Two figures stood in the rain, one with an umbrella and one without.
"The reports said it would be here," said the taller. Dressed all in black, his pale skin and blond hair stood out acutely; against grey backdrop of the deluge, he looked washed-out, almost ghost-like. The umbrella he carried was completely at odds with his somber appearance, brilliant red and white with the logo of some shopping mall that had opened and closed quite some time ago. It was discolored in places from age and long use, but still more vibrant than anything else on the man carrying it.
The woman, much shorter, made a wordless hum in response. Rather than carry an umbrella, she had opted for a grey cloak, worn over her usual attire of glittery robes. It had a faint patterning of feathers, and shed the rain like oilcloth. It was not at all subtle, but there was no one else here, and the rain made for exceptionally poor visibility anyway. They would not be exposed with a little indulgence here.
Perhaps it was the rain that obscured it. Perhaps they were merely in the wrong place. Tor had listed three, and this was the least inhabited, though it had also been the nearest, and neither Beckett nor Senna had the luxury of non-mortal modes of travel anymore.
"Let's go back," said Beckett, sighing. "We could make our way to the city he'd mentioned. If this is really a sign from him, then it must persist, until one of us has found him."
But Senna looked unconvinced, and had begun to squint at something in the distance. "... Let's... Walk a little further first," she said softly. Beckett eyed her, attempting to read her face, but Senna could be surprisingly opaque when she wanted. He sighed again, but followed as she set forth, just a step behind.
Who knew how long it took, in such dismal weather? And yet, Senna felt that she knew the way. She felt a tug, a familiar
something--- and then they were greeted with the sight of a small lake, all awash in lights. No, that wasn't quite right. It was more of a... a mist, black and shimmering, stretching across the ground. Even in the rain, it looked like the night sky, as if reflected upon the water's surface on a clear night. And she found, upon walking into it, that it wasn't a lake at all. There was the same marshy ground beneath, simply obscured by the layer of mist above it.
"It's him," she said, barely more than a whisper. "Beckett, it has to be."