THE CRACK BENEATH THE SURFACE

Velma couldn't sleep.

Again.

She lay in bed, listening to Daniel breathe beside her—deep, steady, unaware. His arm draped lightly around her waist. His body warm. Comforting.

But comfort didn't come.

Because something had shifted.

Not just in the house. Not just in the shadows she felt watching her from corners. Not even in the dreams that continued to echo—horns, whispers, crimson eyes—but in him.

In Daniel.

He smiled the same, kissed the same, touched her the same. But something in the way his eyes lingered on nothing, the way he stood too still for too long, made her skin crawl in ways she didn't understand.

It wasn't fear.

Not yet.

It was anticipation.

Like the feeling before a thunderstorm when the world holds its breath.

---

That morning, Daniel rose before her. She heard the creak of the wardrobe, the soft tap of bare feet on the floor, the quiet shut of the bathroom door. By the time she sat up, the bed was already cooling where he had slept.

She walked to the window, pulled the curtains wider, and looked down at the garden.

There he was.

Standing alone in the middle of it.

Still.

His back to her.

Hands in his pockets.

Staring at nothing.

She watched him for a full minute.

He didn't move.

---

By the time Velma got downstairs, he was already at the breakfast table. Toast, eggs, avocado. Everything neatly plated.

He glanced up with a soft smile. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied, kissing his cheek before taking her seat. "Didn't hear you come back in."

He shrugged, chewing quietly. "Just needed the cool air. Helps me think."

"Think about what?"

Daniel's hand paused briefly on his fork, then resumed. "The company. Lucian's reports. Nothing too interesting."

She nodded, but in her mind, the pause echoed louder than his words.

He was keeping something from her. She could feel it in her bones.

She took a bite of toast.

Swallowed.

Then set her fork down. "Did you notice anything strange in the garden?"

Daniel looked up slowly. "Strange?"

"Yes," she said. "Like… damage? Or something broken?"

He frowned. "No. Everything looked normal to me."

Her lips parted slightly, but she stopped herself from saying what she wanted to.

The lie was too clean. Too practiced.

He finished breakfast and kissed her temple before heading upstairs to his study.

"I'll be working all morning," he said over his shoulder. "Come get me if you need anything."

She nodded.

Waited for the sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

Then stood.

---

The walk to the garden felt longer than usual.

Maybe it was the silence—unnatural and heavy—or maybe it was just the weight of knowing. The air was cool, the wind soft against her robe, but there was something beneath it all. Something humming below her skin.

She turned the corner of the garden path.

And stopped.

The bench—an old, beautiful carved stone bench that had sat undisturbed since before she arrived—was split.

A deep, jagged crack ran right through the center of the seat. Not clean. Violent. As if something had struck it. She stepped closer, heart pounding now.

The crack was blackened.

Charred.

The edges of the break were warm beneath her fingertips.

She crouched and touched the stone.

Still warm.

He was here last night.

She rose slowly, her throat tightening. There were no scorch marks on the grass. No fallen tree. No signs of lightning or natural damage.

This wasn't weather.

This was Daniel.

Something had happened here. And he had chosen to lie about it.

---

The rest of the day unfolded like a performance.

Velma smiled.

Laughed.

Chatted idly with Mrs. Williams while folding laundry. She went to the kitchen. Helped the housekeeper sort fresh fruit. Took tea out to the patio.

But her eyes were always drifting upstairs.

Behind Daniel's study door.

And every time she looked at him after that moment, all she could think about was the stone.

Cracked.

Burnt.

Warm.

And the way he had looked at her with that soft smile—so gentle, so familiar, so perfect—and said:

"No. Everything looked normal to me."

---

That afternoon, Velma returned to the garden once more.

She stood near the bench, staring at it. She didn't touch it again. This time, she simply watched. Waited. As if it might speak.

She closed her eyes.

Tried to remember how the dream had felt—the horns, the red eyes, the pressure, the whisper: "Why did you come here?"

Was it a dream?

Or was it memory?

And if Daniel was having them too, did he even realize it?

She turned suddenly.

Mrs. Williams stood behind her.

"I didn't hear you," Velma said, startled.

"I'm good at quiet," the older woman replied. She nodded at the bench. "You found it."

Velma's voice dropped. "What happened?"

Mrs. Williams walked forward and ran a gloved hand lightly across the scorched stone. "Something old. Something waking."

"Daniel said nothing looked strange."

Mrs. Williams sighed. "Then Daniel is either afraid… or he knows more than he wants to admit."

Velma's throat tightened. "Is he dangerous?"

There was a pause. A long one.

"No," the housekeeper said softly. "But the thing inside him might be. And if it wakes without warning, even he won't be able to control it."

Velma looked away.

The stone was still warm.

---

Later that night, Daniel joined her on the balcony with wine. They sat close. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Kissed her hair. Asked her what book she was reading.

She answered.

Lied.

Smiled.

But her heart was pacing like a prisoner in a cage.

She didn't ask about the bench.

Not yet.

Because she didn't know if she could handle whatever truth came with it.

---

And still, Daniel's eyes held that same warmth.

Still, his voice was soft and reassuring.

Still, he touched her with the gentleness of a man deeply in love.

But somewhere beneath all of that—

Velma saw it.

The crack.

And it wasn't in the bench anymore.

It was in him.