"Aperture"

The weather had turned sharp: a cold, bright spell after days of rain. The sky over Woodberry Down was a hard, washed-out blue, the kind of hue that made everything look overexposed. Ripples on the reservoir caught the sunlight in thin, blinding flashes. The air smelled of wet concrete and the faint metallic tang of cold water.

Dave walked ahead, hands part way in his pockets, hood down despite the chill. Tems followed a step behind, coat zipped tight, scarf tucked neatly, eyes scanning the path. The ground was still damp from last night’s rain; the puddles reflecting the towers in fractured pieces.

“He’ll be here,” Dave said.

Tems didn’t answer. She was more sceptical.

They reached the footbridge; the one with the metal railing that always felt colder than it should. Harry was already there, leaning against the rail, camera hanging from his neck, hair pushed back by the wind. He looked like he’d been waiting a while.

He didn’t smile when he saw them. “Morning,” he said.

Dave stopped a metre or two away. “Why d’you pick this spot?”

Harry shrugged. “Good light.”

Tems snorted softly. “Always about the light with you.”

Harry didn’t deny it. The sun hit the water at an angle that made the surface shimmer like broken glass. He lifted his camera slightly, not to shoot, just to gauge his framing of the scene.

Dave watched him. “Is it you following her?”

Harry lowered the camera. “No.”

Tems stepped closer. “You sure about that?”

Harry met her eyes. “I’m not following Raye,” he enunciated.

Dave tightened his jaw. “Then who?”

Harry hesitated: a small pause, barely noticeable, but enough.

“The other one,” he said.

Tems folded her arms. “She’s gone.”

Harry shook his head. “Not from the footage.”

Dave stepped closer. “You said the project ended.”

“I thought it did.”

“You thought wrong.”

Harry didn’t argue. A gust of wind cut across the bridge, rattling the metal. A cyclist passed behind them, tyres hissing on the wet path. The sunlight shifted, catching Harry’s face in a way that made him look older, or maybe just tired.

Tems leaned on the railing, watching the water. “You filmed her.”

Harry didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“You directed her.”

“No.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t stop it either.”

Harry looked away. “I didn’t know what it was.”

Tems tilted her head. “And now?”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Now I know enough to be scared.”

Dave nodded once. “Good.”

Tems reached into her coat and pulled out the old phone; the one they’d found the previous week. She placed it on the railing between them.

Harry stared at it. but didn’t touch it.

“You recognise it,” Dave said.

Harry didn’t answer.

Tems tapped the screen. The video opened: The woman walking along the path, rain falling in thin diagonal lines, her coat darkened by the damp. Her uncertain pace, the tilt of her head, the half-turn at the end.

Harry swallowed. “That wasn’t meant to be recorded.”

Dave stepped closer. “But it was.”

Tems added, “And someone wanted us to find it.”

Harry finally touched the phone, fingertips barely grazing the edge. “This isn’t raw footage.”

“No,” Dave said.

“It’s reconstructed,” Harry murmured.

Tems watched him carefully. “Say it.”

Harry looked up, eyes sharp in the cold light. “It’s a prediction.”

A cloud drifted across the sun, dimming the harsh light. The reservoir darkened. The wind eased. For a moment, everything felt suspended.

Dave spoke first. “You know who’s doing this.”

Harry didn’t say anything to deny it, but his silence didn’t confirm it either.

Tems stepped closer. “You owe us the truth.”

Harry adjusted the camera strap on his shoulder; a nervous habit he didn’t realise he had. “I owe her the truth.”

Dave’s expression hardened even further. “Then start talking.”

Harry looked out over the water, at the long, distorted lines of the towers’ reflections. “It’s not about her.”

Tems frowned. “Then who?”

Harry turned back to them. “It’s about the pattern.”

Dave’s clenched his jaw so tight that the muscles in his neck stood out. “We know.”

Harry shook his head. “No. You don’t.”

The sun broke through the cloud again, flooding the bridge with bright, unforgiving light. Harry squinted, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.

Tems fiddled with the zip of her coat. “We’re meeting with someone who does.”

Harry nodded. “Taylor.”

Dave looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?”

Harry ignored the question.

Tems slipped the phone back into her coat. “Be there.”

Harry hesitated. “If I come, things change.”

Dave moved another step closer. “They already have.”

Harry looked at the water one last time, then at them. “Alright.”

He walked away, camera swinging gently at his side, the sunlight catching on the lens in a series of brief, sharp flares.

Dave and Tems stayed on the bridge, watching him go, the cold February wind finally penetrating through to their bodies.