As they walked toward the entrance, a tall figure stepped into view near the front steps—a mop of unruly blonde hair. He stood with easy confidence, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket, his stance relaxed but watchful.

Korban’s face lit up. “Hey, Levin!”

Levin’s face broke into a warm grin. “Long time no see.”

They pulled each other into a tight hug—brief but full of unspoken memories. When they stepped back, the air between them still crackled with familiarity.

“Levin, this is Sylvie,” Korban said, gesturing.

Levin turned to her, offering a charming smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Sylvie smiled back. “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Levin arched an eyebrow. “All good, I hope?”

Sylvie’s grin widened. “I heard you saved Homecoming and ran over a bunch of monsters in your Cadillac.”

Levin chuckled, shaking his head. “First off—Korban wasn’t even there, so don’t believe half the stuff he says. And second, it was a black muscle car. Not a Cadillac. Totally different beast.”

Sylvie laughed. “Duly noted.”

“Anyway,” Levin said, stepping toward the door, “come on. Everybody else is already inside.”

The library was cool and quiet as they stepped through the doors, the scent of old paper and worn leather lingering in the air. Sunlight filtered in through the high arched windows, casting dappled light across shelves lined with aging books and the occasional rustle of turning pages.

Near the back, several figures milled about—some seated with notebooks open, others standing by stacks of reference materials. The quiet hum of conversation floated through the air.

Levin raised his voice just slightly. “Hey, everybody. Look who I found.”

Heads turned. Smiling faces emerged from behind laptops and book spines. They looked toward Sylvie—curious, welcoming, and quietly measuring.

Korban gently guided Sylvie through the rows of books toward a corner table where a woman sat alone, typing rapidly on a sleek silver laptop. She looked effortlessly striking—shoulder-length black hair framing a sharp, expressive face. She wore a crisp white T-shirt tucked into form-fitting blue jeans, over which was layered a deep red bomber jacket. A silver pendant glinted at her neck, and her boots—worn but stylish—tapped lightly beneath the table.

Just as they neared, she closed the laptop with a soft snap and looked up.

Her eyes twinkled. “Well, well, well. Look what the forces of darkness dragged in.”

Korban smiled. “Ava, this is Sylvie—the one I told you about. Sylvie, meet Ava—Riverwood’s very own master of all things spooky.”

Ava tilted her head, offering Sylvie a slow, theatrical grin. “I should put that on my LinkedIn. Maybe under ‘Witchcraft & Emergency Consulting.’”

Korban leaned forward, his tone low and serious. “We’re caught up in something weird. Really weird. And we could use some intel on the occult side of things. Think you can help?”

Ava raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling into a smirk. “You’ve come to the right place, darling.”

Her fingers drummed lightly against the table as Sylvie jumped in, her voice tense. “Do you know anything about the cultists who murdered Nathan?”

Ava’s smirk faded slightly as she frowned in thought. “Mmm... Not much. My files on active cults are... well, zipped up tighter than a mummy in lockdown. Unless you count Vacation Bible School singalongs—that’s as close to a cult as I’ve gotten lately.”

Korban gave a short, humorless laugh. “Okay... any other suggestions?”

Without missing a beat, Ava said, “Kershaw Secret Agent. Concealable boot knife. Twenty bucks on Amazon. Sharp enough to make a demon cry.”

Sylvie blinked. “...Right. Thanks.”

Then her voice dropped, serious again. “Last night, I was attacked. It wasn’t human. It was... something else.”

Ava’s eyes widened like a kid in a candy store. “Cool!”

Korban shot her a look. “Ava. It tried to eat us.”

Ava held up her hands innocently. “Hey, I stand by my comment. Horrifying? Sure. But cool? Absolutely.”

Sylvie managed a weak smile, then asked, “So what do you think we’re dealing with?”

Ava sat forward, her tone shifting as she slipped into analytical mode. “If the basic principles are in play... I’d say what attacked you sounds like some kind of minion. Not the main show, but a foot soldier. Something sent to test the waters. See how much fear it can stir up.”

Korban and Sylvie exchanged glances and nodded, confirming her assumption.

Sylvie’s voice was quieter when she spoke again. “There was another one. At the lake. It... dragged Jason under. I couldn’t stop it. It was... skeletal. But also not.”

Ava’s eyes lit up again with intellectual hunger. “Wait—back up. Skeletal or specter?”

Sylvie hesitated. “Both. Kind of. It had bones but... something wispy, too. Faint. Not solid. But not transparent either.”

Ava leaned in closer, fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Could you see any muscle mass? Blood? And, on a scale from one to ten—how viscous would you say its fluids were?”

Korban stared at her. “How... is that even relevant?”

Ava shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s probably not. I just like gory details. Helps me paint a picture. But honestly? Sounds pretty open and shut. You’re definitely dealing with a person. Or at least... something that used to be one.”

Korban’s brows pulled together. “So like Dylan? Some kind of ghost?”

Ava tapped her chin. “Dylan, yeah... but no, ghost isn’t the word I’d use. You’re looking at a wraith. That’s different. A ghost is a leftover—like a record stuck on repeat. A wraith is twisted. There's corruption involved. Pain. Anger. It's like a ghost that got chewed up and spat back out by something darker.”

Sylvie’s breath hitched slightly. “And what would make it turn into that?”

Ava shrugged with a dramatic flair. “How should I know? Did either of you dig up any graves lately? Steal a cursed tiki head? Desecrate an ancient burial ground during your summer vacation?”

Korban scowled. “For now, that’s a solid no.”

Ava grinned. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. “Thanks, Ava. Really.”

She gave them a cheeky salute. “Expect my bill delivered by raven at the next full moon. Payment in silver or artisanal coffee only.”

The soft hum of the microfilm machine filled the quiet back corner of the Riverwood Library. Faint lamplight spilled over rows of old equipment and dusty shelves, casting golden halos on faded linoleum.

Korban and Sylvie got up from their table and started walking toward the corner, their footsteps muted by the worn carpet. They stepped closer to a sleek, focused young woman seated at the console, her eyes scanning the flickering black-and-white articles on the screen with surgical precision.

She wore a rich purple dress that brought out the warmth in her deep brown skin, and a silver pendant dangled from her neck—shaped like an antique key. Her dark curls were tucked into a loose braid over one shoulder, and a stack of notebooks and a DSLR camera lay nearby.

Without looking up, she raised one hand. “Just one sec. I’m mid-research. Writing a piece on how microfilm machines are basically prehistoric to anyone under thirty.”

With a final tap on the console, she leaned back, turning to face them with an easy smile and stood. “I’m Kimmy.”

Sylvie stepped forward, returning the smile and shaking her hand. “Sylvie. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Korban grinned. “Kimmy’s hella smart. She’s majoring in journalism and runs video content for the Riverwood Gazette’s website. She’s basically our Lois Lane.”

Kimmy chuckled and waved him off. “He’s overselling it. I mostly do fluffy stuff. ‘Top 5 Creepiest Places in Riverwood’ kind of things. Clickbait for the haunted crowd.” She turned to Sylvie, suddenly more focused. “But Korban’s text said something about disappearances?”

The mood sobered as Sylvie and Korban filled her in—Sunshine Grove, the missing teens, Nathan’s murder, and the grotesque creature Sylvie had faced. Kimmy listened intently, her brow furrowed, occasionally scribbling in a battered notepad. She didn’t interrupt once.

When they were done, she leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled. “Alright... That’s definitely a new story. I’m not sure how much help I can be, but these cultists? They sound... interesting.” She tilted her head. “What’s Sunshine Grove like, exactly?”

Sylvie took a breath. “It’s remote. Wealthy. Built around excess, kind of. There’s basically nothing around except a yacht club, golf courses, maybe a spa. A lot of fences. A lot of silence.”

Kimmy tapped her pen against her notebook. “So... sort of isolating. For the people who live there.”

Korban crossed his arms. “Yeah. Unless you’ve got a mansion and a helicopter, it’s a lonely place.”

Kimmy nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing as her journalist instincts took over. “See, here’s the thing about cults. Everyone assumes they’re all wild-eyed weirdos in robes drinking the Kool-Aid. But that’s not always it. Sometimes, they’re just... well-organized. They’re like a gang. Or a pyramid scheme with candles.”

Sylvie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“There’s always a structure,” Kimmy said. “A hierarchy. A core group of people who have real power, real control. Everyone else is just orbiting them, hoping to get closer to whatever it is they’re selling—power, salvation, influence.”

Sylvie leaned in. “So what does that mean for us?”

“It means,” Kimmy said, her voice quiet but intense, “you shouldn’t just be asking who is in the cult. You should be asking who’s running it. What do they want? What do they need to get it? What lets them control others? And most important...” Her eyes locked on Sylvie’s. “What does ‘power’ mean in Sunshine Grove? Where does it come from?”

For a moment, there was silence.

Sylvie felt a cold shiver ripple through her. “That’s... a lot to think about,” she said quietly.

Korban nodded toward Kimmy, half-smiling. “Told you she was smart.”

Kimmy shrugged, closing her notebook with a soft snap. “If you find anything else, let me know. I like stories that don’t fit in neat little boxes.”

As they stepped away from the machine and into the maze of shadows and shelves once more, Sylvie couldn’t shake Kimmy’s words. What does power mean, and where does it come from...?

It was a question that might hold the key to everything.

Sylvie and Korban started heading toward the far end of the library—where shelves were lined with thick medical journals and old self-help books. Tucked near the corner, beneath a dusty skylight, sat a tall, thin young man hunched over a sprawling atlas. He looked up as they approached, blinking behind narrow glasses, his face lit by the dim yellow glow of the overhead lamp.

Korban grinned. “Sylvie, this is Leo. The smartest person I know. He’s gonna help stop global warming someday.”

Leo exhaled with exaggerated weariness. “I’m majoring in Environmental Science and Policy, not saving the world. And my focus is groundwater acidification, not climate change.”

Sylvie extended a hand, amused. “That actually sounds really interesting.”

Leo perked up instantly. He removed his glasses and began polishing them with the hem of his flannel shirt, eyes sparkling. “It is! Most people think global warming is the only anthropogenic environmental issue worth worrying about, but that’s not even close to true. You know what the biggest threat to wetland wildlife is right now? Nitrates. From industrial farming! All those little—”

He caught himself mid-rant, his expression faltering. “Wait... you were just being polite, weren’t you?”

Sylvie gave a sheepish shrug, lips curling into a smile. “Kind of.”

Leo chuckled, sliding his glasses back on. “Sorry. I get carried away. Occupational hazard of being obsessed with swamp mud and phosphate runoff.”

Then, without warning, his tone shifted. Serious, grounded. “But really—what’s going on, Korban? Your message said something happened. Something... connected to before.”

Korban and Sylvie exchanged a glance. Then, slowly, they began to recount everything—Sunshine Grove, the strange disappearances, the creeping fog, and the monstrous creature that had nearly killed them the night before. Leo listened in silence, one hand gripping the edge of the table, knuckles pale.

When they finished, Leo’s brow furrowed, and he sat back in his chair, clearly unsettled. “You think... that monster somehow made its way from Riverwood to Sunshine Grove? Did you see where it came from?”

Sylvie shook her head. “No. It was too foggy. I could barely see the trees around me.”

Korban added, “Fog’s a nightmare out there. Half the time you can’t see ten feet ahead. People keep crashing their golf carts into the dam.”

Leo blinked. “Wait—you have a dam?”

“Yeah,” Korban said, surprised at the urgency in his tone. “Been there for a few decades, I guess. Why?”

Leo leaned forward, voice sharp now. “Because that means the lake is artificial. It wasn’t always a lake. Someone made it. Flooded the land.”

Sylvie’s eyes widened. “You think that has something to do with what’s happening?”

“I’d bet money on it,” Leo said. “We’ve already seen that this... force, or whatever it is, is tied to places. Places where something dark lingers. Places people try to bury. And what better way to bury something than with an entire manmade lake?”

Korban’s voice dropped. “We’ll find their bodies willy-nilly…”

Sylvie frowned. “But... Jason didn’t build a dam. He was just some guy. Why would he, or Nathan’s wife, or even us, be targets?”

Leo shook his head. “I don’t know. But if the land was changed—flooded, reshaped, silenced—then maybe something was disturbed. Or maybe it was sealed… and now that seal is weakening.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the possibilities pressing down like the air before a storm.

Leo finally stood, closing the atlas gently. “If you want answers, start with the history. The dam. The lake. The town. Who built what, and why. Somewhere in there, you’ll find what’s feeding the thing that came after you.”

Sylvie nodded, her voice steady. “That’s solid advice. Thanks, Leo.”

He gave her a quiet smile, not without concern. “Happy to help. Just... be careful. You’re not just dealing with stories anymore. You’re dealing with what people tried to forget.”