Chapter Four | A Name in the Fog

The letter stayed beneath her pillow for three nights.

Not because she was afraid—though she was, a little—but because something about it felt unfinished. Like the ink hadn’t yet dried, or the message hadn’t fully arrived. She couldn’t explain it. Mothwick didn’t seem to ask for explanations.

By the fourth morning, the fog had thickened.
The kind that clings to your sleeves and doesn’t burn off by noon.

She wore it like a coat as she made her way through town.

The museum was closed.
The square was quiet.
And the bell tower? Silent as stone.

But on the path behind the library—the one that led to the old greenhouse—she saw him.

Red scarf.
Same soft eyes.
But clearer now. Solid.

He didn’t vanish this time.

They stood several feet apart, the mist curled around them like breath.

Emery said the only thing she could think to say.

“Are you Leo?”

He didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.
But his smile deepened, like he’d been waiting for the question.

Then he lifted his hand—slowly—and pointed.

Not at her.
Not behind her.
But down.

To the edge of the path, where a patch of moss had been disturbed.

She knelt, brushing away leaves and wet earth until her fingers hit stone.

A plaque.

Weatherworn and mostly illegible—
But one word remained:

Remember.

She looked up.

He was gone.

But the red scarf remained, draped gently across a branch as if left behind on purpose.

That night, Emery lit every candle in her house.
She placed the scarf across the back of her chair and read the letter again.

And then, with trembling fingers, she picked up a pen and wrote:

Leo,
I think I see you now. If there’s more, I’m listening.
E