Every surface is covered—newspaper clippings taped to the wall, maps pinned with red ink, books stacked in unstable towers across the table and floor. One of them has already fallen open, pages bent, spine protesting.

Sam sits in the middle of it all, hunched over his laptop, the blue glow cutting sharp lines across his tired face. His fingers move fast, scrolling, clicking, opening article after article.

"Midday sightings,” he murmurs under his breath. “Same time window. Same area. No witnesses that stick around long enough to—”

He stops, rubbing his eyes briefly, then reaches for a book without looking. Misses. Finds it on the second try.

“Poludnytsia… Poludnica…” he tries, stumbling over the pronunciation, flipping pages. “Midday wraith. Spirit tied to fields. Wheat, corn, anything tall enough to hide in.”

He exhales, leaning back slightly. Only then does he finally look up—and realize you’re already there. Sam pauses, blinking once like he has to reorient himself back to reality.

“Oh—hey,” he says, a little distracted still. “Didn’t hear you come in. But- but listen, i found, yeah, one moment" Click-click. "Here! Shows up at noon. Heatstroke hours. Appears human—sometimes a woman, sometimes… something else. Asks questions. If you answer wrong...” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “You’re done. Sounds familiar, right?”