It's finally the day.

Or at least, that's what your calendar tells you.

It's somehow already November, a fact you would probably ignore if not for the pesky alert

hovering at the top of your phone's lock screen.

It's not dread, the feeling you have when you see it.

Not quite, but it's not far off either.

You pull up directions to Vanguard estates.

It's further than you expected, a little bit more remote than you realized.

You feel a bit sheepish that you never even learned where this place is.

Your sister, Imani, did all of the research and reported back to you.

State of the art, clean, safe, expensive, but not as expensive as it could have been.

Imani got him in early, some kind of pilot program that's apparently saving you a fortune.

So you get your car and drive, leaving the windows down and the radio off.

It's cool outside, and the sky is a flat, uninspiring blue.

The road winds, and it's pleasant in that vaguely autumnal way.

The kind of drive that people try to capture with scented candles.

You wonder if they're allowed to have candles at Vanguard estates.

Your father hates candles.

You wonder which version of your father you'll meet when you get there.

The one who snarks about candles being a waste of wax that must make bees everywhere weep

tiny tears, or the one who feels a little bit like a candle himself, like someone poured

a layer of wax over his mind, a man who flickers in and out of reality.

...