Sara, the inn's cook, brought them lunch in a basket. She did this partly because she was excellent friends with Noir and partly because she needed the exercise herself, having spent the whole day standing in the kitchen. Arriving with heavy breaths, Tim rushed to help her carry the heavy pots. The lunch wasn't grand, but Tim devoured it as if it were the most delicious meal in the world. Sara ate with them and was always amazed by Tim: "Oh, you child, you eat so much, yet it doesn't show on you! But I love you for it because you eat whatever I bring you; it's a real joy for me!" She even clapped her hands in delight as she watched Tim eat and clean his plate to the last drop.

After lunch, Tim would stroll over to the neighboring property and his garden, leaving the two elders to discuss the world's affairs. While waiting for data from the central office, he busied himself in his garden. This was his other occupation in solitude. He tended a small vegetable garden. However, he had trouble with it because, being close to the forest, wild animals would come and raid his little plants. His corn didn't even have a chance to sprout because the birds picked the seeds out of the soil. In the previous days, he had been reading about scarecrow construction on his computer, gathering materials for building one. He found old clothes in the attic and a standing coat rack. These dusty items were now piled in his yard, waiting for him to start assembling his own scarecrow.

But starting was difficult. Standing before the pile, Tim wondered if it was worth it. Why plant anything here if, once the seedlings sprouted, the deer would eat them? He had thought about this before and now felt even more disheartened. Mara's image appeared before him, smiling at him in a way no one had ever smiled at him before. He could only hope that his mother had smiled at him like that when he was a baby, but Tim didn't remember it as he grew up in an orphanage. Fortunately, he was an intelligent kid, and they educated him, although no one ever adopted him. He learned gardening from one of the caretakers. They would hoe in the small yard of the orphanage; those few hours were his only connection to something resembling a parent-child relationship. The old caretaker patiently explained to him, showing him weeds and vegetables. He carried heavy water buckets. After the old lady died, he was the only one caring for the small garden.

Thus, gardening always filled him with a pleasant warmth, something he remembered as the highlight of his childhood. He had few other memories. He studied to see the pride in his teacher's eyes, and only he knew how much work it took for them to consider him an intelligent kid. He almost always studied, hiding in the closet or the nearby forest to read, just to avoid playing with his peers, who almost always mocked him for his ears or his thin arms, which even a child's hand could encircle easily.

These were old memories he didn't like to recall. When accepted into the gatekeeper program, he was glad to leave the orphanage and get a small room in the city. He only regretted leaving his little garden because he knew the neatly planted tomatoes would dry up, as no one would water them every morning, and tomatoes are susceptible to drought.

After the city, he was delighted to have a large yard where he could garden, and the digging took up much of his time. Initially, he even tried growing tomatoes, but when he woke up one morning to find a rabbit with big brown eyes looking at him from among his beds and all his little red tomatoes gnawed and hanging, he gave up. He didn't like doing things that seemed pointless. Maybe this was his only flaw—he wasn't persistent in anything. He would rather quit than struggle if facing an obstacle, for he feared failure.

Standing before the pile now, he wondered if it would succeed. Was it worth putting in all this work if it didn't scare away the birds?

He went into the house and sat in front of his computer. It was an older model with a screen, a large box-like controller, and a keyboard. You wouldn't see anything like it in the city anymore, where everyone used holographic projectors controlled by eye movements. He had to learn how to use this old machine, practice typing for a long time, and manage to type with just one finger. But he didn't complain; he felt a kind of nostalgia, as they had similar computers in the orphanage, though they weren't allowed to use them, only seeing the caretakers constantly working on them.

After turning it on, a dark, marshy scene appeared on the monitor, with a sprawling tree in the center. The overall atmosphere of the image was gloomy, with a mysterious bluish tint. For some reason, he was captivated by this picture and set it as his background. He liked it because the bright blue sky peeking out from behind the clouds in the top left corner broke the seemingly dark mood. It was as if he saw a metaphor in the image: behind hopelessness, there was a solution, or there was always a way out, a glimmer of hope.

At one point, he had wanted to travel and see the world, which was why the gatekeeping job attracted him. He had not thought he would always stand in one place while the clients traveled. His sense of adventure amounted to nothing, and he couldn't afford to visit any of his favorite places on his small salary. He had yet to realize the job would be so dull and not just about letting travelers through the gate but also involve severe administrative work. Every afternoon, the central office sent over the EPRS numbers for those whose crossing point was his small town, the Walnut Gate. He had to keep track of these, and once the crossing was completed, he had to close the number and scan the permits and papers.

He didn't enjoy this part. He also retrieved data from his own system on who he had allowed to pass and spent his afternoons closing the numbers for those who had already crossed. When he got to Mara's jump, he hesitated. She didn't have a number, but he knew he had to report it if someone tried to cross without a permit. He also knew that reporting it could get her into trouble, possibly leading to a search for her or the discovery that her permits were fake.

But what if everything was indeed in order with her papers, and the only thing missing was the number? There was no need to worry about it. In such cases, protocol required him to provide the traveler's name, so he entered Mara Matthews's name on the appropriate form, with the rejection reason as "missing number." The mandatory fields required a few more details, including the destination, and when he entered "Heine," his screen displayed an hourglass for several minutes as if there was a problem.

The whole procedure took little time, maybe one or two hours. Tim also filled out the statistics, indicating 23 people traveled today, and one was rejected. The downloaded EPRS number was 67, which was unusually high, but this only meant that many people had registered for travel today; when they would jump was up to them.

After finishing his work, he didn't turn off the computer immediately. He checked the news while making himself some dinner. He wondered if he should have included in the report that Mara had tried to bribe him or mentioned what she had said about the government. No, not that. That would have definitely gotten the girl into big trouble.

At night, he had a terrible recurring dream, causing him to wake up constantly and get very little deep sleep. He was trudging through a swampy marsh, knee-deep in water, going somewhere, and suddenly Mara overtook him. She moved effortlessly as if her path was through the muddy water. While Tim's legs were stuck in the muck, the girl walked above the water as if there were a path, smiling at him with that same expression. Tim reached out to her as if asking for help, but the girl smiled and walked past him, disappearing toward the blue sky. This dream, with its dark mood, repeated throughout the night. Sometimes, Tim drowns in the water or stands under it while the girl stands above him, smiling at him but doing nothing.

Still affected by the dream in the morning, he struggled to get up and was half-dazed. He hurried to the teleporter to be there by 9 AM to welcome the travelers. He could barely see straight and, unlike other times when he arrived early to empty the trash bins and tidy up, he was met with a mess. The wind had battered his little booth, and the sign with the opening hours was hanging by one corner. He didn't have time to fix it or pick up the trash from the ground because the first travelers had already appeared at the bottom of the hill. They hurried with their papers in hand, eager to be the first to reach Tim. Always in such a rush, he shook his head. He remembered a time during a festival when some people spent the night up here to ensure they'd be the first to travel. Back then, so many people traveled that he couldn't let the last ones through because the opening hours had ended.

His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar face appeared behind the next person in line. She was beautiful as ever and smiled charmingly at Tim, handing him her papers more confidently this time. She held Tim's gaze so firmly that he started to feel uncomfortable. He took the papers, and his heart skipped a beat as he received them. He wavered momentarily and hoped no one, especially the girl, noticed this.

"Name?" he asked, trying to sound official.

"Mara Matthews," the woman said kindly, a bit urgently.

All the papers were in order, and even the EPRS number was printed there. He turned to the machine and entered the number; it was valid. Yet something still bothered him.

"Mara, when did you request this number? It says it was requested last week. But yesterday, you didn't even know you needed such a number!" He furrowed his brow as he scrutinized the woman, who continued to smile.

"Tim, I told you yesterday that strange things were happening in the northern sector, and I need to go there to find out. People need to know about it!" She leaned closer to Tim as she spoke, and he could smell her perfume. It seemed odd because Mara was dressed like a hiker, with boots and a backpack. Why was she wearing perfume?

"Are you a journalist? What do you mean by saying people need to know?" Tim inquired.

"Yes, I'm an investigative journalist, but I'm more of a freelancer. I don't work for any famous channel," Mara said, pleadingly at the gatekeeper.

"Mara, but you know journalists need a media permit on top of everything else, right?" Tim hated himself for saying this. He hadn't even thought about it; he just decided not to let her through. Because otherwise, she had everything she needed.

"I need to bypass the authorities, Tim. I'm sure I wouldn't get that permit. The authorities are the ones hiding something. Please, let me through! I already have the number, and you said everything else is valid!"

Tim felt sorry for the woman and was about to let her through, thinking she seemed to have all the necessary documents despite his doubts. But then he noticed Noir walking towards him, accompanied by his boss, Judith.

The gatekeeper within him prevailed, and he knew the proper protocol when something suspicious was detected.

"Mara Matthews, I must confiscate and examine your papers to ensure they're not fake. If everything checks out, I'll let you through tomorrow. So I ask you not to hold up the line; come back tomorrow simultaneously, and you can cross."

Mara stared at him with huge, sad eyes, then looked at her papers. "Tim, please, let me through!"

It dawned on Tim that she had called him by his name, which shocked him into silence. When he saw out of the corner of his eye that Noir and Judith were getting close, he snapped back to reality.

"If you know what's good for you, go now! Come back tomorrow!" His voice was forceful, almost commanding, which even surprised him. Mara followed Tim's gaze, and she seemed to understand when she saw the approaching figures. She turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd.

Tim urgently waved the next person forward, stashing the papers away as if nothing had happened. When Judith reached him, he acted as if he had just noticed them.

"One moment, Tim, just a few words," she said, pulling him aside towards Noir. "Was the person who wanted to cross to Heine here again today?"

Tim was surprised but forced himself to remain calm. "No, not yet today..." He had to clear his throat to hide his excitement.

"If she shows up, let us know. Noir and I will be right here on the side."

Tim nodded and returned to his duties, his thoughts filled with concern for the girl. Tim had yet to learn why he had done what he did earlier. Was he now an accomplice? Had anyone noticed he was talking to the woman earlier? He began to understand why this place had its advantages, being an outdoor teleportation point. There were no cameras. No one could review who had been there and when. It struck him as odd that no one had thought to install a camera on a tree or a pole. Or perhaps it was one of those things he couldn't comprehend. Was this place famous for that very reason? No record of who traveled, just the documents. But who verifies that the person in front of him is indeed the owner of those documents?

He had to, but placing such a responsibility on him based on a poorly taken photograph? He wondered if other similar gates had such strange security measures. In the city, one always felt watched by cameras and drones, but here, there was nothing. This peculiar freedom stirred mixed feelings in Tim.

He hurried with the paper checks, feeling flustered, knowing his boss was watching him. It reminded him of being in school. He tried to perform well, paying attention to every detail.

When the initial rush of travelers subsided and only occasional travelers appeared, Noir and Judith came closer.

"It seems you scared the girl away!" Noir joked.

Tim smiled but also felt slightly offended, sensing the mockery. It reminded him of school, where such jokes flew over his head.

"Why is this person so important?" Tim redirected his thoughts.

"Heine, Tim," Judith replied. She usually had an impeccable appearance, but now her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, seemingly in a hurry. Instead of her usual uniform, Judith wore travel clothes with boots. How peculiar, Tim thought, as if she wanted to blend into the crowd. "I'm sure her papers were fake. And I wanted to ask why you didn't confiscate them?"

Tim felt dizzy. "Well, she didn't seem suspicious, just missing the number!" It became clear to him that Judith was there because he had reported the failed crossing yesterday. Were the Heine crossings monitored this closely?