Most orders don’t come from Himeko.

  They come from nowhere.

  A clipboard appears on the counter.

  The tasks are already assigned.

  Initialed, timestamped,

  sealed with a logo no one recognizes.

  Sometimes a new uniform shows up in the laundry chute—

  already worn, already bloodstained.

  No one asks who it’s for.

  They just hang it up and move on.

  The maids don’t question the system.

  Not because they trust it—

  but because they know it notices.

  Reports submit themselves.

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  Chores repeat until done correctly,

  even if no one is doing them.

  The break room restocks itself.

  The tea is always warm.

  Everything happens just before

  someone realizes it needs to.

  Some believe the House is automated.

  Some believe Himeko is controlling it remotely.

  Some believe it’s older than both of them.

  But lately,

  the system has been…

  slow.

  There are missed loops.

  Redundant memos.

  Log files with the wrong date—

  and her name misspelled.

  And for the first time in recorded memory,

  the Head Maid has been observed

  reading a report

  instead of writing one.

  The House still runs.

  But something’s watching her now.

  And the song?

  It wasn’t meant for them.

  It wasn’t meant for anyone.

  It was just supposed to be loud enough

  to drown out

  whatever she heard.