Tsar spent three hours counting motorbikes from the Islington Street bridge. A cool October wind made him shiver as the last rays of sunshine turned his shadow from that of a man to a nightmarish stretch.

The dreams hadn’t stopped for the past two weeks. His heavy lidded eyes betrayed a lack of sleep that PhD grads would be impressed by. A litter of coffee cups sat at his feet like eager puppies. The perch he nestled in was one of the last secrets his brother, Griffin, told him about before last years equinox.

The people below on the street moved like they were swimming through chowder. A fog had taken hold of the night and showed little signs of letting go. Tsar’ shiver had little to do with the wind as the fog continued to roll in. He’d need more than coffee to get through this night. He pulled out a bundle of scented sticks wrapped together in glyph-inscribed cloth. Power trickled off of it. His palms buzzed as he centered himself.

A whispered prayer hardly broke sound as his mind cleared. He could feel the approaching shapes swim through the clouds. So, that’s how it was going to be, he thought. High disguise and shitty weather tricks.