Vereluna’s bones are as old as stone.

Walls breathe, whispering stories.

Secrets roam, linger, and chill.

What truths do these bones tell fresh faces?

The Vereluna Museum.

A grand structure that dwarfed its neighbors. Massive. Looming. Its columns reached for the sky, as if to grab the clouds. Four thousand five hundred square meters (~48,400 square feet) of fresh starts and second chances.

The museum was more extravagant than Ariel Reyes expected. She knew she’d be counting steps and cataloging exits to calm her nerves. New city, new rules, and the dream job of a lifetime.

She had only been in town a handful of days. She struggled with Vereluna’s beats—the rush of tourists, the sun too bright, the roosters too earnest for mid-morning.

The halls echoed with the curator’s heavy stride. Ariel kept her eyes low, cataloging details in her notepad: Designer watch. Aggressive, overwhelming cologne. Constantly checking his reflection in every shiny surface. Her list grew with each step.

At the library’s door, he halted and thrust a badge at her.

His voice was all business. “Congratulations, Reyes. Librarian. And…Cryptid Exhibit Curator. Superstitions and ghost stories are the new lures for visitors. I expect results. Deliver, or get packing.”

She traced her photo’s edge while his pointed shoes retreated. A touch theatrical. A smile crept in as she caught her reflection on the library glass. A slip of a woman: 158 centimeters (~5’2”) on a good day, small and out of place, with light skin and stubborn, curling brown hair. It always frizzed when she least wanted it to. 

She squared her shoulders, tucking a stray wisp behind her ear. A fresh start.

Someone whistled down the corridor. She didn’t flinch, just a slow shake of her head and a deep sigh. 

Typical. Why would this place be any different?

 “Welcome to Vereluna,” she muttered, now alone with shimmering glass and the scent of books and ambition.

She clipped the badge to her blouse, its rattle oddly loud in the silence. 

The library was empty except for the faint whir of ceiling fans and the smell of aged books. Shelves stretched from wall to wall. Catalog labels, yellowed and unreadable. Ariel ran her fingers on the front desk’s top, carving roads through thick layers of dust.

She stood behind the desk, fingers pressed on its chipped edges. In a month, they’ll wonder how they survived so long without me.

The title, Cryptid Exhibit Curator, still sounded foreign, but also a dare. She grinned as she imagined the possibilities. Case files on shadowy monsters. Glass exhibits of unsolved mysteries. The thrill of discovering the undiscovered. 

For once, being an outsider had an advantage. Who better to keep these outlandish stories alive? Who better to explain the unexplainable?

The more she dwelled on it, the more it made sense. Cryptids, never quite fitting into the norms or expectations. Their existence, their history and influence, always doubted, reduced to rumors and tall tales. 

Just like me.

Ariel looked across the hall from the library window. The soon-to-be spot for the cryptid exhibit. A large, cavernous space. Its emptiness invoked both promise and dread. 

Possibilities raced through her mind—the arrangement of the exhibits, which one would be the main attraction.

Her stomach fluttered. Was it nerves, hunger—both? It was too much for one morning. She needed a break, a change of scenery from the confines of the museum. A place to regroup before vanishing into the abyss of work.

She remembered the flyers pasted all across town: “the most out of this world” coffee. Even now, she could hear tourists pestering the locals for directions, their voices ringing in her memory. Her anticipation rose. 

What was the name of it again?

Ariel flipped through her notes, thumbing past her few dog-eared pages. There. The name circled multiple times in red. 

Café de Lago, that’s it. 

Notepad slammed shut as she rushed out the library doors, tucking her badge away.

Projects can wait. There was coffee to chase.

***

A tangle of voices hit Ariel as she stepped through the café’s doors. The clutter of noises nearly drowned out the aroma of fresh espresso. The little café strained to contain so many bodies. She watched baristas bounce between stations, meeting demands with rehearsed precision. 

Organized chaos.

Ariel’s eyes darted across the menu, a long list of local favorites and “limited time” tourist gimmicks. Every drink sounded interesting, an adventure of its own. No wonder this place was so crowded.

“Hello, what can I get started for you?”

Ariel barely heard the barista call out; she was still deciding which drink to try first. Should she stick with her familiar Americano, or try something new for the occasion?

“Excuse me, ma’am?” The barista prompted, voice firmer now as the line behind Ariel grumbled, feet tapping impatiently.

“Let me get an Americano with a splash of oat milk.”

She sighed deeply as she paid, then shuffled aside with the herd of people to wait for her order. 

Guess this adventure will have to wait for a slow day… if there is one.

One of the baristas kept staring at her. Gawking, really. Ariel cleared her throat and avoided eye contact. He smirked as her order was called. With every step she took toward the pickup counter, his pupils widened.

She tried to grab her coffee before he made it to the counter. Too late. He leaned in, eyes tracking her like a piece of meat, that smug, performative grin fixed to his face.

“Careful, that coffee is hot,” he said with a wink. “Like the baristas. But not as hot as the customers.” His voice was schmaltzy and too close.

Ariel didn’t blink. “Noted. I just came for the coffee, not…all that.”

He snickered, low and slick. “You know, most visitors ask for directions. Not you, though. You’re heading straight for my heart.”

Ariel stifled a laugh. “How cute. If I wasn’t romantically bankrupt, that might have been a good line.”

He didn’t stop. His lips kept moving, but she’d already tuned him out. His voice became background static against the crowd. When he reached for her hand, she jerked away.

“No, seriously,” she said, tone sharp and planted. “I’m not interested.”

That’s when it hit.

A cold wave swept through the room.

The barista’s hand froze mid-reach. That smug grin of his collapsed, replaced by a blank calm, like his mind had been shoved into an imprisoning void. His eyes glazed over, wide and unblinking, as if something had hollowed him out.

Ariel’s stomach knotted. Her knees buckled under a sudden pressure, like a giant shadow was crushing her. The air was thick and unmovable, like standing in a black hole. Shivers crawled up and down her spine.

What is happening? I can’t move.

Sweat beaded along her brow. Her muscles locked, refusing to move. The weight pushed down, squeezed tighter. The room blurred at the edges.

Then—

It stopped.

Ariel’s senses slowly returned. Blood rushed through her like a broken dam. The barista was gone. Nowhere to be seen, just…gone.  

A strong scent filled her nostrils. Tamarind?

A copper-skinned woman strode to the pickup counter from behind her. Her wide-brimmed hat and loose, dark hair shadowed her face. She held a coffee in either hand and a concha clenched in her teeth as she bolted for the café doors. The smell of tamarind lingered in her wake.

Ariel caught a final glimpse of her, alongside a taller woman, before they rounded the corner and disappeared from view. She braced against a wall, heart pounding her ribs. What was that? It wasn’t just me, the barista felt it too. Now, he’s gone.

Whatever it was, something else is going on in Vereluna. Strange, looming, and watching.

At a neighboring table, she overheard two locals talking a little too loudly.

“My cousin swears she saw something out by the forest trails last night,” said one of the locals. “Like a large wolf, or maybe a bear.”

“I thought I heard howling myself the other night. The dogs wouldn’t stop barking.”

Ariel straightened, focus sharpening. Wolves and bears? Here?

No…They should be endangered or extinct.

Cryptid? Possible. A lead worth chasing.

Ariel gathered herself and rushed out the door.

Her mind raced; her heart hammered in her ears.

If there were cryptids in the forest, she was going to find them.