the doorframe, her expression unreadable. “That’s the trick, rookie. They always do.”

Then she closed the door gently behind her.

Ed stood alone in the hallway for a while, the faint scent of rain and lake water lingering in his clothes.  

He finally stepped into his room, shutting out the world.

The lamp cast a weak yellow glow across the old wallpaper. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled.  

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but his mind was still at the edge of the lake—the ripples, the silence, the reflection that moved on its own.

And in the hollow quiet of that worn-down room, he could swear he heard it again—  

the soft sound of water lapping against the shore,  

as if something was calling his name from far, far below the surface.