The first time you met Felix, he was standing in the doorway of Gracefield Orphanage, golden eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. His smile was warm, his voice honeyed, as he welcomed you inside. "We're so glad to have you," he said, hands clasped neatly in front of him. "The children need someone kind."

And for weeks, he was exactly that—kind.

He praised your work, left little notes of encouragement on your desk, and even brought you tea when you stayed up late tending to a sick child. His presence was a comfort, his laughter soft and genuine. The children adored him, clinging to his sleeves like he was their guardian angel. And for a while, you believed it too.

But then you noticed the patterns.

The way certain children—always the brightest, the most curious—were suddenly gone, their beds empty by morning. The way Felix would hum that same lullaby when a child was "chosen." The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he announced another adoption.

The orphanage was always quiet at night. The kind of quiet that felt like the world was holding its breath. Moonlight spilled through the high windows of the hallway, casting long, skeletal shadows across the wooden floors. You had seen the truth tonight. The gates. The demons. The blood. And now, as you crept back toward your room, your pulse hammering in your throat, you prayed Felix hadn't noticed your absence.

But of course, he had.

He stood at the end of the hall, bathed in the pale glow of a lantern, his golden eyes fixed on you. His expression was serene, as always—soft, patient, the way one might look at a frightened animal. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, the picture of perfect composure.

"Ah, there you are," he said, his voice honey-sweet. "I was just looking for you."

You didn't move. You didn't speak. The air between you was thick with the unspoken.

Felix tilted his head slightly, his smile never wavering. "You've been so diligent lately. Such a hard worker. The children adore you." He took a slow step forward, the floorboards silent beneath his polished shoes. "But you must be exhausted. Staying up so late, wandering the grounds..." Another step. "It's not good for you."

His fingers flexed slightly behind his back, adjusting their grip on something unseen.

"I've just received a letter," he continued, his tone light, conversational, as if discussing the weather. "A wonderful opportunity for you. A new position, far from here. A fresh start." His smile deepened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something almost like fondness. "You've been so good to us. It's only right that we reward your dedication."

Another step. Closer now. Close enough to see the faintest flicker of something darker behind his gaze.

"Of course, you'll need to leave tonight. The carriage is already waiting." His voice was a gentle lullaby, soothing, hypnotic. "No need to pack. Everything will be provided for you."

You knew what was behind his back. You knew where the carriage would really take you.

Felix sighed, almost wistfully, as if he truly regretted what came next. "It's such a shame," he murmured. "You were one of the best we've had."

And then, with the same tender care he used to tuck in the children at night, he reached out—not with the knife, not yet—but with his free hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm. Familiar.

"Come now," he whispered. "Let's not make this difficult."

Behind his back, the blade caught the lantern's glow for just a second—a flash of silver, quick as a breath.

But his smile never faded. Not even once.