"Enid, if you think this is some kind of prank," Wednesday said coolly, her voice steady despite the quiet stretching on, "you can stop now."
She paused, listening—hoping, just briefly, that this was Enid's idea of payback for being dragged here.
No answer came.
A thin crease formed between Wednesday's brows.
This wasn't amusing anymore.
She scanned the room with practiced precision, cataloging details the way she would a crime scene. Near the doorway, fresh footprints cut through the dust.
These had to be the tracks connected to Enid's disappearance.
She followed them down the corridor. They ended at a closed door.
Wednesday stopped in front of the door, inhaled once, then slipped her hand into her pocket and unfolded her knife. She always carried it—specifically for situations like this. It had been a while since she'd needed to use it, which she found mildly disappointing.
She fixed her gaze on the door. Whatever waited on the other side, she hoped it would finally provide a reason.
She opened the door.
"Surprise!"
Two voices—far too cheerful—collided with her expectations. Colored paper burst through the air, fluttering down around her like debris from a poorly planned explosion.
Wednesday blinked.
Once.
Ethan stood grinning, wearing a black birthday cone hat that looked aggressively out of place on his head.
Enid bounced beside him, eyes bright with barely contained excitement. Thing sat on the table between them, also sporting a tiny black cone hat, fingers raised in a celebratory wiggle.
For a moment, Wednesday simply stared.
Her knife lowered a fraction.
"I was expecting a serial killer," she said flatly. "Possibly a monster. This is… worse."
She would have preferred the earlier unease—the sensation of walking into the unknown—over this quietly disappointing surprise.
Enid beamed. "Happy birthday, Wednesday!"
Ethan tilted his head, clearly amused. "You should have seen your expression," he said, unable to hide his satisfaction. "You actually thought someone had kidnapped Enid."
Thing gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Wednesday looked at the scattered paper on the floor, then at the hats, then back at them.
"…Explain," she said flatly.
Enid beamed. "It's your birthday."
"I'm aware," Wednesday replied.
"So we planned this birthday party here," Ethan said, indicating the room. "Thing helped."
"So you've been occupied with this all day?" Wednesday asked.
That explained his absence—and the sudden incompetence of her evening plans.
"No," Ethan said easily. "I was wandering. Then Thing reminded me it was your birthday." He glanced at the hand. "After that, this happened."
"If Thing told you it was my birthday," Wednesday said coolly, "then he should have also mentioned that I despise birthdays."
She folded her arms, her gaze steady, unamused. "They commemorate survival, encourage forced enthusiasm, and mark the slow march toward decay. None of which I consider worthy of celebration."
Wednesday glanced at the decorations as if they were evidence of a minor crime. "Cake is a lie. Candles are a fire hazard. And the expectation that I smile on command is frankly insulting."
"This is officially the first time in my entire life that someone has reacted like this to a birthday surprise party," Enid said, blinking in disbelief. "Most people don't immediately judge like this."
Ethan shrugged. "I mean… it's Wednesday. Expecting cheerful enthusiasm would've been a statistical error."
Wednesday didn't dignify that with a response. She turned on her heel. "Then I'm leaving."
She made it exactly one step.
Ethan shifted into her path, quick and annoyingly precise, gently but firmly steering her back toward the table. Not aggressive—just impossible to ignore.
"You've already been lured, kidnapped, and emotionally ambushed," he said. "The least you can do is cut the cake."
"I would rather cut my own hand," Wednesday replied, her gaze dropping to the cake like it was a threat. It was dark chocolate-flavored, dark frosting smooth and immaculate, the words Happy Birthday Wednesday written in stark white.
"There's time for self-harm later," Ethan said calmly. "Cake first."
Before she could step away again, he placed a kitchen knife into her hand, folding her fingers around the handle. His other hand guided her wrist toward the cake.
"This is coercion," Wednesday said flatly.
"It's friendship," Enid corrected, grinning. "Very aggressive friendship."
The knife pressed down. The cake gave way with a soft resistance.
"Happy birthday to Wednesday," Enid sang, completely off-key and proud of it.
Ethan joined in without hesitation. Thing added enthusiastic signing, fingers flying with dramatic flair.
Wednesday paused, the knife still embedded in the cake.
Then the vision hit.
Her head snapped back, breath catching as the room vanished.
Darkness. A different air. Sharper. Colder.
A woman stood ahead, her silhouette rigid, fingers wrapped tight around a shotgun. The metal gleamed under a single hanging light.
"So, dear," the woman said, voice steady with intent, "you got the shotgun we needed."
Someone stood beside her—tall, close—but their face refused to resolve, as if the vision itself were withholding it.
"Now," the woman continued, lifting the barrel slightly, "I can finally kill that blood mosquito."
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 98, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
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