Brendan tried not to look at the guy sitting five rows behind him on the bus. He was sure it was the same guy. He had done this kind of thing before, when he was still at Carleton. Well not directly. He had been behind the scenes, directing them where they might go. They were usually from the packs, had never been in the big smokes before, completely overwhelmed by the sounds of the city. They weren't meant to do much. Just scare people a little, let them know someone out there was watching them. It was not the best look. But it was cost-effective and it worked, so there was not much he could do about it.

He couldn't remember the last time he had caught a bus into the city. "Who catches a bus into the city?" was a common joke at open mics in Corviston, or at least what passed as a joke in a country where German backpackers cut their teeth on the stand-up circuit. It was not dissimilar to some of the stuff he had done to stave off boredom during high school. It was slow, but he got a window seat.

The bus, a rather anemic Volvo B7R, wheezed up the final grade to the station. He looked through the reflection on the gently rattling window. He was still there. This was giving the vibes of the last time he had been this paranoid, just after he had dropped out. He forced himself to calm down. He assured himself that he would be able to look at this calmly and evenly.

The bus pulled into the concrete bowels of the interchange at Central. He got off. He disappeared into the throng of commuters heading into the station. The guy was following him, for sure. He felt certain of it now. It didn't concern him. He could shake him off. It was not that difficult.

He passed the ticket gates for the train platforms. announcements going off, people crowded in front of him. The tram terminal was all the way down the corridor. And before that, the entry into the complex of shops and other spaces under the centre of the city.

He cast a glance behind him. There was the guy. he hadn't been able to get a good look at him on the bus but now he was certain that it was the same person. He forced himself to remain calm, to show absolutely no sign that he knew he was being followed.

*** 

Brendan walked through the labyrinth of underground passages surrounding Central. The smell of diesel exhaust from the bus terminal still lingered, but was dissipating by the second.

He wound deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city. He passed the moon temple. workers were praying, lit up in surreal brightness. The scratched plexiglass gave it an ethereal quality. Next to it was a Chinese restaurant, tanks of fish, lobsters and crabs lining the front. One of the lobsters looked like it was on its last legs.

As he rounded yet another tiled corner he realised this was getting ridiculous. He couldn't live his life like this. It had been like this under Beidzner's spell, continually on the watchout for a vaguely defined enemy, constantly looking behind his back, in all directions, constantly on guard. He had gotten to a point where he could not stand any more then, and he was trying not to repeat history now. Nowadays he knew himself better, knew his limits. He could not continue like this. This had to end here.

He had originally intended to catch the train from here and shake the guy off, but he had changed his mind. The 5:04 express could wait. He had some unfinished business to sort out. He was aware this could backfire. The guy could just walk away and not talk to him, and there was nothing he could do about that. 

He found the cafe after a few orbits. It was tiny, just a few tables outside a narrow shopfront. Only artificial light permeated here. There were no signs outside, and that was how the owners liked it, apparently. Someone had shown it to him before. One of his classmates had mentioned there was a good coffee place here. Not being the biggest fan of coffee, Brendan had never really had a use for that particular tidbit of information until now.

It was perfect. Not too posh so that either of them would be out of place. And out of the way, so that they would be unlikely to be disturbed. He found a seat near the entrance and waited for the inevitable to happen.

A few minutes later the guy turned up. It was a lot faster than he had expected. He was good. He walked around the block once to check the place out, then he walked to the table and sat down opposite Brendan. They sat in silence for a moment.

Now he saw him up close for the first time. He had two-day old stubble, and his hands were callused. He was younger than what Brendan had first guessed.

A waiter came up to them. They were the only patrons, except for an old man sitting behind an unfolded newspaper.

He only ordered a water. He did not order anything else. Brendan ordered a coffee. He had no idea what had come over him. He would normally never do such a thing.

"I was told to try and find you by my alpha," the other person began.

"Usually you guys get sent for a totally different purpose." He extended his hand.

He shook it. The handshake was dry, firm. "I was told you might be on our side."

His ears perked up. The feeling of being surrounded by artificial light in what was supposed to be daylight was making Brendan uneasy.

"How do you know that?" There were more questions he wanted to ask, but this was the one he was going with first.

We saw you while we were on stakeout at the marsh. I was asked to track you down. You were already on our radar. One of our people-"

"Graydon," Brendan guessed. He knew immediately from the reaction across the table that he was right.

He nodded. "He's our man on the inside. We originally had him working in the state school system, but after we worked out George was working with Carleton we moved him in. He actually got in on the recommendation of Beidzner. He was one of his high school teachers."

"I heard he's on long service leave," he said.

"We believe he's in the country," he stated simply. "We got hold of his phone records. pings in the Wythaven area, mostly. He's working on something there."

How did you get that?" Brendan examined the tall figure sitting opposite him. He doubted he was much older that he was, but he looked so much older. His skin was pockmarked with the remnants of old acne and exposure to the wind, His clothes were cheap and ill-fitting, and the uneven stubble on his chin further accentuated the skeevy look. His eyes were dark, shifty, furtive. He tried to imagine his life. Where had he gone to school? What was he childhood like? What had he seen with those eyes? He had no idea of the workings of the packs. The Independent Territories may have only been a few hours' drive away at the closest checkpoint, but it may as well have had been another planet.

"I have my sources."

"What do you do normally?" Brendan could sense the gaze of the shopkeeper. He looked at his hands. Callused.

"Me? I work as a labourer on construction sites. Casual. Come and go. Keep my ears peeled. Send money back to my mate and child at home. Sometimes my pack asks me to do some favours on my off days. Like today."

"Not a fan of Alpha George. I gather."

"Believe me, he's not exactly well liked in our little corner."

"I've heard the stories," Brendan said, sympathetically.

Our pack territory is next to his," he said. "Well, not strictly. He owns a mine that borders it. We've been documenting the pollution for ages. We can't do anything about it, because it's coming from his side. One of his many properties. He doesn't care about them. They are just assets to him. No point bringing to the courts. He'll just lawyer his way out of it. And it's not just the mine. He buys toxic waste from other alphas and from companies here, and he dumps it. Everything he touches withers and dies."

"What is your opinion on the new thing?"

"We can't stop what's going on in our pack. Our rivers are already polluted. And he wants to open a mine on our turf. He's wanted to do it for a decade now. He will operate it, and we will get a cut of the profits. We said no. But he will get his way. He had too much power and influence. But we can stop this. If we can stop this, maybe it'll set a precedent. Maybe he'll back down." 

***

The arts centre was one of the newer additions to the school, a sweeping curve of roofline at the edge of the Carleton grounds. The studio was a big open-plan space which took up most of the floorplan, with walls covered in artworks and tables liberally marked with paint and pencil leads and marker ink.

It was after school. The studio was empty, with only the faint hum of the air conditioner to keep Adrian company. Away on the oval there were sounds of screaming, but here all was quiet. He was cleaning up after a class. Usually this was not his job, but today there was more mess than usual.

The exhibition was coming up soon. His job was to pick who would be exhibiting their works, and the shortlist was due in a few days. He had still not even started. And the selection was just the tip of the iceberg. He would have to arrange transport, write a speech, do a bunch of stuff he did not usually have to do. It was the main event of the year for the visual arts faculty and it was rightfully well endowed: most of the school went and this year it would be held at the Society of Contemporary Art Museum. The same place that the Crescent City event had been held.

Sometimes he lost track of the fact that it was just a school. For the first time in his life he actually felt personally invested in the things he was doing, rather than another pencil-pushing assignment. He cared about these kids.

His thoughts turned to the imminent trip up to Wythaven he would have to make with Brendan. He realised this would be the perfect opportunity to bring up what he had been keeping from him all this time. He had already begun planning.

Someone was walking through the open door. He assumed it was bloody Halberstam, asking about something to do with the exhibition.

it was not Halberstam. It was Oscar. He assumed he had left something behind. Or maybe he was going to talk to him about the project. It was this massive canvas, covered with a weird abstract landscape painting. Adrian could not admit it yet, but he was considering it for the exhibition. As one of the main exhibits.

He soundlessly collected his things. Adrian guessed he had other things on his mind. "I just wanted to talk to you about something...."

"Shoot."

He was looking out the window. Any which way but towards his teacher.

"Actually, I'm running late. Never mind."

"Can we talk about it tomorrow after class, maybe?" Adrian suggested. "It sounds important."

"I need to go." Oscar's tone of voice had changed. "I might not be in class tomorrow."

"OK." Adrian decided not to press the issue. If he didn't want to talk, there was really nothing good that would come out of forcing him to speak.

As he locked the classroom door and headed for his car, the sky was overcast, heavy, grey, threatening rain. The spectre of the hills hung in the distance, unfouled by cloud or fog, their aura crystal clear.