Olivia heard something.

  Not loud—nothing that suggested danger—but distinct enough to pull her out of sleep like a hook catching cloth.

  Her eyes opened at once.

  She sat up in bed, fully awake, heart steady, senses sharp. The room was dark, washed in soft shadow. Night, then. Late night. Nothing appeared out of place, but she was certain she hadn’t imagined the sound. It had meant something.

  She felt… good. Better than she had all day. Clear-headed. Energized. Even pleased, despite the unholy hour. The air felt warm, heavy with the promise of heat and rain by morning.

  Well, she thought, no point lying here wondering.

  She slipped quietly from the bed, deliberately avoiding the light. She didn’t want brightness—didn’t need it. Moving carefully, she padded through her apartment, checking corners, doorways, shadows. Everything felt familiar, safe, yet charged with alertness.

  Nothing was wrong.

  But something was waiting.

  As she moved, her stomach gave a low, insistent grumble. Not discomfort—hunger. Clean and simple.

  That would explain it, she decided. A small snack, then back to bed.

  She headed for the kitchen, taking the long, quiet way, listening as she went. The station was asleep. No footsteps. No voices. Just the distant, constant hum.

  In the kitchen, she stopped.

  There—on the floor, near the base of the cabinets—was exactly what she needed.

  A small, warm, furry shape.

  Her mouth opened without conscious thought. Saliva flooded, sharp and immediate. She lunged.

  The creature squealed, a brief, panicked sound, but it was already too late. Her jaws closed with decisive force. One clean snap.

  Hunger satisfied.

  She stood for a moment, breathing evenly, then turned and moved away, silent and sure-footed. The world felt right. Ordered.

  She passed back through the trees now, cool night air brushing her fur, and reached her den. She stomped a circle into the dried leaves and grasses, fluffing them just so, then curled down, comfortable and content.

  Sleep took her instantly.

  She woke with a gasp.

  Sitting bolt upright in her bed.

  Her heart was pounding now, loud and fast, and the room was unmistakably her bedroom. Morning light edged faintly around the curtains. Her skin was slick with sweat, her pajamas clinging, the sheets beneath her soaked through.

  “What the hell was that?” she whispered.

  Fear and wonder tangled together in her chest.

  Her head still ached faintly. Her back too. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, hands trembling just a little.

  “Damn,” she thought. Either my period really is off the rails… or that pill Charles gave me sent me on the weirdest trip of my life.

  She pushed the thought aside and headed for the bathroom, desperate for routine. Normalcy. Something grounded.

  Behind her, the bed stirred.

  Not dramatically. Not noisily.

  It folded in on itself with quiet efficiency, gathering the sweat-soaked sheets with care. A subtle signal pulsed outward, summoning the housekeeping sprites. As the linens were lifted, bundled, and replaced, something else was handled too—small, delicate, and wrapped away without comment.

  The bed adjusted its surface again, smoothing everything into perfect order.

  By the time Olivia returned from the bathroom, none of it would be visible.

  And she would never have to feel embarrassed about a dream that, perhaps, was a little closer to waking life than she was ready to admit.

  In the breakroom, Charles and Miss LaDonna were speaking in low tones with Bernard.

  A single tentacle had snaked down through the vent above the counter, discreet and practiced, an eye and a mouth forming at its tip so he could participate without broadcasting the conversation to the rest of the station.

  “…most of it in one bite,” Bernard was murmuring thoughtfully. “Honestly, a few more nights and her jaw muscles would have allowed her to finish it all at once instead of… ah. She’s coming.”

  The eye blinked once.

  The tentacle withdrew smoothly back into the vent just as the breakroom door opened.

  “Good morning!” Olivia called cheerfully.

  She looked bright.

  She crossed to the counter without hesitation, scooped a few pieces of fresh fruit onto her plate, added a generous mound of sausage links, snagged a cup of tea, and settled into her usual chair with the comfortable certainty of someone who belonged there.

  Charles and Miss LaDonna exchanged a look—quick, wordless, dense with meaning—then both turned back to her.

  “Good morning, my dear,” Miss LaDonna said warmly. “I see the rest did you some good.”

  Charles smiled. “Anything you need before the day starts?”

  Olivia paused mid-bite, chewing thoughtfully, then shook her head.

  “Nope,” she said around the last of the sausage, swallowing. “I don’t think so. I feel great, actually. Whatever was in that pill was fantastic. Are you sure those are legal in the U.S.?”

  Miss LaDonna’s gaze snapped to Charles.

  It was not loud.

  It was not dramatic.

  It was lethal.

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  Charles coughed lightly into his hand. “Perfectly legal,” he said quickly. “Entirely mundane. Generic, over-the-counter ibuprofen.”

  Olivia blinked. “Huh.”

  She took a sip of tea, considering. “Well, it knocked me for a loop. I was out like a light. But I feel great today.”

  She tilted her head slightly, thoughtful but unconcerned. “I mean, the headache and backache are still there, but much more manageable now.”

  She finished the sausages, then leaned forward over her plate of fruit, inhaling deeply. The scent alone seemed to please her; she smiled faintly before biting into a piece with obvious satisfaction.

  Miss LaDonna watched her closely.

  Charles did not look away.

  Bernard, listening from the vents, did not say a word—but the station hummed just a little more attentively than usual.

  As Olivia savored the fruit, juice slicking her fingers, Charles coughed lightly again—an entirely innocent sound that nevertheless made Miss LaDonna’s attention sharpen.

  “So…” he said carefully. “Any unusual dreams lately?”

  Olivia finished the bite she was on, chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged.

  “Well,” she said, “I dreamt I got up late last night and had a snack. Nothing exciting. Then I woke up in my bed, drenched in sweat.” She smiled and lifted another piece of fruit. “Honestly, I think the weirdest part is how good this fruit is. Damn.”

  Charles and Miss LaDonna glanced at one another.

  This time, Miss LaDonna didn’t soften it.

  “No sugarcoating,” she said gently but firmly. “Olivia, honey, we think you might be starting the Unfolding process. And if you are, we need to keep a close eye on you to make sure you’re all right.”

  Olivia scoffed outright.

  “Oh come on,” she said. “No. I’m sure it’s just my period being funny. It’s always been irregular as hell, and with all the changes—new environment, better food, that ridiculously perfect bed—my cycle’s off again. That’s all.”

  She spoke quickly. Too quickly. Like someone laying bricks over a crack.

  Miss LaDonna didn’t accept it. She didn’t argue either—she simply didn’t move.

  “That explanation is neat,” she said quietly. “Too neat. Too fast.”

  Olivia frowned. “I’m not wrong.”

  “I didn’t say you were,” Miss LaDonna replied. “Just that we shouldn’t assume.”

  She took a breath, choosing her words with care.

  “There is one way to be certain, if you’ll allow it. Would you let Charles examine you? He really is a trained doctor, even if he doesn’t act like one. More degrees than I have herbs in storage. A five-minute check would tell us whether this is your cycle… or something else beginning.”

  Olivia stiffened immediately.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Her tone wasn’t angry. It was defensive. Protective.

  “I know my body,” she continued. “And this feels close enough to normal that I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I don’t want to turn every ache into some big destiny thing. It’s just… wonky. It happens.”

  Miss LaDonna studied her for a long moment, then nodded once.

  “All right,” she said. “For now.”

  The table went quiet.

  Charles folded his hands slowly, considering the moment, the words not yet spoken lining themselves up behind his eyes.

  And that was when he finally decided to speak.

  Charles put down his spoon.

  The sound was small, but it cut cleanly through the room.

  He didn’t look at Miss LaDonna. He didn’t glance toward the vents. He looked only at Olivia, his vertical pupils steady now, the usual theatrical warmth set carefully aside.

  “Olivia,” he said quietly, “if you do not want an examination, there will be no examination. Full stop. Your body is yours. That is not negotiable.”

  Some of the tension eased from the room — not gone, but acknowledged.

  He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the table.

  “But I would be a poor friend, and a worse physician, if I didn’t explain why we’re paying such close attention. Not because we want to turn every ache into a prophecy,” he added gently, anticipating her protest. “But because we’ve learned — the hard way — what happens when people assume change is failure.”

  He gestured lightly toward her.

  “You say your body feels ‘wonky.’ From where I’m sitting, it looks… busy. The pressure in your head isn’t pain so much as adjustment. The ache in your back isn’t injury — it’s tension, like something stretching after being held too tightly for too long.”

  His voice softened, becoming careful.

  “And as for that dream… I wouldn’t worry about it yet. The line between sleep and waking can get thin around the station. Especially when someone is tired. Or hungry.”

  That word lingered, deliberately unexamined.

  “You feel better this morning because rest helped,” he continued smoothly. “That much is mundane. And if you want to call this an irregular cycle for another day or two, we’ll respect that. We’ll make sure you’re comfortable, fed, and not rushed into conclusions.”

  Then, quieter still:

  “All I ask is that you don’t assume your body is betraying you. Sometimes it’s simply remembering something you haven’t needed in a long while.”

  He leaned back.

  “And if at any point you’d prefer another set of eyes — a neutral one — we can ask Dr. Myles to check in. No pressure. No assumptions.”

  He offered a small, earnest smile.

  “You are not in danger. And you are not alone.”

  Olivia considered this for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of fruit.

  “…Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll compromise.”

  Charles lifted an eyebrow, attentive.

  “I am very confident this is just my period being weird,” she continued. “So give me until tomorrow afternoon. If I’m not, as my grandmother so delicately put it, free-flowing by then—” she made a small, decisive chopping motion with her hand “—you can call in your mad scientist friend to poke and prod me.”

  Miss LaDonna hid a smile behind her teacup.

  “But,” Olivia added, brightening immediately, “until then I would love a slab of chocolate cake approximately the size of my head. Got any chocolate in that coat of yours?”

  Charles closed his eyes for a second and sighed in theatrical resignation, the sound of a man who knew exactly how this would end.

  Miss LaDonna chuckled openly now.

  “Give me a moment,” Charles said, already reaching deep into the impossible interior of his coat. There was some rummaging. A faint clink. Something that sounded suspiciously like a freezer door opening and closing somewhere far away.

  Then he withdrew a clear plastic clamshell container and set it gently on the table.

  Inside was a monument.

  A thick slab of dense chocolate cake.

  A square of vanilla ice cream, pristine and still frozen.

  Another equally thick slab of chocolate cake.

  All of it drenched in glossy chocolate fudge sauce.

  Taped neatly to the lid was a plastic spoon.

  “Would this suffice?” Charles asked mildly.

  Olivia stared.

  Her eyes widened to dinner plates. A thin, utterly undignified line of drool formed at the corner of her mouth.

  “That’s…” she breathed, “…perfect.”

  She launched herself out of her chair and hugged Charles with feeling. He froze, arms half-lifted, carefully keeping the container level through long practice and sheer will.

  “Thank you!” she said fervently, releasing him just long enough to grab the cake. “You are a saint.”

  Then she was gone, practically trotting back out to the lobby with her prize, already peeling the tape off the lid as she went.

  Miss LaDonna laughed outright.

  Charles watched Olivia disappear, then shot Miss LaDonna a look. “Hush, you.”

  He reached back into his coat and produced the receiver of his antique telephone, lifting it to his ear.

  “Yes, Doctor Myles, if you please. …Yes, I’ll hold.”

  A pause. A soft hum of static and something like distant strings.

  “Len. It’s me,” he said quietly. “We think it’s started, but she’s being… resolute. Would you mind stopping by this afternoon? Invent a reason. See if you can talk some sense into her.”

  A beat.

  “Yes. Thank you. I owe you tea. Or secrets. Whichever you prefer.”

  He hung up and returned the receiver to his coat.

  “That’s settled,” he said. “The doctor will be by later. Ostensibly to give Richard his annual check-up.”

  Miss LaDonna sipped her tea, eyes amused and fond.

  “And to look after our girl,” she said softly.

  Charles nodded.

  Neither of them looked worried.

  Not yet.