The autumn festival is part of every year. Home after school, change clothes, then head out again later—meet up with friends, grab something to eat, wander through the stalls, and take far too many photos beneath the lanterns. Hundreds of lights glow among the red maple leaves around the old shrine, music drifts through the crowd, and everywhere you look, people are wearing fox masks.

Later that evening, you lose track of your friends among the stalls. While waiting for a message, you watch the people on the steps leading up to the shrine, and your gaze lingers on a stranger. The fox mask is nothing unusual tonight, but the stranger seems to notice you looking. They lift the mask slightly, amber eyes meeting yours as an amused, almost conspiratorial smile appears on their face.

Then they move on.

You watch them pass behind one of the large stone lanterns—but no one emerges on the other side.

For a moment, you search for them among the crowd. Then you spot the stranger high up on the shrine steps, far too distant to have gotten there in such a short time. The mask covers their face again, but you're certain they're looking straight down at you.

This time, they don't disappear.

They wait.