Erebus arrives at work the same way he always does—

  on time, unnoticed, carrying nothing that suggests change.

  Archive Tech occupies a quiet building on the edge of the city.

  Glass walls, metal frames, and hallways that smell faintly of dust and recycled air.

  A place built to store things no one wants to think about anymore.

  He greets the familiar faces.

  Harry is already talking, laughing at something only he finds funny.

  Tom responds with a grin, adding his own joke before anyone asks.

  Kamry shakes his head, pretending to be annoyed, though a faint smile betrays him.

  Yusuf, the manager, stands near the entrance, calm as ever, greeting everyone with the same steady tone.

  Routine.

  Erebus sits at his desk.

  Lucas is already there, quiet and focused, reviewing files with careful attention.

  They work side by side.

  No dramatic conversations.

  No confessions.

  Just shared silence, occasionally broken by brief comments about mislabeled records or missing entries.

  After a while, Lucas speaks, his voice low.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Have you ever noticed," he says,

  "that people trust systems more than they trust people?"

  Erebus doesn't look up.

  "Systems don't argue," he replies quietly,

  his tone calm, carrying a sadness that has nothing to do with the question.

  Lucas nods slowly.

  "Maybe because systems don't leave you," he adds.

  "People do."

  He doesn't explain further.

  But Erebus understands that the question wasn't philosophical—

  it was personal.

  They continue working.

  Rows of digital records scroll past their screens—

  names, dates, scanned documents.

  Entire lives reduced to organized data.

  Then the lights flicker.

  Once.

  Twice.

  And go out.

  The room fills with surprised voices.

  Seconds later, dim emergency lights glow above them.

  Tom exhales loudly.

  "Of course," he says. "Right when I was almost done."

  Harry laughs and looks at Kamry.

  "Looks like you really supported the servers today."

  A few people smile lightly.

  Kamry doesn't respond.

  Minutes pass.

  The power returns.

  Computers reboot.

  And something changes.

  Kamry stares at his screen.

  "...Guys?"

  Yusuf approaches, calm but attentive.

  "What's wrong?"

  "The files," Kamry says slowly. "They're gone."

  Not deleted—

  reset.

  All temporary data wiped clean.

  Yusuf checks another terminal, then another.

  "I'll call maintenance and IT," he says.

  No anger.

  No panic.

  Just acceptance.

  "You'll need to redo the work," he adds. "I'm sorry. We'll compensate the overtime."

  A wave of quiet frustration moves through the room.

  Harry mutters under his breath.

  Tom stretches his arms and sighs.

  Lucas says nothing.

  Erebus notices his stillness.

  They work late into the evening.

  The building empties.

  The air grows heavier.

  At one point, Lucas leans back and rubs his eyes.

  "Strange day," he says.

  Erebus nods.

  "It feels like something slipped," Lucas continues.

  "Not the files... something else."

  Erebus looks at him.

  Lucas hesitates, then smiles faintly.

  "Never mind. Just tired."

  They leave when the night has fully settled.

  No ceremony.

  No promises.

  At home, Erebus sits alone.

  The day replays in fragments:

  the blackout,

  the erased records,

  Lucas's voice.

  His eyes drift to the paper on the table again.

  The warning.

  And the symbol beneath it.

  影 九?十五

  He searches for it.

  Japanese characters.

  Shadow.

  A number.

  A date, perhaps.

  The explanations don't align.

  History.

  Language.

  Symbolism.

  Nothing solid.

  He closes the screen.

  The meaning can wait.

  He lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  That realization unsettles him more than the blackout ever did.

  Normal, he thinks,

  should not feel this fragile.