This is a college town, he thinks, small, busy, and neat. He peeks into shops; no one tends the counters, and everything stays curiously quiet and still as though suspended in resin. He passes through the market and briefly considers taking apples from a cart. (He doesn't. He couldn't.)

The moon glares down on him. It seems to rise a little higher with each step he takes away from campus. Statues of wolves leer at him from every threshold and portico.

He thinks he hears wheels rattle on the stone, and he whips around the corner-- oh, but it's cold here!-- no carriage, just birds.

"Good evening."