The Day Ethan Cole Got Sick — And Greyhaven Refused to Let Him Be Alone
Chapter 1
Ethan Cole woke before sunrise with the feeling that something was wrong.
He couldn’t explain it at first.
There was no sharp pain.
No sudden noise.
Nothing dramatic enough to pull him completely awake.
Just weight.
A strange heaviness pressing through his arms and legs as though someone had replaced his blood with sand.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling of his bedroom looked exactly as it always did.
Gray morning light slipped through the curtains.
Rain tapped softly against the window.
Somewhere outside, a truck passed along Harbor Road.
Ethan reached for his phone.
5:17 a.m.
He stared at the time.
Normally, he would have gotten up immediately.
He had spent years waking before his alarm.
Years of early mornings had trained his body to move before his mind caught up.
But this morning he stayed still.
His throat felt raw.
His mouth was dry.
There was pressure behind his eyes.
He swallowed.
It hurt.
Ethan turned toward the window.
The rain had thickened.
He closed his eyes for another minute.
Maybe he was just tired.
Maybe he hadn’t slept enough.
Maybe he was coming down with something.
That last thought made him sit up.
The room moved.
Ethan’s hand shot out.
His fingers caught the edge of the dresser.
He stayed there, breathing slowly.
The dizziness passed after several seconds.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror across the room.
Pale skin.
Red eyes.
Hair sticking up on one side.
He looked like he’d spent the night fighting.
“You’re going to work.”
His voice sounded rough.
He cleared his throat.
“You’re going to work.”
The second time sounded more convincing.
It wasn’t.
Ethan showered.
Dressed.
Forced down half a piece of toast.
Then he left.
The drive toward the harbor was quiet.
Greyhaven was still waking.
The bakery lights were on.
A fisherman carried a crate toward the docks.
The diner glowed through the rain.
Ethan slowed when he saw it.
For one second, he considered stopping.
June would probably make him eat.
She would probably notice his face.
She would probably tell him he looked terrible.
Ethan didn’t want that.
He drove past.
Hayes Marine & Auto was already open when he arrived.
Walter stood beneath an old fishing boat, working on the engine.
He looked up.
Then immediately frowned.
“You look like hell.”
Ethan dropped his toolbox beside the workbench.
“Good morning.”
Walter wiped his hands.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m fine.”
Walter stared at him.
Ethan reached for a wrench.
Walter continued staring.
“What?”
“You don’t look fine.”
“It’s raining.”
“Rain doesn’t make you look like you’ve been awake for three days.”
Ethan smiled faintly.
“Maybe I’m aging badly.”
Walter snorted.
“You’ve always been difficult.”
“So I’ve been told.”
They returned to work.
For the first hour, Ethan managed normally.
The familiar smell of oil and metal helped.
The sound of tools against concrete helped.
The radio playing quietly in the background helped.
Routine was easier than thinking.
He tightened bolts.
Checked wiring.
Removed a damaged component.
But his body kept reminding him that something was wrong.
His hands trembled once.
He ignored it.
His vision blurred briefly.
He blinked until it cleared.
Then came the chills.
Ethan stopped.
Walter noticed.
“You cold?”
“No.”
Walter looked at him.
Ethan kept working.
By 9:15, the garage felt too warm.
By 10:00, Ethan could barely focus on the engine.
At 10:30, he dropped a screwdriver.
The metal clattered against the concrete.
Ethan bent down.
The floor seemed to move farther away.
His knees gave out.
Walter caught him before he hit the ground.
“Ethan.”
“I’m okay.”
“No.”
Walter helped him onto the stool.
Ethan leaned forward.
His breathing was slow and controlled.
Walter pressed the back of his hand against Ethan’s forehead.
His expression changed immediately.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You’re burning up.”
Ethan looked toward the unfinished boat.
“I can finish it.”
Walter stared at him.
“You’re sick.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s the third time you’ve said that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Walter grabbed Ethan’s jacket.
“We’re going to the clinic.”
“I don’t need—”
“You’re going.”
Ethan looked at him.
Walter didn’t move.
For once, Ethan didn’t argue.
That worried Walter more than the fever.
