邮局的钟 ticked with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each tick echoing the quiet desperation that had become synonymous with Alistair’s life. Rain hadn't fallen in days, yet the air hung thick and heavy, clinging to the faded paint of the building like regret. She meticulously sorted through a pile of incoming letters – mostly bills, condolences for departed souls she barely knew, and the occasional missive from distant relatives who’d long forgotten her existence – when it arrived: a single envelope, postmarked with a peculiar, almost illegible stamp depicting a stylized raven beneath a crumbling tower. It wasn't addressed to her directly, only ‘To the Receiver.’
Alistair felt a prickle of unease. The handwriting was neat, precise, almost unsettlingly so. The paper itself was thick and aged, smelling faintly of ozone and something metallic – like old blood. She carefully slit it open with her letter opener, the silver gleaming under the weak lamplight. Inside, a single sheet of parchment bore a cryptic message scrawled in elegant calligraphy: *’The echoes remember. Seek the iron teeth.’*
“Li Wei,” she muttered, the name tasting like ash on her tongue. It had been months since their last conversation, months filled with carefully constructed silences and a growing, corrosive distrust. He'd offered his assistance in deciphering the old records, claiming an interest in the history of the town – a convenient lie, Alistair suspected. She glanced at Li Wei, who was meticulously cleaning a vintage typewriter, seemingly oblivious to her agitation. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she said, her voice sharper than intended.
Li Wei paused, his dark eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the machine.
