The manager's office smelled faintly of dust and paper, a place of order where decisions were sealed with the press of a pen or the tone of a single voice. Ethan sat rigidly in the chair across from the desk, his jaw tense, his hands resting stiff against his thighs.
The manager leaned back, his face hard and deliberate, like stone weathered by years of dealing with men who thought they deserved more than they'd been given.
"Ethan," he said, voice cold, "your time here is done. I've decided to relieve you of your duties, effective today. You've only been here six months, and in that time your name has stirred too much trouble. We can't keep you on."
The words pressed against Ethan's ribs, stealing the air from him. He sat there for a moment, silent, then leaned forward, his voice steady but edged with heat. "You can't do this. I've worked hard. I've shown up every day, carried more than my share, and made sure this place ran smooth. This isn't just unfair it's wrong. This is wrongful termination."
The manager's expression did not shift. "Wrongful?" He gave a short, humorless laugh. "What's wrong is how your presence has cast a shadow over this depot. You think all we do here is move crates and keep time? Reputation matters. Stability matters. Your name has become neither."
"I've done my job," Ethan shot back, voice rising. "Better than most here. You know that."
"You've done the labor," the manager said firmly, "but leadership is not just about labor. It's about being someone the rest can look to without question. And right now? You are all questions. You've become a liability, Ethan."
Ethan's hands curled into fists. His throat tightened, but he forced the words out. "This isn't about the work, then. It's about gossip. About rumors."
"It's about perception," the manager corrected coldly. "And perception is reality in this village. You were supposed to be an example. Instead, you've become the caution we point to."
For a long moment, Ethan stared at him, the weight of the decision pressing down. He wanted to argue further, to call the man a coward for bowing to whispers instead of truth, but he saw in the manager's eyes that nothing would change. The decision was sealed.
He rose slowly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. His eyes lingered on the man across from him. "You're making a mistake," he said quietly, his voice sharp as glass. "Not just about me about yourself. About this place. One day, you'll see it."
But the manager only folded his hands tighter, unmoved.
Ethan turned and left, the door shutting hard behind him.
The town, the entire street outside seemed sharper, louder. Every sound the creak of a wheel, the murmur of voices, the clang of a distant hammer pressed in on him.
He walked with no destination, his boots striking against the cobblestone. The day had never felt so long, nor the air so heavy.
Halfway down Alder Street, a boy burst from a doorway and nearly ran straight into him. Ethan steadied the child with one hand. The boy had a wide-brimmed hat nearly swallowing his head, a canvas bag so big it dragged at his shoulders, and little tools clinking at his belt.
"Sorry, mister!" the boy said quickly, his grin spreading as if nothing could truly bother him. "I'm on an adventure today."
That word caught Ethan off guard. He frowned faintly. "Adventure?"
The boy adjusted his bag straps and puffed out his chest. "I'm going to my grandpa's shed in the woods. I'm gonna find tiny people fairies, maybe or magical creatures. Nobody believes me, but I know they're out there." His eyes shone with pure conviction.
Ethan tilted his head, curiosity breaking through his gloom. "You think they'll show themselves to you?"
"Of course," the boy said proudly. He tugged out a wrinkled scrap of paper with messy drawings of trees and little circles. "See? That's my map. It shows exactly where they'll be."
For the first time since stepping out of the depot, something almost like a smile tugged at Ethan's mouth. "Seems you're well prepared."
"Yep! And when I find them, I'll tell you first." The boy's words carried no hesitation, no doubt. He swung his bag around and jogged off, calling back, "Wish me luck!"
Ethan stood there a moment longer, watching the child's eager stride vanish down the lane. The warmth that lingered in his chest was faint, fleeting, but it was there a spark against the day's weight.
He moved on, following streets his feet knew better than his thoughts. By late afternoon, he reached Hana's shop. He hadn't meant to, but there it stood before him, the little bell above the door waiting. Through the window, Hana bent over her work, arranging bundles of herbs with practiced care. Her movements were precise, almost too precise. Ethan lingered, his hand hovering at the door handle, but he couldn't bring himself to enter. The space between them was too wide, too heavy. He turned away.
On the next corner, he saw Mira walking with Avery beside her. Avery's expression was shadowed with sadness, but when she lifted her gaze, the sharpness that once lingered there had softened. She raised a small hand in greeting.
Ethan slowed. Mira's warm smile met him first, steady and without judgment. "You've had a hard day."
He exhaled, voice low. "You could say that."
Avery stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm not angry anymore." She hesitated, then added, "I was hurt… but I don't think you're the monster people keep saying."
The words sank deep, startling him more than he let show. He searched her face, his throat tight. "Thank you, Avery."
Mira rested her hand gently on Avery's shoulder. "Storm's coming tonight. The air already carries it..you can feel it."
She was right. The sky above had turned heavier, darker, thick clouds rolling in from the west. The wind pressed colder against them, lifting stray strands of Avery's hair and scattering dry leaves across the street. The scent of rain was in the air, sharp and metallic.
Mira's gaze didn't waver. "Storm or no storm, you'll find your footing again. Don't let the weight of their words bury you."
Something in Ethan's chest tightened at the quiet certainty in her tone. He gave a faint nod. "I'll try."
For a few heartbeats, they stood together in the gathering dusk, the wind tugging at their clothes. Then Mira guided Avery onward, leaving Ethan standing in the dimming street as the storm gathered strength on the horizon.
By the time he reached his small home, the air was electric, swollen with the promise of rain. Thunder grumbled far off, and each gust of wind rattled the shutters before him. He pushed open the door, stepping into the familiar stillness, and set his boots aside. For once, the silence didn't comfort him. It pressed against his ears, reminding him of what he'd lost and what he might yet lose.
The first drops of rain pattered against the roof, soft at first, then heavier, sliding down the windows like cold fingers. Ethan sank onto the edge of his bed, his thoughts circling endlessly: Hana's downcast face through the shop window, Avery's trembling words, the boy's bright grin as he set out for the woods.
A sound carried faintly through the storm, sharp enough to pull him back. A woman's voice, strained and breaking. He rose, moving to the door, and when he opened it, the wind shoved rain across his face. Out in the street, a figure moved desperately from house to house, calling.
"Has anyone seen him? My boy he was supposed to be fishing with his father, but he never made it"
Her cries echoed against the storm, raw and frantic. Ethan's chest tightened. The image struck him at once: the oversized hat, the bag too heavy for small shoulders, the boy's certainty about his map and his adventure.
It was the same child who had bumped into him earlier that day.
Ethan stood in the doorway, rain soaking into his shirt, his pulse quickening as the storm broke in earnest overhead.