The library hums softly with the muted rustle of turning pages and the faint tapping of keyboards. Afternoon sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting golden patterns across the wooden floors. Emily Rodriguez sits alone at a corner table, her laptop open, surrounded by an untidy sprawl of papers and notes. Frustration gnaws at her; every lead she's chased feels like a dead end.
Restless, she closes her laptop and scans the room, her gaze landing on the corkboard near the entrance. It's a community job board, cluttered with flyers and handwritten postings. But her attention isn't on the board itself.
A familiar figure stands before it. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair just as unruly as she remembered. Alastor. She hasn't seen him in weeks—not since the chaos with Levanzo and his cult.
Emily strides over, curiosity pulling her forward. She smirks, folding her arms as she stops a few feet behind him. "Didn't peg you as the job-hunting type. What's the occasion?"
Alastor glances over his shoulder, his sharp green eyes meeting hers. There's a flicker of recognition, followed by faint amusement. "Emily. Long time no see."
She gestures toward the board. "So, what's the plan? Barista? Bookstore clerk? Or are you auditioning to be Brooklyn's most mysterious coffee shop heartthrob?"
Alastor huffs a soft laugh, turning to face her fully. "Language teaching, actually. I figured I'd put my skills to use."
Emily raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised. "Language teaching? You? I don't know. I always figured you'd be more of a brooding PI or a conspiracy theorist blogger."
"I'm qualified," Alastor replies evenly, though his tone carries a faint edge. "Just not in a way that most employers recognize."
Emily chuckles but doesn't press further. "Fair enough. How's the café, by the way? Last I saw, the place was half rubble."
Alastor's expression softens slightly. "Reconstruction's coming along. Should be done in a few weeks. Mr. Thompson's been working with the crew."
"Good to hear," Emily says casually, though her tone shifts as her eyes narrow. "So, that's your public life. What about the part where cultists and aliens show up?"
Alastor stiffens, his jaw tightening, but Emily doesn't let up.
"Levanzo," she presses, voice low but firm. "He—no, it—was after you. Ever since that cryptic message on his phone—Derek's phone. Why? What makes you so special?"
Alastor's expression hardens, his usual guarded demeanor snapping into place. "It doesn't matter anymore. Levanzo's gone."
"And so is Derek," Emily counters sharply. "Or at least, that's what Levanzo told us. You knew he wasn't Derek from the start, didn't you? And now you're standing here like nothing happened while he's—what, dead? Missing? Still out there?"
Alastor exhales slowly, his gaze flickering away. "I don't know where Derek is, Emily. And if I did, I'm not sure it would change anything."
Emily takes a step closer, her tone softening slightly but losing none of its edge. "Come on, Alastor. What's your connection to all this? You walked into a warehouse full of cultists, saved Rachel, and came out without a scratch. That doesn't just happen. How did you do it?"
Alastor's jaw works silently for a moment before he sighs. "Fine. I snuck in, found Rachel, and worked with her to take down Levanzo. Then I called the cops. Simple as that."
Emily studies him, her sharp instincts searching for cracks in his story. But whatever she's looking for, she doesn't find it.
"Alright," she says finally, stepping back but still watching him closely. "I'll let that one slide—for now. But you still haven't answered my question. Why was Levanzo after you? What did he want?"
Alastor's gaze darkens, his voice dropping. "You don't want to know, Emily."
"Try me," she challenges.
A tense silence stretches between them before Alastor finally speaks, his tone clipped and final. "He wanted something I didn't have anymore. That's all you need to know."
Emily doesn't look convinced, but she knows better than to push further. Not yet, at least. She steps back, her smirk returning, though it carries an edge of warning. "Alright, Alastor. Keep your secrets. But I'm not done. I'll figure it out—about Levanzo, about Derek, and about you."
As she turns to leave, Alastor watches her go, his expression unreadable. The weight of what he isn't saying presses heavy on his shoulders. Emily may have backed off for now, but her persistence is a ticking time bomb—and he knows it.
Alastor's eyes scanned the library's job board again, but the listings were no more helpful than before. He'd already seen every single one, each offer for a position that didn't suit his skillset. As the last few hopefuls left the area, his eyes lingered on the words "language teaching," but even then, the question of how to secure such a job was still hanging over him. The librarian had mentioned something about "apps," and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the front desk where a young librarian was flipping through a book. He waited for her to notice him, feeling the awkward tension building up in the air.
"Excuse me," Alastor began, his voice even and polite. "I'm looking for a job... something with language teaching. Do you have any positions like that?"
The librarian, a woman in her late twenties, looked up at him, her eyes briefly flicking over his eccentric attire and posture before offering a polite smile. "Sure, I can help you with that. We don't handle job placements directly here, but you can use apps on your phone to look for jobs. You should try one of the job-searching apps; they have tons of listings."
Alastor's brows furrowed as he glanced at her. "Apps?" His voice was a little uncertain. "I'm familiar with them, but… how do I get them? You mentioned downloading them?"
The librarian blinked, surprised by his lack of knowledge. "Oh, you don't know how to download apps? It's simple, really. You have a smartphone, right?"
Alastor nodded. "Yes, I do, but… I've not needed to download anything up until now. I'm more familiar with using the phone for calls, not… apps."
She hesitated for a moment, then smiled as though remembering something important. "Alright, I can help you with that. I'll show you how to get the app you need."
The librarian walked over to a nearby computer station and gestured for Alastor to follow her. As they approached, she started typing quickly on the keyboard, opening the app store on her phone. Alastor watched with intense focus, his mind processing the movement of her fingers. This was all new to him, but he was determined to understand.
"Okay, so on your phone, you open the app store, like this," she explained, showing him the process step-by-step.
"I see," Alastor murmured, trying to mimic the gesture. "And once I find it, I... press something to get it?"
"Exactly," she replied, impressed by his ability to pick things up quickly. "You just search for the app you want, and press 'download.'"
Alastor's fingers hovered over his phone's screen. He had a lot of experience with languages and technology, but this was the first time he was using his phone for something other than calls or quick searches. His thumb finally tapped the search bar, and he typed in "Indeed"—the job search app she had recommended.
"Now, you'll want to create an account once you've downloaded it," she continued, her voice gentle but patient. "Fill out your profile with your skills, and it'll match you with potential jobs."
Alastor nodded, still processing the steps. "Right, I understand now. I'll need to list my skills in the app."
The librarian smiled as she watched him tap through the process with more confidence now. "Exactly. And don't forget to keep your profile updated. That way, employers can see exactly what you're good at."
She moved aside to give him space as he focused intently on filling out the necessary details. Alastor typed in his name, his contact information, and a brief description of his language abilities—his native tongue being Spanish, and his fluent English.
Alastor continued through the process, selecting "language teaching" as his preferred field. After a few moments, his phone buzzed with a notification. He looked down at the screen, curious.
"You've got some listings," the librarian noted, pointing at the screen. "Let's see what we've got."
Alastor scrolled through the available jobs, his eyes flicking from one listing to another. Most of them required certifications or teaching experience that he didn't have—but then one caught his eye.
"It says here, 'Part-time language teacher for Spanish,'" Alastor said, reading aloud from the description. "No certifications required—just the ability to teach conversational Spanish."
The librarian nodded approvingly. "That looks perfect for you. You already speak Spanish fluently, right?"
Alastor nodded with a confident yet mischievous smile. "I do. It's the language of my people, and I've used it for most of my life."
"Then this is a great fit," she encouraged, turning the phone back towards him. "Just click 'apply,' and we can submit your application right now."
Alastor followed her instructions, his thumb hovering over the 'apply' button. "Thank you," he said quietly, though there was an undercurrent of satisfaction in his voice. He couldn't help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment, even though this was just the first step.
Once he submitted the application, he leaned back in his chair, feeling the pressure of the unknown begin to lift just slightly. "I appreciate your help. I never would have figured this out on my own."
The librarian smiled warmly, clearly relieved to see him gaining a sense of confidence. "No problem at all. Good luck with your application! If you need help with anything else, don't hesitate to ask."
Alastor pocketed the phone, his mind still racing with the new concepts and possibilities. "I will not forget your kindness. Thank you."
He stood up and gave her a respectful nod, his thoughts already moving forward. The world of apps and phones was still a bit strange to him, but with this job application, he had taken one small but significant step toward securing his place here. The world was vast, and the opportunities were there—he just had to keep moving.