The entries filled page after page, a quiet obsession no one else cared to understand. After a week, he was certain. Whatever it was, it surfaced regularly, almost by routine. That was no creature. That was discipline. Machinery.
He brought his notebook to the café the next morning, slapping it down on the table so hard a few cups rattled. “I’ve been watching,” he announced, voice tight. “It comes up at near the same times every day. Dusk. Midnight. Dawn. It’s not random. It’s not wild. It’s scheduled.”