The staff dormitory was quiet, save for the rhythmic wheezing coming from the bottom bunk.
Eva slipped inside, closing the door softly. She had avoided the security patrol by seconds.
Sarah, her roommate, rolled over. Her face was flushed with fever.
"Eva?" Sarah rasped. She squinted in the dark. "Your face..."
Eva touched her cheek. It was raw, swollen from the scrubbing.
She nodded.
Sarah sighed, a rattling sound in her chest. "He's spiraling. I heard the kitchen staff talking. If Britt dies..."
Eva grabbed a notepad from the nightstand. She scribbled quickly.
I'm not afraid of him.
She showed it to Sarah.
Sarah laughed, a weak, humorless sound. "You should be. But... he wasn't always like this."
Eva frowned.
"My aunt worked here thirty years ago," Sarah whispered. "She saw it. Alek's birth mother, Elara. She wasn't like Hester. The pressure of this family... it broke her. They said she lost her mind. Jumped from the east tower roof. Alek saw it. He was seven." Sarah coughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Hester was her replacement, brought in to manage the family... and the boy. That's why he hates weakness," Sarah said. "And that's why he's obsessed with you. My aunt said you have Elara's eyes. Sad eyes."
Eva lowered the notepad. She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty room. She didn't want his projection. She didn't want his twisted trauma bonding.
She wrote again. I am leaving.
"Nobody leaves," Sarah coughed.
Eva reached into her pocket and touched Emory's note. Someone helps.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The PA system screeched to life.
"All staff to the main hall. Immediately. Mr. Crawford has returned." Arthur's voice was strained.
Eva checked the clock on the wall. 10:00 PM. Emory's meeting was at midnight.
"Go," Sarah whispered, trying to sit up.
Eva pushed her back down gently. She put a finger to her lips. Stay.
Eva pulled her hood up and walked out.
The hallway was full of nervous staff shuffling toward the main hall. The air smelled of fear.
Eva entered the grand foyer.
Alek was standing in the center of the room.
He was covered in blood.
It splattered his white dress shirt, his hands, his face. But he wasn't injured. He wasn't triumphant. His face was stark white beneath the crimson streaks, his eyes holding a hollow, feverish glaze. He moved with a terrifying, coiled energy, like a man running from his own skin.
In his right hand, he held a bent iron golf club. The head of the club was distorted.
Silence fell over the fifty staff members.
Alek's eyes scanned the crowd. Hunting.
They landed on Eva. He took a half-step toward her, his gaze fixing on her cheek. The raw, scrubbed skin was a flag of defiance. A flicker of something cold and sharp crossed his face before he masked it, pointing the bent club at her.
"You."
Eva stepped forward. Her legs felt like lead. Every eye was on her.
Alek reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white towel. He threw it at her.
It landed at her feet.
"Clean it," he said, gesturing to the club.
Eva bent down. She picked up the towel. She walked toward him.
The smell of metallic blood hit her nose. It was fresh.
Whose blood is this?
She wrapped the towel around the club head and began to wipe.
