Chapter 25: The Mountain Town Crisis (9)
Morning came reluctantly, like it had been asked to show up before it was ready.
The sky outside the front door had lightened from black to a thin, uncertain gray by the time the boss walked the local man out. Dawn hadn’t arrived so much as it had been hinted at, a pale wash seeping into the edges of the world without conviction. The streetlamps were still on, their yellow glow lingering against the coming day as if reluctant to give up their watch.
The air was cold, but no longer sharp.
It carried the softer edge of early morning, the kind of chill that promised the sun would eventually do something about it. Breath fogged faintly with each exhale, drifting away almost immediately, as though even the cold couldn’t hold onto anything for long. Somewhere far off, a bird called once, then fell silent again.
The street itself was empty.
Not just quiet, empty in a way that felt intentional. No parked cars pulling away. No early commuters cutting across the sidewalk. No shop doors rattling open for the morning rush. It had been like this every morning this week, a pattern too consistent to be coincidence.
Emptier than it had any right to be.
The buildings stood in neat rows, windows dark, blinds drawn. Storefronts reflected the dull gray of the sky without offering movement in return.
The pavement was clean, undisturbed, as though nothing had passed through since night had loosened its grip. Even the usual litter was absent, leaving the street looking staged, unfinished.
The boss paused at the door, watching the local man head off down the block, his footsteps echoing faintly before fading altogether. The sound lingered longer than expected, stretching into the quiet before finally disappearing.
When the door closed again, the street was left exactly as it had been before, still, silent, and waiting.
The man stood on the threshold, jacket pulled tight around himself, eyes flicking instinctively down the road and then away again.
“You’ll be fine once the city’s awake,” the boss said, voice calm, steady.
“Don’t linger outside before then.”
The man nodded quickly. “I won’t. I promise.”
The boss handed him a slip of paper. A phone number, written plainly.
“If anything else happens,” he continued, “if you notice patterns, changes, call. Day or night.”
The man took it like it was something fragile. “You’re really not from around here,” he said again, quieter this time.
“No,” the boss agreed.
The man hesitated, then bowed his head slightly. “Still… thank you. For believing me.”
The boss didn’t correct him. “Get home.”
The man left quickly, footsteps light but purposeful, not running, never running, but moving with the intent of someone who understood how close he’d come to vanishing.
The boss waited until the man turned the corner before closing the door.
The lock slid into place with a solid, comforting click.
He stood there for a moment longer, hand still resting on the handle, replaying the conversation in his head.
Wind.
Thresholds.
Pressure. Choice that wasn’t really choice.
Witch.
He turned and went upstairs.
***
Waking the crew was easier than he’d expected.
Not because they were well-rested, none of them were, but because something in his voice cut through sleep faster than alarms ever did. By the time he finished knocking on the last door, lights were flicking on and footsteps were moving down the hall.
They gathered in the larger upstairs room, still half-wrapped in exhaustion. Lena leaned against the wall, hair pulled back hastily, eyes sharp despite the hour. Khalid sat sideways in a chair, elbows on the backrest, rubbing sleep from his face.
Li Wei stood near the table, tablet already in hand. Gorchov remained standing, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the boss with an intensity that suggested he hadn’t slept at all.
“What happened?” Lena asked immediately.
The boss didn’t sit.
“We had a visitor,” he said.
That got their attention.
“At the door?” Khalid asked.
“Yes.”
Gorchov’s jaw tightened. “You let them in.”
“I pulled him in,” the boss corrected. “Human. Local. He was being pursued.”
Lena swore under her breath. “Was it-”
“No,” the boss said. “Not directly.”
Li tilted his head. “Indirect contact?”
“Yes.”
He walked to the table and placed the slip of paper with the phone number down in the center, as if anchoring the conversation.
“He experienced what most of the reports describe,” the boss continued. “Wind reversal. Auditory hallucination, or something convincingly similar. Pressure without visible force.”
Khalid nodded slowly. “So far, that tracks.”
“But,” the boss went on, “he framed it differently.”
Lena straightened.
“How.”
“He believes this isn’t just an anomaly,” the boss said. “He believes it’s being directed.”
Silence followed. Not surprised silence. The kind that came when an unspoken suspicion was finally said aloud.
“Directed by what,” Khalid asked.
“Someone,” the boss replied.
Li Wei’s fingers stilled on the tablet. “An intelligence.”
“Yes.”
Gorchov’s mouth curved into a humorless smile.
“Finally.”
Lena shot him a look. “Don’t ‘finally’ this.”
He shrugged. “You were all thinking it.”
They were.
The boss continued. “The local man attributed it to a witch. Not in the folkloric sense we’d dismiss outright, but as a shorthand for something that understands human behavior intimately.”
Khalid frowned. “So not a force of nature.”
“No.”
“Not a roaming tear in reality,” Lena added.
“No.”
Li spoke carefully.
“An operator.”
The word settled heavily.
“Yes,” the boss said. “An operator using the anomaly as a mechanism.”
Gorchov let out a low chuckle.
“That’s much worse.”
Lena crossed her arms.
“Or much better. At least then it’s not random.”
“Random things don’t learn,” Gorchov replied.
Li nodded. “The wards weren’t overwhelmed. They were expended. That suggests calibration.”
“And restraint,” Khalid added. “Which implies intent.”
The boss looked between them.
“This reframes everything.”
Lena exhaled slowly.
“So the anomaly isn’t the predator.”
“No,” the boss said. “It’s the environment.”
“And the predator is,” Khalid prompted.
“Someone who knows how to hunt without being seen,” the boss finished.
Gorchov leaned forward slightly.
“You’re saying this thing knows the rules well enough to bend them. To make people isolate themselves. To make them panic.”
“Yes.”
“And to stop just short of outright violation,” Li added. “Enough to stay beneath thresholds that would trigger… reactions.”
Gorchov’s eyes gleamed. “Clever.”
Lena bristled. “Don’t admire it.”
“I admire competence,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean I approve.”
Khalid ran a hand over his face. “So what’s the play here? Because if there’s an intelligence behind this, all our assumptions change.”
“They already have,” the boss said. “That’s why I woke you.”
Li glanced down at his tablet. “This explains the inconsistency in reports. Why some people make it to doors and others don’t.”
“Selection,” Lena said. “Not chance.”
“Yes,” the boss replied. “The man believed doors mattered. Thresholds. Places where expectation shifts.”
“Which aligns with ward behavior,” Li said. “They don’t block force. They enforce definition.”
Gorchov straightened. “So whoever this is doesn’t brute-force outcomes. They engineer them.”
Lena looked sick. “They pressure people until they fail themselves.”
“Or succeed,” Khalid said quietly. “And survive to spread fear.”
The boss nodded. “Fear modifies behavior. The city empties faster at night. People isolate themselves.”
“Making them easier targets,” Lena finished.
Gorchov laughed softly. “Elegant.”
She snapped her head toward him. “Enough.”
He held up his hands. “Fine. But tell me I’m wrong.”
No one did.
Li spoke again. “If there’s an intelligence coordinating this, then waiting passively is no longer viable.”
“Agreed,” the boss said.
“But,” Khalid added, “charging in isn’t either.”
“Also agreed.”
Lena looked between them. “So what are we doing?”
The boss drew a breath. “We stop treating the anomaly as the threat.”
“And start treating it as infrastructure,” Li said.
“Yes.”
Gorchov’s smile returned, sharper now. “Which means the real target is whoever’s using it.”
“Careful,” Lena warned. “That’s a huge assumption.”
“It’s a logical one,” Gorchov replied. “Tools don’t get offended. Operators do.”
The boss raised a hand, halting the exchange. “We don’t act yet.”
A collective groan nearly filled the room.
“We act smarter,” he continued. “We gather confirmation. We look for signatures of decision-making, not manifestation.”
Li nodded. “Behavioral traps.”
“Yes.”
Khalid frowned. “And if the operator notices us doing that?”
“They already have,” Gorchov said calmly. “They let a man reach our door.”
That chilled the room.
“They wanted to see who would answer,” Lena said.
“Yes,” the boss agreed. “And now they know.”
Silence settled again, heavier this time, but focused.
“We’re no longer just reacting,” the boss said. “We’re being tested.”
Gorchov cracked his neck. “Good.”
Lena glared at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
He met her gaze without flinching. “I’m enjoying clarity.”
Li folded his arms. “If this is a witch- or something analogous, then it thrives on subtlety.”
“And patience,” Khalid added.
The boss nodded. “Which means we take that away.”
“How?” Lena asked.
“We make ourselves predictable,” the boss said.
“Visible. Boring.”
Gorchov scoffed. “That’s insulting.”
“It’s also bait,” the boss replied.
That shut him up.
Lena slowly smiled.
“You want it to underestimate us.”
“Yes.”
“And when it moves openly?”
Khalid asked.
The boss’s eyes hardened.
“Then we stop pretending this is an accident.”
They stood there, the shape of the conflict finally emerging, not a storm to weather, not a beast to cage, but a mind to corner.
Somewhere in the city, someone else was watching patterns too.
And for the first time since arriving in Nepal, the boss felt certain of one thing:
They were no longer alone in the dark.
