The Pokémon Center's cafeteria was quieter than the common room, the tension of the earlier commotion fading into the background noise of clinking dishes and murmured conversations.

  Marcus led Jason to a corner table near a window overlooking the harbor. The last light of sunset painted the water in shades of copper and rose, fishing boats returning with their evening catches while Wingull circled overhead, crying out for scraps. A Machamp on the dock was helping unload crates, its four arms making quick work of what would take human workers twice as long.

  "Best view in the Center," Marcus said, settling into his chair with the easy comfort of someone who'd sat here many times before. "You can watch the whole harbor from here. See who's coming, who's going, what kind of trouble might be sailing in."

  Jason took the seat across from him, Sprigatito hopping up onto the bench beside him while Ralts remained on his shoulder. A server—a young man with a Skitty weaving between his ankles—came by to take their orders.

  "Two of the catch specials," Marcus said without consulting Jason. "Trust me, it's the only thing worth ordering here. And some Pokémon food—what types you got?"

  "Grass and Psychic."

  "Grass blend and Psychic blend then. And water for the table." The server nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.

  Marcus leaned back, studying Jason with open curiosity. "So. Jason Cahill. One badge, traveling from—where'd you say?"

  "Littleroot. Professor Birch sponsored me."

  "Birch, huh? Good man. Knew him back when he was still doing fieldwork instead of running a lab." Marcus's eyes dropped to Sprigatito, who was watching him with the wary assessment she gave all strangers. "That's not a Hoenn Pokémon."

  "Sprigatito. Grass-type from Paldea."

  "Paldea." Marcus whistled low. "Long way from home. How'd she end up here?"

  Jason gave the abbreviated version—the transport crash, finding her scared and alone, the bond that had formed between them. Marcus listened without interrupting, his expression shifting from curiosity to something like respect.

  "So you found a lost Pokémon from halfway across the world and decided to become her trainer on the spot." He shook his head slowly. "That's either really brave or really stupid. Maybe both."

  "Probably both," Jason admitted.

  Marcus laughed—a genuine sound, warm and unguarded. "I like you, Cahill. Most trainers I meet are all confidence and swagger, acting like they've got everything figured out. You actually seem to know you don't."

  "Hard to be confident when you're making it up as you go."

  "That's the secret, though. Everyone's making it up. Some are just better at hiding it." Marcus glanced out the window as another fishing boat pulled into the harbor, its running lights reflecting off the darkening water. "I've been 'making it up' for three years now. Started with nothing but a Wingull I rescued from a fishing net. Now I've got a boat, a small crew, and a reputation for getting people where they need to go."

  "You're not a trainer?"

  "Not officially. Never did the gym circuit—didn't see the point, honestly. I like the ocean, like working with Water-types, like the freedom of going where I want when I want." He shrugged. "But I battle when I need to. Aqua found that out today."

  The server returned with their food—grilled fish with some kind of citrus glaze, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread still warm from the oven. The Pokémon food came in separate bowls, and Sprigatito sniffed hers suspiciously before taking a tentative bite. Her ears perked up in approval, and she began eating with more enthusiasm.

  "Tell me about what happened," Jason said. "At Granite Cave."

  Marcus's expression darkened. He took a bite of fish, chewing slowly, gathering his thoughts.

  "I was at the harbor when the kids came running. Three of them—young trainers, couldn't have been more than fourteen. They'd been exploring the cave entrance, catching Zubat and Makuhita like everyone does when they first get to Dewford." He set down his fork. "Aqua jumped them about fifty meters in. Four grunts, maybe five. Demanded they hand over their Pokémon."

  "Just like that? No pretense?"

  "None. Just 'give us your Pokémon or things get ugly.'" Marcus's jaw tightened. "The kids tried to fight back—brave little idiots—but they were outmatched. I got there with some other locals right as Aqua was retreating. We chased them deeper into the cave, but..."

  "But they got away with someone's Pokémon."

  "A Wingull. Belonged to a boy named Leo—not the one from Rustboro, different kid, common name around here. He'd just caught it that morning." Marcus stared at his plate. "You should've seen his face when he realized it was gone. Like someone had reached into his chest and ripped something out."

  Jason thought about Sprigatito. About Ralts. About the bond he'd formed with each of them, the trust they'd placed in him. The idea of someone taking them—of that connection being severed by force—made his stomach turn.

  "The Rangers are looking?"

  "They're trying. But Granite Cave is a maze—goes deep into the island, connects to underwater passages, has exits nobody's mapped. Aqua knows those tunnels better than anyone." Marcus picked up his fork again, stabbing at a piece of fish with unnecessary force. "By now that Wingull could be anywhere."

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  Anger, Ralts sent through their bond—not Marcus's emotions, but her own reaction to sensing them. He's very angry. And sad.

  Jason reached up to touch her gently, acknowledging her observation. She pressed against his hand, grounding herself against the emotional turbulence she was picking up from the room.

  "What are they after?" Jason asked. "Aqua, I mean. Why steal random trainers' Pokémon?"

  "That's the question, isn't it?" Marcus leaned back, his initial anger settling into something more thoughtful. "The Pokémon they took wasn't anything special—just a common Wingull, no unusual abilities, no rare traits. So why risk exposure for something they could catch themselves in five minutes?"

  "Maybe they're not stealing to keep. Maybe they're stealing to..."

  "To what?"

  Jason hesitated. He had theories—knowledge from games and anime about Team Aqua's goals, their obsession with expanding the oceans, their search for legendary Pokémon. But he couldn't share any of that without explaining how he knew.

  "I don't know," he said finally. "But if they're getting bolder, it probably means they're working toward something. Something big enough that they don't care about keeping a low profile anymore."

  Marcus studied him for a long moment. "You think like someone who's seen this kind of thing before."

  "I read a lot. And I pay attention."

  "Mm." Marcus didn't seem entirely convinced, but he let it go. "Well, whatever they're planning, it's got the whole island on edge. Brawly's been talking about increasing patrols around the gym and cave entrance. The fishermen are going out in groups instead of solo. Even the tourists are nervous."

  "Will the gym still be accepting challengers?"

  "Far as I know. Brawly's not the type to shut down just because of some trouble. If anything, he'll be more intense—nothing like righteous anger to fuel a Fighting-type specialist." Marcus grinned slightly. "You might want to wait a few days, let things calm down. Unless you like your gym battles extra spicy."

  Jason considered it. Waiting made tactical sense—give the situation time to stabilize, train more, approach the challenge fresh.

  But waiting also meant more time for Aqua to act. More time for the stolen Wingull to disappear forever. More time for whatever they were planning to advance.

  "I'll challenge tomorrow afternoon," he decided. "No point waiting when I could be training instead."

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Confident."

  "Practical. Every day I'm not moving forward is a day I'm falling behind."

  "Behind what?"

  Jason didn't have a good answer for that. Behind the trainers who'd started before him? Behind the timeline of events he knew was coming? Behind some internal standard he'd set for himself without ever consciously defining it?

  "Just behind," he said.

  They finished dinner as full darkness settled over the harbor. The fishing boats had all returned now, their crews heading to homes and taverns while their catches were processed in the dockside warehouses. Street lamps flickered on along the main road, casting pools of warm light that drew in Volbeat and Illumise, their bioluminescent bodies creating a light show above the town.

  "Where are you staying?" Marcus asked as they left the cafeteria.

  "Room at the Center."

  "Standard trainer accommodation. Functional but boring." Marcus stretched, his joints popping audibly. "I've got a place near the harbor—nothing fancy, just a room above a storage shed, but it's got a decent view and nobody bothers me there."

  "Sounds nice."

  "It suits me." Marcus paused at the Center's exit, looking out at the town. Dewford at night was quieter than Jason had expected—fewer people on the streets, businesses closing early, an undercurrent of unease that hadn't been there when they arrived. "Listen, if you need anything while you're here—local knowledge, someone to watch your back, whatever—come find me. I'm usually at the harbor or the beach near the south point."

  "I appreciate that. Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why help me? You don't know me."

  Marcus was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful rather than casual.

  "Because I remember being new. Being alone in a place I didn't understand, with Pokémon counting on me and no idea what I was doing." He shrugged. "Someone helped me back then. Old fisherman named Taro—let me sleep on his boat, taught me how to read the currents, gave me work when I needed money. He didn't have to do any of that. Did it anyway."

  "And now you pass it on."

  "Something like that." Marcus grinned, the serious moment passing. "Besides, you've got that look."

  "What look?"

  "The look of someone who's going to be interesting to watch."

  He clapped Jason on the shoulder and headed off into the night, his figure disappearing down the lamplit street toward the harbor.

  Jason stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him go. Another connection made. Another person who'd chosen to help without expecting anything in return.

  Good person, Ralts sent—her impression of Marcus, filtered through his lingering emotions. Angry at bad things. Wants to help.

  "Yeah," Jason murmured. "I got that impression too."

  Sprigatito made a small sound—not quite agreement, but not disagreement either. She reserved judgment, as she always did with new people. Trust had to be earned with her.

  "Come on," Jason said. "Let's get some rest. Tomorrow we start serious prep for Brawly."

  The Pokémon Center room was small but comfortable—a single bed, a desk, a window overlooking a side street. Jason went through the evening routine that had become second nature: checking both Pokémon for any issues, brushing Sprigatito's fur until she purred contentedly, making sure Ralts had water and a comfortable spot to sleep.

  When everything was settled, he sat on the bed and pulled out his phone. 28% battery—he'd need to charge it tonight. But first...

  He scrolled through his music library, looking for something to match his mood. The day had been long—the ferry crossing, arriving at Dewford, the news about Team Aqua, meeting Marcus. His mind was full of information that needed processing.

  He selected something quiet. Shinedown's "I'll Follow You"—not one of their heavier tracks, but something softer, more contemplative.

  The music filled the small room, and Jason let himself sink into it. Sprigatito's ears twitched at the sound, but she didn't seem bothered—she'd gotten used to his strange device and its stranger sounds. Ralts listened with the focused attention she always gave to music, trying to understand what it meant to him.

  Pretty, she sent. Sad but pretty.

  "It's about not giving up on someone," Jason said quietly. "About following them through hard times."

  Like pack.

  "Yeah. Like pack."

  He thought about the stolen Wingull. About Leo—the kid Marcus had mentioned—and the loss he must be feeling. About Team Aqua, getting bolder, reaching for something that could change everything.

  He thought about his own team. Two Pokémon who trusted him completely. Who would follow him into danger because they believed he'd bring them through safely.

  I have to be worthy of that trust, he realized. Not just capable—worthy.

  Tomorrow he'd keep training. Tomorrow he'd take another step on this impossible journey. But tonight, he let himself feel the weight of responsibility he'd taken on.

  The music played on, soft and sad and beautiful, and eventually Jason fell asleep to its rhythm.

  Outside, the island of Dewford settled into an uneasy night, Team Aqua's presence a shadow over what should have been paradise.

  And in the depths of Granite Cave, something ancient waited to be found.