EX-001

The Arrival

Seattle looked different when it rained. This city never stops moving, but the rain slows everything down just enough to see it. Headlights stretched over wet pavement, neon signs bled into puddles. The skyline faded in and out of the fog like it was trying to remember itself.

Most people hated mornings like this. I didn't.

Rain made people predictable, I thought as I checked my watch. 6:30 am… start of another shift.

The Halloway Hotel sat above the city overlooking Elliot Bay, exactly where it has been for centuries. According to the hotel's records, construction began in December on the second of 1869. No one really believed it, of course. Even the guests laughed when they heard about it, and yet, somehow, the date remained.

The Halloway never tried to prove its age. It simply existed long enough that people stopped questioning it.

The place looked as though somebody took luxury and buried it alive. Strong maroon carpets stretched through every hallway. Mahogany doors lined the walls with polished gold peepholes and matching handles. The ceilings throughout the building were painted a deep forest green, which somehow made the hallways feel taller and more enclosed at the same time.

The lobby was always my favorite to look at.

Dark mahogany floors reflected the amber glow of antique light fixtures. The lobby walls carried the same deep maroon tones as the hallways, giving the entire room a warm and expensive feeling. Everything looked intentional, like nothing had changed since 1869. Timeless.

I've only been working here for a year, but I still felt like a visitor sometimes. A very well-lit cave is the best way I could describe this hotel.

“Morning,” Mara said.

I looked up. She was already behind the front desk.

“Good morning, Mara”

It was still early, so that was enough conversation for both of us.

The lobby moved through its usual rhythm as guests started to check in and out. A businessman argued with clients through an earpiece. A family of 4 attempted to organize enough luggage for what looked like a six-month expedition. All was looking normal, comfortable, and routine. It was that type of routine that makes small changes stand out.

The clock above the front desk changed to 6:43 am, and I caught Mara glancing towards the entrance. A few moments passed, and the concierge checked the clock, then the entrance right after. I saw one of the bartenders cross the lobby carrying glassware do the same.

The entrance.

The clock.

Back to the doors.

Not one person said anything about it, but still it kept happening.

 At 6:55, Mara softly sighed and said:

“She's early”

A bellhop arranging brochures nearby shook his head and replied:

“No, she's right on time”

I switched my attention toward the revolving doors in the front of the lobby. Her smell hit me before I ever got a good look. The scent of vanilla and old money. It reminded me of old libraries, polished wood, and families whose wealth had survived long enough to become history.

As she stepped inside, long red curly hair spilled down the back of a black P-coat. Rain clung to the fabric before disappearing into it. Black gloves covered her hands. Nothing dramatic or unusual, at least not at first. 

As she crossed the lobby, a pair of red-soled heels appeared beneath the coat before disappearing as quickly as they appeared. A deep red-faced, platinum watch caught the light when she adjusted one of her gloves. The watch wasn't oversized or flashy. It simply looked expensive enough that no one ever asked about the price. 

Around her neck sat a diamond choker. At the center rested a dark red stone positioned perfectly between the collarbones. The color matched the watch exactly. Everything about her seemed deliberate, not rehearsed, and that detail stuck with me.

The lobby didn't stop when she entered. Phones still rang, suitcases rolled across the floor, and conversations continued. Yet the atmosphere shifted all the same. All the employees had quietly acknowledged something without speaking it out loud.

The woman approached the desk as Mara straightened her posture slightly.

“Welcome back, Miss Caligo”, said Mara

Miss Caligo smiled and replied, “Good morning, Mara”

Her voice carried the same calm confidence as someone returning home after a long trip. Familiar and expected.

Mara slipped a keycard across the desk, which was odd because Mara never asked M. Caligo for any ID, reservations, confirmations, or any paperwork. Miss Caligo accepted the keycard, “ Thank you, Mara”. She then turned towards the elevators, and that was it. No spectacle or strange behavior. I didn't have any reason to think about her after she left.

Everyone immediately returned to work; no questions were asked, which was wild in itself. All the other hotel employees, including myself, gossiped about everything: difficult guests, celebrities, weird people like that guy who tried to bring a goat into the lobby 3 months ago. Nothing ever stayed secret in this hotel. It threw me for a loop because it's been a whole year and I can't remember hearing anyone talk about Miss Caligo. Nothing made any sense. Everyone expected her, but nobody ever mentioned her.

Outside, rain continued sliding down the windows overlooking the city. Inside, the lobby carried on as though nothing had happened. I still find myself glancing towards the elevator every few minutes. The feeling stayed with me for the rest of the shift. It was like there was a missing piece right in front of me, and for some reason everyone else had agreed not to look for it.