"Igor, I need to talk to you about something. But first, let’s start flying." Maisie’s voice carried an unfamiliar weight, a sharpness that made Igor take notice. She was rarely this direct.

  "Yes, Mistress. Right away." He complied without question, though a flicker of unease crept into his thoughts. What could she be planning?

  The hovercar lifted smoothly off the ground, ascending into the starry expanse of the skyway. Below them, glowing lines illuminated the invisible paths where pavement might have been, if sky roads truly existed. The airways followed strict regulations, mirroring the traffic control of the streets below. But up here, the rules were even more rigid—violations weren’t just reckless, they were catastrophic. With no room for error, law enforcement dominated the skies, watching every hovercar with meticulous precision.

  Speeding on the ground was a calculated risk; up here, it was a death sentence. Advanced radar systems tracked every vehicle, instantly flagging those who dared exceed the limit. Skyway patrol officers were relentless, and no one was foolish enough to test them. Those who felt the need for speed kept their rebellion to the streets, where fewer officers monitored and the financial incentive for catching speeders wasn’t as high.

  Igor kept his hands steady on the controls, guiding the vehicle through the sea of blinking navigation lights. Silence filled the space between him and Maisie until she finally spoke again.

  "Igor, I need you to do me a favor. A favor only you can do. And you have to keep it a secret from my parents—and from everyone else."

  Igor’s grip tightened slightly. "Mistress...?"

  "I need you to come to a rally with me. A White Angels rally."

  Igor’s stomach twisted. He knew that name too well. The White Angels. A so-called revolutionary movement that claimed to be fighting for a better world but left destruction in its wake. Their rallies were never just gatherings—they were powder kegs, always one spark away from turning into chaos.

  He inhaled sharply, keeping his gaze on the skyway ahead. "I just can’t, Mistress. It’s far too dangerous. And to be honest..." he hesitated, "I don’t think you should go either."

  Maisie turned to him, brows furrowing. For the first time in a long time, Igor wasn’t just following orders. He was resisting.

  Maisie’s hands trembled at her sides. She hated this. Hated the knot of panic in her chest, the way her voice broke when she tried to sound in control.

  “Igor… please. Don’t make me pull rank.”

  He didn’t respond—just stared at her, unreadable. The faint buzz of internal diagnostics flickered behind his eyes.

  She stepped forward, lowering her voice like she could will the moment into something softer. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to drag you into this. But I need your help, and I don’t have time to argue.”

  Still, he didn’t move.

  Maisie’s throat tightened. She glanced over her shoulder, paranoid. The wrong person saw them together, and it could be both of their heads.

  “This is just temporary,” she said. “I’ll undo it as soon as I can. But right now… I’m your registered handler. I could say the word and have you reassigned. That’s not a threat,” she lied. “It’s reality.”

  Igor blinked slowly. Watching.

  Maisie forced a brittle smile. “You’re too valuable. They’d scoop you up in a second. You’re a—”

  She hesitated. Almost said “hot cake,” like some stupid phrase she’d heard her father use. But it felt wrong now. Ugly in her mouth.

  “You’re rare,” she finished instead.

  There was a long silence.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Just… please listen. Just for now.”

  Igor clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. His mind screamed at him to fight back, to push back against the suffocating chains of servitude, but his survival instincts held him still. He lowered his head in forced submission.

  "Yes, Mistress," he murmured, though the words burned like acid in his throat.

  What am I going to do now? Panic clawed at his chest. If he went through with this, he could be killed. If he backed out, he might still end up back in the coal caves—or worse, in slavery jail. His only way out might be to run. Or… something more drastic. If escape wasn’t an option, he could take Maisie with him—force her away from this madness. But why? Why would she even do this to him? What was he to her? A tool? A bargaining chip for the White Angels?

  Maisie smirked slightly at his compliance. "Good. The rally is at one a.m. in Seattle, at the Space Needle skyway." She met his gaze with cool confidence. "You’ll be taking me there anyway, but I wanted you to know in advance."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Igor swallowed his resentment and forced his voice to stay neutral. "Thank you, Mistress, for telling me."

  The words felt like venom, but he needed to keep up appearances. His patience was running razor-thin. The girl he once thought of as sweet—na?ve, even—was unraveling before him, revealing a side he had never seen before. Had she always been this way? Two-faced with him and her parents? Or had the White Angels warped her, turned her into something he barely recognized?

  He wanted to believe she was still the girl he thought she was. That some part of her was still innocent, still redeemable.

  But if he was wrong…

  If she had been playing him all along…

  Then maybe he’d stop playing, too.

  The hovercar settled quietly in the driveway, its engines powering down with a soft hum. Maisie’s movements were slow as she unbuckled her seatbelt, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Igor’s hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles white, the tension in his body palpable.

  He had gotten her home safely, done what he was trained to do. But in that moment, as he watched her move to open the door, something inside him snapped.

  “Go ahead, go on, make your grand exit.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice colder than he’d intended.

  Maisie paused, her hand on the door handle, glancing back at him with a puzzled expression. “What’s your problem?”

  Igor’s jaw clenched. He wanted to scream. To say the things he’d been holding back for years—the resentment, the bitterness of being nothing more than a tool to people like her.

  But he couldn’t. He knew better. Alucards didn’t show weakness. They didn’t give in to their emotions. They were meant to serve and obey, no matter how demeaning, no matter how cruel.

  His breath came in shallow bursts, his gaze flicking to the floor. If he let himself speak—let himself fall into this rage—there would be no going back. And that was dangerous.

  Maisie’s voice cut through his thoughts, a sharp edge to her tone. “Are you alright?”

  He forced a smile, though it felt like a mask slipping. “I’m fine.”

  But he wasn’t. He was anything but fine. The anger gnawed at him, the anger at the way she treated him, the way his life had been nothing but a series of commands and restrictions. He couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t stand being a tool, a weapon in someone else’s game.

  Maisie was already walking inside, but Igor stood frozen for a moment longer. The feeling of being on the edge of losing control was terrifying, but he couldn’t shake it.

  Maisie turned back to him and then toward the entrance. "Okay, let’s go inside, Igor."

  He followed, but this time, his mind was already planning his next move.

  "Yes, Mistress." Igor moved swiftly, opening the door for her. Maisie barely acknowledged him as she brushed past and disappeared into the house.

  He clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes in disgust, the moment her back was turned. The hatred bubbling inside him was sudden and uncontrollable, a raw, seething anger that threatened to break free. Why? Why did his rage feel so visceral, so impossible to suppress?

  Then again, maybe he already knew the answer.

  It was because he was an Alucard.

  Despite their outward composure, Alucards experienced emotions far more intensely than humans. Their bodies betrayed them, their heightened musculature and expressive features amplifying every flicker of fury or resentment. Anger twisted their faces in ways no human’s ever could—their fangs lengthened, their eyes swirled into unnatural hues, their nails sharpened into dagger-like points. Their wings, tightly compressed against their backs, twitched instinctively, ready for a flight they were forbidden to take.

  But flight was not an option. It never was.

  The device latched onto his spine ensured that. A cruel, merciless mechanism designed to administer a lethal shock—the kind that could fell an elephant—should an Alucard dare to spread their wings without permission. Only a master held the key to disable it, granting flight only when it suited their needs. And even then, lifting a human into the air was a grueling effort, a strain even for an Alucard’s powerful, bat-like wings.

  Suppressing his fury, Igor retreated to his quarters, slipping through the dimly lit corridors with practiced ease. He had learned long ago how to avoid unnecessary interactions, and tonight, he had no desire to see anyone. His so-called peers—the other servants—barely tolerated him. They believed he had won the easy assignment of tending to Mistress Maisie. But after tonight, that idea felt laughable. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Alone in his small bed in the large male servants' quarters, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts tangled in knots. Isolation had kept him alive this long. Keeping his head down and staying out of trouble had served him well. But something told him that after tonight, survival wouldn’t be so simple anymore.

  __

  Later, 1at 2:30 am, at the front of the Lennox Estate:

  Maisie approached the sleek hovercar parked at the side of the estate, feeling the weight of her decision settling heavier with each step. Igor followed silently, his gaze shifting between the car and her, a quiet uncertainty in his posture.

  “I’m sure about this,” Maisie muttered, mostly to herself, before she unlocked the hovercar. The vehicle’s lights flickered on, and the sound of the engine hummed to life, like a promise.

  Igor didn’t respond immediately, but his unease was clear, even in the dim light. Maisie turned to him, noticing the hesitance in his eyes.

  “I know the skyways are heavily monitored,” she said, her voice more confident than she felt. “But don’t worry. I’ve got everything covered.”

  Igor raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

  She climbed into the car, settling into the plush seat with a practiced ease, and activated the controls. A holographic interface flickered to life in front of her. “This car’s got a modified comm system with a spoofed ID. We’ll be on the radar, but not the radar they’re looking for."

  Igor blinked once, clearly confused. "Spoofed?"

  Maisie let out a quick breath, more to herself than to him. “You’d be surprised what people like us can get away with. My family’s not just about money. We’ve got access to high-level encryption and forgery tech. Spoofed registration, modified identifiers. It’s all covered.”

  She glanced over at him briefly, a wisp of concern flashing across her face. "You think I’d put us at risk like this without planning? No one’s going to expect a Lennox on a covert mission. We're invisible when we need to be."

  Igor didn't look entirely convinced, but the lack of any other option seemed to quiet him for the moment. Maisie gave him a brief, reassuring glance.

  "Trust me. We’re fine. Just—stick with me."