Chapter 7: The Hospital’s Shadow

"Ranger."

Natalie called out, quickly turned on the lights, and grabbed the dog’s ear to calm it down.

Her touch was gentle, practiced. The dog let out one last growl before settling, eyes never leaving me.

"You have a dog?"

I withdrew my hand and stared at the animal.

"Yes, I picked him up. He’s just a bit wary of strangers, but he doesn’t bite."

Natalie looked a little embarrassed. She took out some dog food, and it gradually settled down.

She knelt on the faded kitchen linoleum, shaking the kibble into a cracked plastic bowl. The dog ate, but its posture never relaxed—every muscle tensed, eyes darting back to me after every bite.

But even as it ate, it kept its eyes fixed on me.

I glanced at it, then went to check the balcony.

The air out there smelled faintly of hospital disinfectant, carried over from the next block. Potted plants lined the railing, all drooping, leaves covered in a thin layer of city grime.

Looking up, I could clearly see the city hospital’s building.

The words “Inpatient Wing” faced the balcony directly.

I looked up.

There was a nail on the load-bearing wall, probably for a mirror at some point, but for some reason, it was gone.

A faint outline of dust marked where the mirror had once hung, as if something had recently disturbed the balance.

"Sir, don’t you use any tools to check things? Like a compass or a cross?"

Natalie poured me a glass of water, standing beside the shepherd dog, looking at me with some confusion.

Her tone was half-joking, half-hopeful, like she was still trying to decide if I was the real deal or just another guy hustling tourists.

"I keep them in my head."

I turned and looked at the dog again.

It had quieted down.

But the look in those mismatched eyes wasn’t something an ordinary animal could give.

There was an intelligence there that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, the kind you don’t see in any animal shelter.

It was almost human.