I rolled up my sleeve as I disposed of the empty cans from my morning cofee, not wanting to seem rude by leaving trash in someone else's house.
Stretching my fingers over my mouth, I let out a quiet yawn and turned toward the lift.
Just in time—the doors were still open as the last person stepped in.
I hurried forward, nodding awkwardly at the other occupants as I entered. My fingers subconsciously traced the rim of my glasses, an old habit I couldn't seem to break.
Yet, something felt... off.
A strange unease settled in my chest, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind. It wasn't an obvious warning—more like a presence lurking in my subconscious, pressing down on me.
I ignored it.
The sound of a car door slamming outside jolted me back to reality.
My breath hitched, my fingers frozen mid-motion against my glasses. I blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings.
I was still standing in the same spot.
The lift doors had long since closed, and the hallway stretched out before me in eerie silence. My brows furrowed.
Hadn't I just—?
I shook my head, trying to dismiss the odd sensation. Maybe I was just tired.
With a deep breath, I walked toward the trash can, rolling up my sleeve as I disposed of the empty cans from my morning coffe—
I froze.
The can.
I had already thrown it away.
A chill ran down my spine. My movements slowed, my mind grasping for some logical explanation. I turned toward the lift again, just as the last person stepped in.
I blinked, my breath catching in my throat.
I nodded awkwardly, stepping inside. My fingers traced the rim of my glasses.
Wait.
This already happened.
A sense of weightlessness filled my chest, like the moment before free-falling. My hands clenched. Am I losing my mind?
The doors slid open.
"Doc... doctor? Duckyduc?"
I snapped my head up.
The voice was the same. The inflection, the hesitation—identical to before.
"Huh?" My own voice came out uncertain.
The man in front of me gave a full blown smile. "Are you lost too? I've been holding the door for a few seconds. Are you supposed to get out here? because this is The last floor"
My face flushed with embressment.
I swallowed hard. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."
Heat flooded my face as quickly as i stepped out, using my hair as a shield to hide my burning cheeks. I barely resisted the urge to sprint to my office.
What the hell is happening?
As I reached my desk, my supervisor shot me a questioning glance. I forced a sheepish smile in response before sinking into my chair, exhaling sharply.
I needed to shake off this weird feeling.
Opening my planner, I got straight to work, sorting patient files and reviewing my upcoming appointments. But even as I distracted myself with scheduling, a sigh slipped past my lips.
It had been seven months, and every day felt the same.
Case after case, the pattern never changed.
A cat with a cold. A hamster stuck in a tube. A poodle with mild indigestion. Nothing beyond minor, routine checkups.
I stared at the files, fingers drumming against the desk.
Not once had I stepped foot into the OR. Not once had I been assigned anything remotely challenging. It was strange—hospitals always had emergencies, didn't they? So why did mine feel so... staged?
Then there were the other oddities.
No one talked much. Most of my coworkers kept to themselves, like ghosts floating through the hallways. The only real conversation I'd had was with a janitor, and even that felt off—like there was something unsaid between every word.
And let's not forget the restricted areas.
Entire floors off-limits, protected by keypads and biometric scans. What kind of animal hospital needed that level of security?
It didn't make sense. None of it did.
I tapped my pen against my desk, shaking my head.
Nope. Not my business.
The pay was good, and I wasn't about to mess that up by playing detective. Whatever was going on behind those closed doors had nothing to do with me.
At least, that's what I told myself.
But the whisper at the back of my mind told me otherwise.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it.
And if today had taught me anything... it was that some things refused to be ignored.