A restless night enveloped Jared in a haze of half-formed dreams and nagging anxieties. His mind churned with images of the old man on the docks, the cryptic warning, and the oddly weighty spectacles that now rested on the motel nightstand. Every time he drifted toward sleep, a sudden jolt of adrenaline brought him back to full wakefulness, as though his subconscious refused to let him rest. By the time dawn's pale light seeped through the threadbare curtains, he was already on his feet, pacing the cramped confines of his motel room.
He stopped in front of the nightstand, staring down at the tinted glasses. Even in the dim morning light, the lenses gave off an otherworldly sheen, as if capturing flecks of color invisible to the naked eye. He exhaled, rubbing at the tension in his neck. Part of him wanted to dismiss the old man's words as delusional—just a random stranger's ramblings. And yet, curiosity gnawed at him. Could these spectacles really help him uncover the truth about who set him up?
He reached out and picked them up by the frames. A faint chill radiated from the metal, sending a shiver up his arm. "They're just glasses," he muttered under his breath, trying to ground himself in logic. But if they were just glasses, then why did he feel an inexplicable heaviness every time he held them?
Gripping the frames with both hands, he slowly raised them toward his face. His heart hammered as he slid them on, half-expecting some immediate supernatural revelation—glowing symbols, swirling shadows, or maybe the phone's cryptic text messages floating in midair. But for several seconds, nothing happened. The room looked essentially the same, albeit tinted a shade darker than usual. The sink, the peeling wallpaper, the door leading to the hallway… all the same. Relief and disappointment warred inside him.
He almost laughed at himself. You're losing it, Jared, he thought, tugging the glasses off. The old man's ominous warning—"It will help you see the truth in this city"—lingered in his mind like an unresolved chord. Maybe the man had confused him for someone else. Or perhaps the power wasn't literal. Yet something stayed his hand when he considered throwing the spectacles away.
A sudden, sharp knock on the motel room door made him jump. Panic flashed through him: Who would be knocking so early? Heart thudding, he tucked the spectacles in his jacket pocket and opened the door a crack. On the threshold stood a wiry older man wearing coveralls with a motel logo stitched across the chest. His face was lined with the weariness of too many late-night shifts.
"Management," the man announced brusquely, flashing a name tag that read Harvey. "We've got a leak in the room next door, might be coming through your bathroom wall. Mind if I check?"
Jared stepped aside, letting the man enter. "Go ahead," he said, forcing a polite tone. He watched as Harvey disappeared into the bathroom, muttering under his breath about the motel's crumbling infrastructure. After a minute or two of clanking pipes, Harvey re-emerged, wiping grime from his hands onto an already-stained rag.
"No water damage on your side… yet," the handyman grunted. "Just keep an eye out. If the wall gets damp, let me know, or else it'll come out of your deposit."
Jared managed not to scoff. Deposit was a laughable concept in this run-down hole where cash payments were the norm. But he only nodded, watching as Harvey let himself out. The door clicked shut, leaving Jared alone once more.
He realized, with a jolt, that he needed to hustle if he wanted to make it back to the warehouse for his shift. The job paid a pittance, but it was better than nothing, and he needed every dollar. He splashed water on his face, hastily got dressed, and shoved a few essentials into his backpack. Last, he patted his jacket pocket to confirm the spectacles were still there, though he wasn't sure why he felt compelled to bring them along.
Outside, Silvercoast City was already bustling. The morning sun gave the skyline a burnished glow, while crowds of commuters packed the sidewalks. Jared hopped on a city bus, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone who might be looking for a conversation. He found a seat near the back and stared out the window, watching the city slide by in a blur of towering buildings, billboards, and graffiti-splashed alleyways. Every so often, the memory of his college campus rose unbidden in his mind—immaculate lawns, stately lecture halls, and the vibrant hum of academic life. Now he was on a different path entirely, one steeped in mystery and shadows.
When he reached the warehouse district, the familiar clamor greeted him: forklifts beeped as they reversed, workers shouted instructions to one another, and cargo trucks rumbled into docking bays. Even though it was his second day on the job, the place was already losing its shock value. He headed to the break room first to find Dennis, his direct supervisor.
Dennis was hunched over a folding table, sipping coffee from a stained thermos. A radio perched on a nearby shelf crackled with the morning news—some story about political corruption in the city council, overshadowed by sports scores and weather updates. Glancing up, Dennis waved Jared over.
"Morning," Dennis said, not quite cheerful but not unfriendly, either. "We got a new shipment in from overseas. Need you to help unload it."
"Sure," Jared replied, forcing a neutral expression. Physical labor might at least keep his mind off his bigger problems.
They made their way to the loading dock, where a shipping container sat with its doors wide open. The difference from last night's jammed container was striking: this one was well-lit, organized, and lacked any noxious odors. Inside, rows of wooden crates bore labels in a foreign language. Jared saw Dennis hand him a crowbar and a clipboard.
"Crack these open, check the contents against the shipping list, then move them to storage area four. Mark down any discrepancies," Dennis explained, tapping the clipboard. "And watch your back—some of these crates can weigh a ton."
Jared nodded. As Dennis strolled off to supervise other workers, Jared stepped into the container. The air inside was stale, and dust motes drifted lazily in the muted light. He pried open the first crate to find a stack of machine parts. He cross-referenced the shipping list. Everything matched. For the next hour, he was lost in a rhythm of opening crates, verifying contents, and lugging items to the designated spot.
Eventually, he grabbed a quick water break, stepping out of the container to breathe fresh air. That was when he spotted something across the wide warehouse floor—a figure wearing a hooded jacket, lingering near a tall stack of boxes, half in shadow. Normally, he wouldn't pay it any mind; plenty of workers wore hoodies against the warehouse chill. But there was something off about the posture—too still, too watchful.
Jared leaned against a railing, pretending to check his phone, all the while keeping the figure in his peripheral vision. A foreboding tingle crept down his spine. Was he being paranoid, or was that person spying on him? Memories of the ominous text messages—"You've been noticed. Be careful"—flashed in his head. Deciding to test his suspicion, Jared pretended to head back into the container but ducked behind a stack of crates instead. From his new vantage point, he could see the figure more clearly: tall, broad-shouldered, with a faint glint of metal at the wrist—maybe a watch. The person was definitely looking in Jared's direction.
A sudden surge of adrenaline pushed him to do something bold. Gingerly, he took out the tinted spectacles from his jacket pocket. He wasn't sure if they'd show him anything… different. But with the old man's cryptic promise still echoing in his mind, he decided to take a chance. He slipped them on, heart pounding.
At first, the world only darkened, as if he'd switched from regular daylight to heavy sunglasses. But then, subtle differences crept in. The overhead fluorescent lights seemed to flicker with a strange brilliance, like bursts of neon pulses. The corners of the warehouse looked sharper somehow, more defined, as though each shadow had gained dimension.
Most startling was the figure by the stack of boxes. Through the tinted lenses, that person's silhouette glowed with a faint outline—an unnatural shimmer that glistened in shades of dark red and purple. It wasn't exactly a halo, but rather a disturbance in the air around them, a distortion that seemed to pulse with each breath they took. Shocked, Jared nearly dropped the glasses. He lifted them away from his eyes for an instant; the outline vanished, leaving only a hooded silhouette in mundane warehouse lighting. Replacing them, he saw the ethereal shimmer return, more intense than before.
What am I seeing? he wondered, breath quickening. The old man had mentioned power and danger, and now Jared was witnessing a phenomenon that defied all logic. Was this some kind of aura? An energy signature? He had no framework to interpret it, but he couldn't deny that the glasses revealed something not visible to the naked eye.
Just then, the hooded figure shifted, as if sensing it was being observed. Panicking, Jared peeled the glasses off and dropped them back into his pocket. He turned away, pretending to be busy with the crates. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the hooded person move farther into the shadows, eventually disappearing behind a line of forklifts.
They're watching me, Jared thought, pulses of adrenaline making his hands tremble. He forced himself to calm down, though his mind was racing. If the old man's artifact allowed him to detect something like that—some hidden energy or aura—then who else might know about these glasses? Could that hooded figure be after them? Or maybe after Jared himself?
Over the next few hours, the day's routine resumed. Dennis had him finish unloading the container, then sent him to help reorganize another section of the warehouse. All the while, Jared felt an invisible weight pressing on him. Every clang of metal or squeak of machinery made him jumpy, as though the hooded figure could reappear at any moment. But by the time his shift ended, there had been no further sign of that mysterious presence.
Stepping outside into the late afternoon sun, Jared felt a breeze off the water that was surprisingly cool for this time of year. The gulls were in a frenzy near the docks, swooping down to scavenge scraps of food. He decided to take a longer route back toward the main street, partly to clear his head and partly to make sure he wasn't being followed.
Winding through a narrow alley, he finally let himself think about the implications of what he'd seen. The tinted spectacles undoubtedly had properties that defied explanation. They let him glimpse an aura, or energy, or something intangible around that hooded stranger. He thought back to the old man's words at the docks: "It will help you see the truth in this city. But be careful… with power comes danger."
How did this tie into his expulsion from Bernington? How did it connect to the cryptic text messages? A swirl of questions threatened to overwhelm him. Yet amid the confusion, a flicker of determination emerged. He'd been a victim these past few days—kicked out of college, forced into menial work, and haunted by unknown threats. Now, for the first time, he held a potential advantage. If these glasses were as special as they seemed, perhaps he could use them to find clues. Maybe, just maybe, they would lead him to the evidence he needed to clear his name.
His phone buzzed, startling him. Stepping into a more secluded stretch of the alley, he took it out and read the screen. Another anonymous text: "You have something they want. Watch your back."
A chill wind gusted through the alley, rustling discarded newspapers and plastic bags. Jared's gaze darted around in growing paranoia, scanning for any sign of watchers—hooded or otherwise. The message could only mean one thing: People knew he had the spectacles, or at least suspected he possessed something valuable. And they wanted it.
He shoved the phone in his pocket, then paused to run a hand through his hair. The revelations of the day weighed heavily on him, but a steely resolve took shape in his chest. Enough running, he thought. If they wanted him to be scared, if they hoped he would give up or retreat, they would be disappointed. He might not have resources or allies, but he had a reason to fight: exposing the lies behind his expulsion, and uncovering the layers of corruption festering in Silvercoast.
For now, though, he needed to keep the spectacles hidden, at least until he understood their capabilities. He would lay low, gather information, and try to anticipate whoever was watching him. The memory of that glowing aura around the hooded figure burned in his mind, reminding him that there was more at stake here than simply a name-clearing mission. Something extraordinary was unfolding in the shadows of Silvercoast—a city whose skyline concealed both promise and peril.
Making his way out of the alley, Jared resolved to contact the one person who might help him navigate the city's underbelly. Marcus—an old friend from high school, now living in one of Silvercoast's poorer districts—had connections, or at least rumors, about strange happenings in the city. They hadn't spoken in years, but Jared was desperate for any thread of guidance. If nothing else, Marcus might offer him a place to crash that wasn't a grimy motel.
Looking up, Jared realized twilight had fallen, painting the sky in muted grays and deep blues. Streetlights flickered on, casting an intermittent glow on the sidewalks. As he headed toward the bus stop, he felt the glasses in his pocket, their weight both reassuring and daunting. The old man's gift might be the key to unraveling everything—if he had the courage to use it.
Tomorrow, he would call Marcus, try to reconnect. And he would test the artifact further, see what else it might reveal. You have something they want. Watch your back. The text rang like an omen in his ears, but Jared set his jaw in determination. He'd been powerless too long, a victim of conspiracies he didn't understand. Now, he had a secret of his own—one that might tip the scales.
And for the first time since his life had gone off the rails, Jared King allowed himself a spark of hope.