Fog drifted, wet and heavy, over the short mall between the Wetherill Laboratory of Chemistry and Stanley Coulter Hall. Six tall lampposts bathed everything in an eerie, orange glow. The hour was late, and the campus was deserted — deserted but for one.
She stood at the south end of the mall, seemingly in contemplation, a small bundle clutched under her arm. Her other hand rested lightly on the fountain there, its lion face spewing water in a thin stream into the stone basin below its chin.
The fog swirled, and a cloaked figure appeared. She approached it, cautiously, the fog parting like a veil before her. Drawing to within three paces of him, she bowed slightly, a greeting.
“Your delivery as requested, Professor.” He spoke not a word in response, merely tipped his bearded chin in thanks as he collected the items into the deep folds of his robe.
Her task complete, she turned on her heel and strode quickly back to the edge of the mall, glancing only once over her shoulder. Only mist and vapor remained.