Dommie sipped his coffee slow, savoring the heat before the morning chill could steal it. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a faint gold over the damp grounds of the Sanitarium. The fog hadn't lifted yet, and the gates loomed ahead in their usual silence.
The early shift was quiet—just the way he liked it. A chance to breathe. Read a page or two from the paperback the beautiful doctor had handed him on Saturday. Some flowery thing he didn't understand, but he was halfway through it anyway. She'd smiled when she gave it to him. That was enough.
Evelyn Harrow. The way she walked through the gate that day, light on her feet, blouse catching the breeze like something from the Capital. Too elegant for a place like Dunwich's Reach. Dommie had seen noblewomen in passing, but never up close, and never one that smiled like that.
She probably didn't even remember his name.
But he remembered her.
His cheeks warmed as he looked down at his coffee and tried to reread the same sentence for the third time.
Then he heard it.
A sound—soft, slow. A drag along the stone just outside the door.
His breath caught. He lowered the mug.
"Probably one of the lunnies," he muttered to himself, not quite believing it.
He picked up the baton leaning by the post. His grip was steady, but his fingers were cold. The sky outside had turned pale blue, the sun breaking lazily over the horizon. It should've been peaceful.
But something felt off.
He stepped toward the door, each movement careful, practiced. East wing was quiet today. The real security detail had been brought in for the elites' visit on Saturday. He'd volunteered to cover the post afterward, just in case. Just to be helpful.
Just to see her again.
He reached the door.
Listened.
Nothing.
Then, quick and sharp, he opened it.
The light spilled in across the stone.
And sitting right there at the threshold—
A red ball.
Perfectly round.
Dommie stared at it.
Then looked to the gate. Still locked.
The fog swirled low and thick beyond the grounds, unmoved by the sunrise.
He stepped out cautiously. The gravel crunched beneath his boots.
The ball didn't move.
But something deep inside him did.
It started slow—a creeping warmth at his feet, so soft he thought he imagined it. Then it climbed. Up his calves. Behind his knees. His baton suddenly felt small. Useless.
He turned his head just slightly. Looked around.
No one.
No birdsong. No wind. Even the morning air had gone still.
Everything had stopped.
Except his heart.
It pounded, thunderous in his ears. And still, the warmth climbed. Slithering up his spine. Slower than breath. More patient than fear. Like it knew it had time.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't look back.
Wouldn't.
Then—
Her face.
The memory of Evelyn smiling.
And in that instant, the warmth wrapped around his heart.
And pulled.
He turned—
And saw—
His scream shattered the morning.
A raw, desperate sound that broke through the trees and echoed across the Sanitarium grounds. Birds launched into flight. Nurses flinched behind windows. The receptionist dropped her mug with a crack. Two guards sprinted out from the side building, weapons drawn.
They found Dommie writhing on the gravel, foam spilling from his mouth. Limbs twitching. Eyes wide.
And a few feet away—
A woman.
Blue wig. Red ball on her nose.
She beamed.
Raised both hands, shoulders up in a ridiculous shrug.
"April fools!" she chirped.
The guards froze.
The receptionist blinked from the doorway.
And the woman?
She wasn't watching them.
She was looking up—high above them all.
To a single, tall window near the top of the Sanitarium's east wing.
Where Dr. Thatcher stood in stillness.
Watching.
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