The heat did not arrive all at once.
It crept in.
Day after day, the temperature rose beyond what the forecasts promised. Asphalt softened under tires. The air shimmered over long roads like water. In the city, transformers failed under the strain, exploding with sharp concussive cracks that echoed through neighborhoods like gunshots. Power outages rolled through districts in waves. Elevators stalled. Traffic lights died.
The explanations never matched the scale.
Heat surge. Infrastructure fatigue. Temporary failures.
At the Hale estate, the world felt far away, but not untouched.
The mansion sat deep within its grounds, separated from public roads by long stretches of manicured land and iron fencing. No screams carried from the streets. No sirens pierced the walls. But inside, unease settled anyway, thick as the heat pressing against the windows.
Iris felt it in her bones.
She stood in the corridor overlooking the inner courtyard, fingers curled against the cool stone railing. Even here, even surrounded by quiet and order, something felt wrong. The air was too still. The birds had gone silent hours ago.
Bootsteps echoed behind her.
Alexander came into view already dressed for departure.
He wore his uniform despite being off duty, the dark military jacket fitted close, the fabric reinforced and stiff at the shoulders. His boots were polished out of habit, laces tight. The insignia at his collar caught the light when he moved.
Prepared.
Too prepared.
"You're leaving," Iris said.
It was not a question.
Alexander adjusted his gloves, calm, controlled. "I was contacted. Not officially."
Her chest tightened. "Then don't go."
He looked at her fully then. Not dismissive. Not indulgent. Just honest.
"Something is happening," he said. "I don't know what. That's exactly why I have to move before everything locks down."
Iris stepped closer, lowering her voice. "This is wrong, Alex. The heat, the outages, the way people are acting."
In the novel, this was when things started sliding.
"Iris."
He called her name, firm. A boundary.
He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, grounding, familiar. "Send most of the staff home. Lock the outer gates. Keep everyone inside. No shelters. No crowds."
"You sound like you already know."
"I know enough not to follow panic."
He turned toward the door.
She swallowed. "Come back."
He nodded once, already moving.
The estate gates closed behind him with a deep metallic groan.
The heat peaked that afternoon.
Inside the house, people moved sluggishly. Servants wiped sweat from their brows. Glasses slipped from damp fingers. Somewhere in the west wing, a chandelier light flickered and died.
Then it happened.
No warning.
No countdown.
Iris never felt herself falling.
One moment she was walking. The next, her body gave out beneath her, consciousness dropping away like a switch had been flipped.
Darkness took her instantly.
She woke up sprawled on the floor.
Her eyes snapped open, heart racing, as if no time had passed at all.
The house was silent.
Not peaceful.
Dead.
Her breath caught.
"Iris?"
Her mother's voice echoed faintly from deeper inside the mansion.
Relief surged through her chest. "I'm here.!"
She pushed herself upright, legs unsteady, and followed the sound toward the servants' corridor. Her footsteps felt too loud in the stillness.
As she rounded the corner, the smell hit her first.
Blood.
Thick and metallic.
The gardener staggered into view.
At first, her mind refused to process what she was seeing. His posture was wrong, shoulders hunched unnaturally, head tilted at an angle that made her stomach twist. His eyes were open but empty, unfocused, jaw working as if chewing something that was no longer there.
Blood soaked the front of his uniform.
He looked at her.
And screamed.
The sound was wet and broken.
Fear slammed into Iris all at once.
She stumbled back, breath hitching. "Stop… stop!"
The thing lunged.
She turned and ran, heart hammering so hard it hurt, shoes skidding on polished floors. Her mind screamed for a weapon, anything.
Her hand brushed against a decorative stand near the corridor wall.
A heavy metal rod.
She yanked it free and spun just as the servant crashed into her, fingers scraping dangerously close to her throat.
She screamed and swung.
The rod connected with his shoulder. Bone cracked.
He barely reacted.
Panic surged.
This was wrong.
This was not human.
He lunged again, teeth snapping inches from her arm. She threw herself sideways, barely avoiding the bite, adrenaline burning through her veins.
Think. Move.
She bolted into a storage alcove and slammed the door shut. The impact behind her rattled the hinges.
Her hands shook as she dragged a shelving unit across the floor, wedging it against the door. The pounding slowed, staggered.
An opening.
She raised the rod, every muscle screaming.
The door burst inward.
She brought the rod down.
Once.
Twice.
The third strike landed on his head.
He collapsed forward, twitching.
[Alexander]
Miles away, Alexander jolted awake with a sharp pain splitting his forehead.
Metal screamed.
His car lurched violently as another vehicle slammed into its side, the impact throwing him against the seatbelt. He groaned, vision blurring, blood trickling down his temple.
The highway was chaos.
Cars lay scattered across lanes, some overturned, some still smoking. The smell of burned rubber and fuel filled the air. No engines ran. No horns sounded.
Too quiet.
Alexander forced the door open and stumbled out, boots crunching on shattered glass. His phone slid from the seat and hit the ground, screen dark.
Movement flickered at the edge of his vision.
A silhouette.
Running.
Too fast.
Training cut through the fog instantly.
He squared his stance. His jacket was thick, reinforced, the fabric designed to resist tearing. His hand dropped to his boot, fingers closing around the familiar weight secured there.
A military-grade knife.
The thing lunged.
Alexander met it head-on.
Claws scraped across his jacket. Teeth snapped inches from his face. He drove his forearm up, blocked, twisted, stepped in close, and swung with full force.
The blade flashed.
The body collapsed at his feet.
Alexander stood there, chest heaving, blood splattered across his boots.
Something was wrong with the world.
He did not wait to understand it.
He turned back toward his car.
Toward home.
[Iris]
She did not stop.
She hit him again.
And again.
Each blow sent shock up her arms. Blood splattered the wall, the floor, her hands. Her breath broke into ragged sobs.
Alexander flashed through her mind.
Is he safe?
Her arms trembled as she lifted the rod one final time and brought it down with everything she had.
The body went still.
Silence rushed in.
Iris staggered back, dropping the rod. Her legs gave out and she slid down the wall, chest heaving, hands shaking uncontrollably.
She stared at the corpse.
She had killed something.
Her first time.
In two lives.
Tears burned her eyes as she pressed her forehead to the wall, trying to breathe, trying not to scream.