Page 9 of The Alien in the Archive

The glow lamps along the plaza cast soft, shifting colors over the stone pathways, their light blending with the alien architecture around us. Students and scholars weave throughthe space in clusters, their conversations mixing into a low hum. The air smells faintly of something sweet—spiced mead, maybe, or one of the sugary desserts I haven’t dared try yet.

“There’s this great Mlok street vendor on the way home, stays open late,” he says. “We can grab some food, wander the markets…maybe meet up with a few friends?—”

I shake my head, already thinking about my work. “I can’t, Riley. I’ll get dinner with you, but I’m so close to figuring this out. If I could just find one more connection?—”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks, and I know for a fact it doesn’t happen that fast.” His tone is gentler now, and he slows us down so he can look me in the eye. “I watched you go through your dissertation. I know what burnout looks like. You can’t solve the mysteries of the universe if you collapse from exhaustion first.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, stiffening.

“You’renot.You’re obsessed. And you’ve been spending so much time with the shadows that you’re starting to look like one yourself.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Riley’s trying to help, in his own way, and I know he’s right. He knows me better than anyone; we grew up together, went through the harsh discipline of Catholic school together, stood up with each other when we didn’t have any other family.

But I want to solve this.

It’s not just ambition—it’s a need, an ache that’s been gnawing at me ever since I first discovered the fragments about Elixir back on Earth. I feel like the answers areclose, just out of reach. If I could stretch far enough, dig deep enough, maybe I’d finally…

As if on cue, all the voices around me erupt.

Not aloud—inside my head.

The hum of thought bubbles in my mind like static, risingtoo quickly for me to shove it down. Snippets of words, emotions, half-formed sentences from the crowd around us: someone fretting over an exam, another wondering what they’ll eat for breakfast tomorrow, someone else…dreaming. It’s like standing in the middle of a crowd that’s shouting, but I’m the only one who can hear. I close my eyes, trying to drown them out, focusing on Riley’s voice instead.

“Page,” Riley is saying, reaching out and touching my shoulder, “I’m really worried about you. Is it the headaches again?”

I open my eyes and chew on my lip, debating whether I should tell him. Nobody else knows about my powers. I’ve been writing this off as headaches, but Riley will only believe me for so long.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just a little headache.”

“You should really go and visit the hospital,” he says. “I’m sure they’ve got some kind of medicine for migraines.”

“Nah.” I smile. “I think I just need something to eat.”

Riley grins, clearly pleased with my answer. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s go get you some real food.”

He tightens his arm around me, steering me toward the markets at the edge of the plaza. The library’s glow fades behind us, replaced by the lively chatter and clinking sounds of Mythara at night. Even at this hour, the streets are buzzing with life—students, scholars, and travelers crowding the stalls, voices overlapping in hundreds of languages.

The glow lamps lining the streets are multicolored here, their light mingling with the neon hues of signage and flickering displays. Merchants call out to us, but Riley obviously has just one thing on his mind.

“I thought you were pissed at the Mlok,” I chuckle. “Something about their tails…?”

“Hey—even if they’re cranky, they make some great food,” Riley says.

He pulls me up to a small stall, a Mlok vendor behind it as she cooks something on a stone grill. Her scales gleam faintly under the light, a deep emerald green with hints of gold. The frill around her neck flutters slightly as she turns the skewers over the fire. She looks up with reptilian eyes, tongue darting out as if she wants a taste.

It brings a memory back—a memory of a hungry shadow.

“You’re going to love this,” Riley is saying. “Two spicy skewers, please.”

The Mlok vendor lets out a low growl of acknowledgment, sharp teeth flashing as she turns the skewers over the fire. Riley leans on the counter, grinning like he’s made the greatest discovery of all time.

I shake my head, resisting a smile. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be here to study, you spend a lot of time eating your way through the market.”

The Mlok puts out two clawed hands, and we each take a skewer.

“It’s called cultural immersion,” Riley says. “You should try it sometime. Live a little, fall in love…”

I roll my eyes, but I take a bite of the skewer, the smoky flavor filling my mouth. It’s…actually fantastic. Riley was right.

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