The improved meal sat untouched on the small table in Sera's new quarters. The portion was nearly double what standard resources received, with actual protein instead of synthetic substitutes, fresh vegetables rather than nutrient paste, and water that didn't taste of chemical purifiers. Beside it y the new extraction schedule showing reduced volume and frequency—a document representing the difference between slow deterioration and sustainable extraction.

  None of it mattered.

  Sera stared at the wall, deliberately ignoring both the meal and the baffled attendant who had delivered it. The room itself was another concession—private and luxurious even by premium resource standards, with an en-suite bathroom she didn't have to share with anyone, a real bed with actual linens instead of the utilitarian sleeping arrangements of even top-tier resources, and a rge window with reinforced gss offering a view of the manicured courtyard. She'd been moved from the premium section entirely to a separate wing closer to the main estate—accommodations typically reserved for human colborators or visiting dignitaries, not resources. All special arrangements for Count Dominic Ashcroft's personal blood source.

  "You need to eat," the attendant said, her voice carrying the practiced patience of someone speaking to a valuable but irrational commodity. "The Count has ordered specific nutritional requirements for optimal blood quality."

  "I'm not hungry," Sera replied ftly.

  The attendant—Maya, Sera recalled from processing—checked her tablet with a frown. "Subject 4172, you haven't consumed adequate nutrition in thirty-six hours. This will affect extraction quality and—"

  "Then it affects extraction quality," Sera interrupted, meeting Maya's eyes directly—a subtle defiance that made the woman step back instinctively. "Document your concerns and leave."

  Maya hesitated, clearly unused to direct refusal. Most resources understood the consequences of non-compliance. "The medical team has scheduled your supplemental treatment in thirty minutes. If you refuse nutrition, they'll administer intravenous alternatives, which are..." she searched for the appropriate terminology, "significantly less pleasant."

  Sera's ugh held no humor. "Less pleasant than being drained as a walking blood bag? Noted."

  The clinical detachment in Maya's expression cracked momentarily, revealing something almost like pity—or perhaps just annoyance at handling a problematic resource. She made a final notation on her tablet before heading toward the door.

  "The Count will be informed of your non-compliance."

  "Please," Sera replied with mock sincerity, "don't forget to tell him about my devastating critique of the dinner rolls while you're at it."

  When the door sealed behind Maya, Sera's sarcastic mask dissolved. She surveyed the room methodically, hunter training automatically cataloging potential weapons, escape routes, and surveilnce points. The improvements that supposedly reflected Dominic's "generosity" were merely a different form of cage—one that separated her from the general popution where she might have eventually found allies.

  It had been three days since Dominic returned from Baron Cassian's territory with his reluctant concessions to "sustainability." Three days of watching the specialized medical team fuss over her vitals while the general popution continued suffering under standard protocols. Three days of remembering the faces in the processing center—the separated family, the weeping nurse in the adjacent pod, the quiet desperation in eyes that had given up hope.

  She moved to the window, pressing her palm against the cool gss. Outside, resources in gray uniforms moved in organized lines between buildings, their color-coded bands identifying their cssification and permitted areas. Standard resources were being herded toward the evening meal—the nutritionally adequate but tasteless sustenance designed for minimum cost and maximum blood quality maintenance.

  The sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She turned, expecting Maya or one of the medical staff with their threatened IV supplements.

  Instead, Count Dominic Ashcroft stood in the doorway, his aristocratic features arranged in an expression of cold displeasure.

  His presence filled the small room immediately—not just physically but with the intangible weight of power that vampire nobility carried. He wore what appeared to be casual attire by vampire standards, which still resembled formal wear to human eyes: a tailored bck shirt with subtle silver threading at the cuffs and dark pants that probably cost more than most humans earned in months before the outbreak.

  "I'm told you're refusing nutrition." His voice carried the precise blend of boredom and irritation of someone addressing a malfunctioning appliance.

  Sera remained by the window, deliberately not assuming the preferred stance of resources in noble presence—neck exposed, eyes down.

  "Your staff conveyed my preferences accurately. Congratutions on the efficient communication system."

  A flicker of surprise crossed his features at her tone. Resources didn't speak this way to nobles, especially not to territorial Counts with absolute power over their existence.

  "Perhaps you misunderstand the nature of your situation," Dominic said, stepping further into the room. "These accommodations aren't suggestions. They're requirements for maintaining optimal blood quality."

  "I understand perfectly," Sera replied, meeting his gaze directly. "Special treatment for the Count's premium blood bag while standard protocols continue for everyone else."

  Dominic tilted his head slightly, studying her with new interest. "You speak as though you believe you have a choice in the matter."

  "Everyone has choices. Even resources." She gestured to the untouched meal. "I choose not to participate in preferential treatment."

  "Fascinating." He approached with the predatory grace all vampires possessed, moving to stand beside the small table. "You're refusing better conditions out of... what? Solidarity with other resources?" His tone made the concept sound absurd. "Their treatment is irrelevant to your function."

  "Their treatment is irrelevant to you," Sera corrected, knowing she was pushing boundaries but past the point of caution. "That doesn't make it irrelevant."

  Dominic's expression shifted from annoyed to intrigued. Resources didn't typically present philosophical arguments. "You speak as though you expect me to care about the comfort of production units. Next, you'll suggest I should worry about the feelings of my furniture."

  "At least your furniture serves a purpose without being destroyed in the process."

  His eyes narrowed. "You presume to lecture me on resource management? I've maintained this territory's productivity at optimal levels for fifteen years."

  "And how many 'resources' have you burned through in that time?" Sera asked, arms crossed. "How many repcements have you gone through because you extracted until they were husks? Efficient indeed, Count Ashcroft."

  Dominic's jaw tightened, the first crack in his aristocratic mask. "You speak of matters you don't understand. Resource management is complex, requiring bance between—"

  "Between what?" Sera interrupted. "Maximum extraction and minimal investment? I've seen your general popution quarters. I've seen how quickly they deteriorate. Your 'sustainable' approach is just draining them slowly enough to make repcement economical."

  "And you imagine you have a better system?" His voice carried genuine curiosity beneath the condescension. "Please, enlighten me on how you would restructure a territory feeding thousands of vampires."

  "I'm not the one with a fancy title and centuries to figure it out," Sera replied sharply. "But even I know burning through your food supply isn't sustainable. Baron Cassian seems to have figured that out. Strange that with all your advantages, you're pying catch-up."

  The mention of Cassian's name triggered a visible response—a tightening around Dominic's eyes, a subtle tensing of his shoulders. Sera noted these reactions with the practiced eye of someone trained to identify vulnerability.

  "Baron Cassian's methods are inefficient and sentimental," Dominic said dismissively. "His yields per resource are significantly lower."

  "But his resources st longer. Sounds like smart business to me." Sera maintained eye contact, a deliberate challenge. "Unless the noble Count prefers quantity over quality. Like fast food versus a good wine."

  Dominic circled the table, his movements carrying a predatory edge that sent Sera's hunter instincts into high alert. "You speak as though you have expertise in vampire nutrition. Curious knowledge for a standard resource."

  Sera felt cold realization spread through her chest. She'd said too much, revealed too much knowledge. Hunter training on staying in character warred with the raw defiance fueling her now.

  "I listen," she said, forcing a casual shrug. "Premium resources talk. Even colborators sometimes forget we have ears."

  "And yet you refuse to benefit from improvements that would make your existence significantly more comfortable." Dominic stopped directly before her. "Why?"

  The genuine confusion in his question almost made Sera ugh. How could she expin concepts like solidarity or moral principle to someone who saw humans as walking blood bags?

  "Because I'm not special," she answered finally. "Because whatever makes my blood interesting to you doesn't make my life worth more than theirs. Because I won't be your pet while others suffer under your standard protocols."

  Something shifted in his expression—not quite understanding, but perhaps recognition of a complexity he hadn't anticipated.

  "Your objection is noted," he said coldly. "And irrelevant. You will consume the nutrition provided. You will follow the modified extraction schedule. Your preferences in this matter are meaningless."

  "Or what?" Sera challenged. "You'll force-feed me? Put me on IVs? How much will that stress affect your precious blood quality?"

  "If necessary." His tone carried absolute certainty. "You are property, 4172. Not a negotiating partner."

  The designation—4172 instead of Sera—was deliberately dehumanizing, a reminder of her status. Dominic turned toward the door, considering the matter settled.

  "My staff will return in thirty minutes. I suggest you reconsider your position before then."

  When the door sealed behind him, Sera remained motionless, processing the confrontation. She had pushed too far, revealed too much knowledge for a standard resource. The suspicion in his eyes had been clear—not enough to identify her as a hunter, perhaps, but enough to warrant closer observation.

  Her gaze moved slowly around the luxurious prison she'd been pced in, taking in the elegant furnishings that were supposed to make her complicit in her own captivity. The meal on the table mocked her with its quality while others subsisted on nutrient paste. The extraction schedule promised "sustainable" use of her body as though that made being literal livestock acceptable.

  With sudden crity, Sera understood there would be no rescue, no escape, no meaningful resistance from within this system. Her only choices were compliance as a favored pet or defiance that would prompt force.

  Or one final choice.

  The bed frame, she'd noticed earlier, had metal supports with exposed edges where the decorative wooden panels had been carelessly installed. She moved to it now, reaching beneath to feel the edge of metal. With practiced pressure, she worked at the connection point, detecting the weakness in the weld.

  It took seven minutes of methodical effort before the metal piece broke free—a jagged edge approximately four inches long, sharp enough for her purpose. Hunter training had included detailed knowledge of human anatomy, including the most efficient methods of ending a life.

  Sera sat on the edge of the bed, the makeshift bde resting on her thigh. No dramatic gestures, no despair. Just a tactical decision made with the same crity she'd applied to missions. She would not be a pet. She would not accept special treatment while others suffered. And she would certainly not risk revealing information that could endanger the resistance if Dominic's suspicions led to more intensive interrogation.

  The hunter's code was clear: capture without extraction possibility justified final measures.

  Sera positioned the bde precisely at her wrist, finding the pulse point with practiced ease. A diagonal cut, deep enough to sever the artery, would ensure blood loss too rapid for even vampire medical intervention if discovered promptly. She applied pressure, feeling the sting as metal parted skin, then the disturbing warmth as blood immediately welled up and began flowing freely.

  She'd expected to feel something more—fear, regret, even anger—but there was only a strange calm as she made the second cut on her other wrist. Mission parameters adjusted. Extraction prevention protocol implemented. Clinical terms for what was, ultimately, her final act of defiance against a system that reduced humans to resources.

  The blood flow was impressive, already pooling on the elegant floor beneath her. Sera leaned back against the bed, suddenly lightheaded. The room seemed to blur around the edges, sounds becoming distant. She closed her eyes.

  The crushing weight of depression that had been building over the past weeks settled over her like a physical presence. It wasn't just the captivity or the feeding—it was the slow erosion of hope, the grinding reality that there was no escape, no rescue coming. Each day watching others suffer while she was selected for "special treatment" had carved hollows into what remained of her spirit. The hunter who had once found purpose in resistance now found only emptiness stretching endlessly before her.

  In those quiet moments as her life pooled beneath her, Sera felt an almost peaceful acceptance. The constant internal struggle—to maintain her cover, to search for opportunities, to hold onto hope—faded into blessed silence. No more pretending. No more fighting. No more witnessing suffering she couldn't prevent.

  The door opening barely registered in her fading consciousness.

  "I've reconsidered my position on—"

  Dominic's voice cut off abruptly. In the distant part of her mind still processing sensory input, Sera registered the sudden stillness, then explosive movement.

  "MEDICAL TEAM TO PREMIUM WING IMMEDIATELY!" The roar held none of his usual aristocratic restraint. The next moment, pressure cmped around her wrists—his hands, she realized dimly, applying direct pressure to the wounds.

  "What have you done?" His voice sounded strange—strained in a way she'd never heard from a vampire. Not the cold anger she'd expected, but something much more complex. "Stay awake. Look at me."

  Sera forced her eyes open, finding his face inches from hers, expression contorted with what appeared to be genuine arm. Not the calcuted protection of valuable property, but real fear. It made no sense.

  "Sorry to... inconvenience your... extraction schedule," she managed, the words slurring as her body temperature dropped.

  "Stop talking," he ordered, maintaining pressure while shouting again for medical assistance. "Why would you—this is insanity. You had better conditions than any resource in the territory."

  "Don't want... better conditions," Sera murmured as darkness crept into her peripheral vision. "Want... no conditions."

  The medical team burst through the door—she recognized Dr. Harlow's voice issuing rapid commands, felt the pressure of Dominic's hands repced by professional intervention, registered the sharp sting of needles and the cold rush of fluids entering her veins.

  The st thing she saw before consciousness faded completely was Dominic Ashcroft's face, spattered with her blood, wearing an expression she'd never observed on a vampire before—genuine fear mixed with something that looked disturbingly like concern.

  Dominic paced outside the medical unit, his usual composed demeanor completely abandoned. Blood—her blood—stained his hands and the front of his shirt, drying to a rusty brown that would have been cleaned immediately under normal circumstances. He hadn't bothered.

  Medical staff hurried in and out of the treatment room where Dr. Harlow worked to save 4172—no, to save Sera. The distinction felt significant somehow, though he couldn't articute why.

  "My lord." Administrator Wilson approached cautiously, tablet in hand. "We've reviewed the security footage. There was no indication of suicidal ideation in subject 4172's previous behavior patterns. This appears to be an unexpected deviation."

  Dominic barely gnced at him. "You're telling me your psychological evaluation protocols failed to identify this risk."

  Wilson paled visibly. "The subject showed no cssic indicators of self-harm tendencies. Her psychological profile indicated resistance, certainly, but targeted externally rather than—"

  "Spare me the excuses." Dominic cut him off with a dismissive gesture. "What's her status?"

  "Dr. Harlow has stabilized her condition. Blood transfusions are underway. The self-inflicted wounds were..." Wilson hesitated, "extremely precise. Major arteries were severed with unusual accuracy. Another two minutes without intervention would have resulted in irreversible blood loss."

  Dominic absorbed this information with a strange hollowness in his chest. Another two minutes. If he hadn't returned to continue their argument...

  "The doctor requests your feeding schedule be suspended for a minimum of fourteen days to allow for recovery." Wilson couldn't quite hide his nervousness at delivering this recommendation. "Extraction would significantly compromise healing."

  "Obviously," Dominic snapped, surprising himself with the vehemence of his response. "I'm not going to drain someone who nearly died from blood loss."

  Wilson blinked, clearly surprised by both the response and Dominic's uncharacteristic agitation. "Of course, my lord. Shall we make arrangements for an alternative premium source during the recovery period?"

  The question was perfectly reasonable, yet it triggered a surge of irrational irritation. "No. Make no arrangements."

  "But my lord, your nutritional requirements—"

  "Are my concern, not yours." Dominic turned away from Wilson, his attention fixed on the doors to the medical unit where Sera y fighting for life after choosing death over his supposed generosity.

  Something fundamental had shifted, though he couldn't precisely identify what. His interest in her had started with her blood—remarkable quality, distinctive fvor, unusual effects when consumed. That interest should have transted to nothing more than protection of a valuable resource.

  Yet his reaction to finding her bleeding out had been visceral, immediate, and deeply personal. Not the calcuted protection of property, but genuine fear at losing her specifically. It made no sense within his understanding of himself—a vampire noble who had spent fifteen years treating humans as nothing more than blood sources.

  Dominic dismissed Wilson with a gesture, continuing his restless pacing outside the medical unit. For the first time in years, he felt fundamentally unsettled, his carefully constructed worldview shifting beneath him like unstable ground.

  He had no expnation for why the thought of Sera dying affected him so profoundly. No expnation for why he couldn't simply treat her as a temporarily unavaible resource and arrange for an alternative. No expnation for why her words—challenging his entire system, comparing his methods unfavorably to Baron Cassian's—had penetrated defenses built over fifteen years of vampire existence.

  The Count of the Eastern Blood Valleys, who prided himself on cold rationality and efficient resource management, found himself waiting outside a medical unit, covered in drying blood, afraid for the life of a human who had just tried to die rather than accept his so-called generosity.

  How utterly, inexplicably human of him.