The next morning, the sun crawled lazily over the rooftops, spilling through the blinds in pale stripes across Ethan's bedroom floor. He groaned, head pounding, eyelids heavy. Every movement sent a sharp pulse of pain through his temples.
"Ugh... not again," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Logan's footsteps echoed down the hallway. He looked just as tired, dark circles under his eyes. "You feel that too?" he asked, voice low.
Ethan rubbed his temples. "Yeah... headache from hell. Think it's that heatwave last night?"
Their mom, Linda Cole, was already bustling in the kitchen, the smell of burnt toast and coffee hanging in the air. "You two feeling okay?" she asked, frowning as she noticed their pale faces.
"Fine," Ethan said, forcing a grin. "Just... need to get some laundry done, Mom. Can you, uh... can you let me take it this morning?"
Linda's frown deepened. "Honey, your stepdad said he'd take care of it today." She gestured toward the doorway where Tom, their stepfather, appeared, rubbing his jaw as if the headache was his too. "Go rest. He's handling the laundry."
Logan stepped past Ethan, running a hand over his face. "We'll be fine," he said. "No big deal."
But as Ethan made his way to the laundry room, he noticed small things-things that didn't make sense. A neighbor's dog barking uncontrollably in the distance, a car that seemed abandoned on the side of the street with the engine still running, and faintly, almost imperceptibly, a distant scream that cut short before it finished.
He shook it off. "I'm imagining things," he muttered.
The laundry room smelled faintly of bleach and damp fabric. As he loaded the machine, his headache throbbed harder, and he winced at the sound of the spinning drum. Something in the back of his mind whispered that the world outside wasn't right, but he ignored it.
Logan appeared behind him, leaning against the doorframe. "Headache?" he asked.
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Weird, huh? Everyone's been saying something about getting sick."
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Weird... yeah. I noticed a couple of people at the store yesterday looked... off. Pale, dazed. Thought it was just the heat."
Ethan shook his head. "Maybe. But I don't know. Feels like... more."
Tom appeared in the doorway of the laundry room, arms crossed. "You boys want to get through the chores or just sit around complaining?" His voice was sharp, but it had that uneasy edge-like he sensed something too but didn't want to say it.
Ethan and Logan exchanged a glance and shrugged. The ordinary world carried on, oblivious to the unease in their town.
Outside, in the streets beyond their home, something moved fast and unnatural-something that no one could recognize yet. A shadow that shouldn't have been there.
And somewhere, deep in the fog of the morning, the first whispers of the coming apocalypse stirred.