We decided not to go out last night; we just stayed in and spent time together. The alarm blares at 6:30 a.m. I blink a few times, then turn to face Mitch beside me. He's already smiling. His warmth makes me feel safe—even though I'm not physically warm myself. His presence slows my thoughts, stills the panic about the thing I'm becoming. I smile back softly.
"Time for work, Pup," he whispers.
He leans in, kissing my forehead before sitting up. I watch as he stretches, arms overhead, shirt rising slightly. I smile to myself, then force myself upright. Mitch reaches over, his fingers brushing my arm before he gets out of bed.
He grabs our uniforms from the back of the door and tosses mine at me, the clothes landing right on my face.
"I only start at nine," I mumble, tugging the polo and fleece off my head.
"Do a shift with me," he grins, stepping into his pants.
I raise an eyebrow, but nod. I climb out of bed, starting to dress while Mitch laces his boots and disappears out the bedroom door. I pause mid-button, confused, then hurry to catch up, pulling my fleece over my head and grabbing my boots.
Before I can finish tying them, Mitch walks back in, grinning and holding breakfast.
"I've got your tub. Don't worry," he laughs, handing it to me.
I take the container with a quiet thanks and glance at him, then down at the raw meat. I pop it open and start eating, already feeling my body relax as the blood hits my tongue.
"We need to leave soon. Be there for 7:30," Mitch says, biting into his toast.
I nod, finishing the steaks fast. He throws me the black towel again, and I wipe my face and hands. Mitch walks over, gently taking the towel from me to clean a smear I missed. His touch is careful. Familiar.
"There are officially two reasons I call you Pup now," he chuckles.
"Oh?" I ask, slightly amused.
"You're a mucky Pup when you eat," he smirks, opening the bedroom door.
"Thanks…" I mutter awkwardly. "I can't help it."
I grab my gloves from the side table and follow him downstairs. Mitch walks ahead, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door as we pass. I step outside into the early morning chill, waiting while he locks up.
"Going to work! See you later!" he calls behind him, shutting the door.
He unlocks the car, and we both get in. The seat's cold. I exhale slowly, rubbing my gloved hands together.
"What's wrong?" Mitch asks, glancing at me as he starts the engine.
"Nothing. I'll be fine." I try a smile.
He studies me for a second, then returns it. The engine hums to life, and we head off.
When we pull into the staff car park, I spot Phil standing near the reception area, talking to someone I don't recognize. A tall man in a dark coat, serious expression. I feel my gut twist.
"Looks serious," Mitch says, cutting the engine.
"How so?" I ask, climbing out.
"That's Darren Foyle," Mitch says quietly. "The owner of the theme park."
Oh.
I suddenly feel underdressed—even though I'm in uniform.
We walk over together. Phil notices us and offers a small smile.
"Hey, boys. Why're you here so early, Eden?" he asks.
"I asked Mitch about doing some overtime," I explain. "He said he'd sort it out on the timesheet."
The man—Darren—approaches, giving me a once-over.
"You're one of the new kids, right?" he says. I nod.
"Nice to see one wanting overtime already. Despite the… incidents," Darren adds with a wry smile toward Phil.
Phil just nods, patting my shoulder.
Mitch shifts beside me. "Anyone else here yet?"
"Not yet," Phil replies. "Check the rota in the staff room. Think Sammy and Dominic are in at 8:00, the rest stagger in between 8:30 and 9:00."
"No worries," Mitch says. "Come on, Eden. Let's note the overtime."
I follow him toward the park gates. The wind nips at my face. As we walk in silence, I find myself glancing sideways at Mitch.
"Thanks for this," I say softly.
"For what?"
"For making it feel normal."
He slows, giving me a gentle look. "You're my normal."
We reach the staff room. He opens the door, and the scent of stale coffee hits me. It's quiet inside, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Mitch heads to the noticeboard and scribbles something on the paper rota. I drop into one of the chairs and exhale.
Even here, even now, my mind still wanders. The monster inside me hasn't disappeared—it's just sleeping. And I don't know when it'll wake up again.
Mitch turns back and smiles. "Clocked in."
I glance at the time. 7:15 a.m.
"Guess we've got the place to ourselves for a bit," I mutter.
"Yup. Come on, let's open the lockers and grab radios."
We walk toward the small corner where all the staff equipment is kept. I feel like I'm going through the motions, but it's grounding. Routine. Familiar.
The thought creeps in again—how long can I keep pretending this is normal?
How long before the next body drops?