The sky was an unbroken sheet of gray when Ayame Kido stepped out of the train station, the cool wind biting at her skin as she glanced around at the unfamiliar landscape. The air smelled like wet earth, damp and heavy, thick with the scent of the rain that had just passed. It was the kind of weather that pressed down on you, as if the whole world were holding its breath. The streets were quiet, too quiet for a city, too empty for a place that should’ve been alive.

  Her eyes scanned the small town of Pardubice, a far cry from the bustling streets of Tokyo, where she had spent most of her life. The cobbled streets stretched out before her, lined with buildings that wore their age like a coat of grime. A few people moved about, heads down, huddled against the cold. But they didn’t look at her. They didn’t even seem to notice her presence. It was as though she were a ghost in a town that had long since forgotten how to care.

  Ayame adjusted the strap of her bag and glanced at the address scribbled on a piece of paper. Klinika U Zelené Hory, a remote clinic on the outskirts of town. The letter had been vague, offering no details other than that they were looking for a speech therapist with her experience. It hadn’t said much about the children she’d be working with, the specifics of her role, or the town itself. Just a brief invitation to join them; a quiet posting, far from everything she’d known.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  She walked slowly toward the taxi stand, her shoes clicking against the pavement, the sound of each step amplifying in the emptiness. The town was a place trapped between two worlds — old and new, quiet and loud, alive and dead.

  When the taxi pulled up, she slid into the backseat and didn’t say a word as the driver started the engine. The cabbie didn’t try to make conversation, and she didn’t encourage him. There was no need for small talk here. The ride stretched on, the silence between them thick as the fog rolling over the roads.

  The trees on either side of the road were dark, their branches bending under the weight of years of rain and wind. As they neared the clinic, the buildings thinned out, replaced by dense forests and isolated patches of land that seemed to swallow the road. The place felt as though it had been abandoned by time, and now it was simply waiting for her, waiting for the next chapter to begin.

  When the taxi stopped in front of the clinic, Ayame’s gaze lifted to the building ahead. A single-story structure, draped in peeling paint and an air of neglect. The sign above the door was worn and weathered, its letters barely visible. Klinika U Zelené Hory. She stepped out of the cab, the ground beneath her feet cold and unfamiliar. It didn’t feel like home. It felt like a place where things were forgotten, or perhaps left behind.

  A gray mist hung in the air as she walked toward the door. The sky above was still heavy, like it might break open at any moment, but the rain had stopped. For now.