The alley behind the mall had gone still. Not calm—still. Like the world had paused just long enough for the worst of it to sink in. The cold in the concrete seeped through my jeans, but I didn’t try to move. I wasn’t sure I trusted my body to remember how.

  Dr. Volkova stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her posture unreadable but never far. She hadn’t shifted all the way back yet—there was still a shimmer of silver threaded under her skin, her eyes just a little too sharp in the dark. We were waiting.

  The soft hum of an engine pulled into the edge of the alley—black SUV, windows tinted so dark it looked like it had been carved from shadow. It stopped without a sound. Dr. Volkova glanced toward it but didn’t move. I stayed still.

  The passenger door opened, and Mr. Staroko stepped out. His presence was immediate but quiet, like gravity—not loud, but undeniable.

  He didn’t approach with urgency. He just walked—coat neat, shoulders squared, steps even. His eyes scanned the scene, and when they landed on me, they didn’t linger with suspicion. Just awareness. Like he was already taking in what happened and how far it might ripple. He stopped beside Dr. Volkova and kept his voice low.

  “Any injuries?” he asked.

  “None,” she answered, cool and even. “Civilians are gone. The scene’s holding.”

  He nodded, then looked toward me again—longer this time. I didn’t meet his eyes. Not out of fear, but because I wasn’t sure what he’d see there. I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to see.

  His tone shifted—just slightly—softer. “Erika… are you alright?”

  I nodded. Barely. His gaze held a moment longer, then he offered a quiet, “Good.”

  No judgment. No pressure to speak more.

  Dr. Volkova moved beside me and knelt, adjusting her coat she’d wrapped around my shoulders earlier. I hadn’t realized I’d started to shiver again. Her hand was warm against my arm.

  “You’re doing well,” she said, low enough only I could hear.

  I didn’t believe her, but I let the words sit there.

  The second SUV pulled into the alley—larger, reinforced. The doors opened in practiced silence. A team stepped out in coordinated black, already opening compartments and deploying cleanup gear. One passed Dr. Volkova a handheld suppressor. Another nodded in Mr. Staroko’s direction, awaiting orders.

  He gave a small nod in return. “Secure footage. Scrub audio. Contain the metadata from mall systems—use the mirror protocol.”

  No hesitation. No indecision.

  But when he glanced toward me again, his voice dipped again. “Let’s get her somewhere safe.”

  There was nothing cold in it. Just certainty. The kind that made space feel smaller, more manageable. I let out a breath I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding. Mr. Staroko stepped aside as Dr. Volkova stood and gently offered me her hand.

  “Come on,” she said, voice quiet. “Let’s go home.”

  The inside of the SUV felt too clean. It smelled like leather, sterilized air, and something faintly floral I couldn’t place. The kind of scent meant to cover up the fact that this vehicle had probably carried a hundred people through a hundred different kinds of damage. I sank into the seat, unsure if I was supposed to take off the blanket or keep it wrapped around me. I kept it.

  Dr. Volkova sat beside me, not touching me, but not far either. She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask for words. I didn’t know what I wanted to hear yet.

  The engine started with barely a sound. Mr. Staroko sat in the front passenger seat. He hadn’t spoken since we left the alley. His presence was steady—not looming, but constant. Like a wall that had been built there a long time ago and hadn’t moved since. We pulled away from the mall.

  Sunlight cut through the tinted windows in soft streaks. Outside, the city moved like it didn’t know what had happened. Cars passed by. People walked along sidewalks, carrying drinks and bags and phones, like everything was normal. And maybe it was.

  Dr. Volkova glanced my way once. I felt it more than saw it. A check-in without pressure. Just awareness. She was good at that. I stared down at my hands. I hadn’t realized they were still clenched until I forced them to relax. My fingers ached from holding tension too long.

  No one had asked me what happened yet. I didn’t know if that was kindness or strategy. Maybe both.

  Mr. Staroko finally spoke as we reached a light. “The site’s contained. There’ll be no leaks. Civilian exposure is minimal.”

  He didn’t turn around when he said it. The words were direct, but his tone was even—like he was keeping me informed, not reporting to anyone. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer. I didn’t and we kept driving.

  The further we got from the mall, the harder it became to hold onto the shape of what happened. Like it was already pulling away from me, turning into something I’d have to squint to remember. But I remembered the shimmer. The cold. The sound of that voice just before everything went wrong. My throat felt tight.

  “Do you feel sick?” Dr. Volkova asked, her voice low, careful.

  I shook my head. She didn’t press. She just nodded, more to herself than to me.

  The city started to change—glass buildings thinning out, replaced by broader streets and lower rooftops. The traffic noise softened. Trees lined the medians. The world got quieter without really going silent. I leaned against the door slightly, not enough to make it obvious. Just enough to feel something solid beneath me. My eyelids felt heavy, but I wasn’t tired. I was just... hollow.

  The SUV rolled to a stop in front of the hospital entrance, pulling under a wide awning of steel and glass. From the outside, the building looked more like a research hub than a place for medicine—no bright signage, no emergency lights, just clean lines and polished metal.

  Dr. Volkova stepped out first. I followed close behind, keeping her coat tight around my shoulders. The sunlight bounced off the building’s surface, almost too bright after the dimness of the alley.

  The sliding doors opened smoothly as we approached. Inside, the air felt colder—cleaner. Not sharp like bleach, but still enough to make me pause. There was a front desk near the center of the lobby. A woman sat behind it, focused on her screen. She didn’t look up until Dr. Volkova approached.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor,” she said with a clipped, professional tone.

  Dr. Volkova gave her a nod but didn’t slow down.

  We walked past without stopping, and I tried not to stare as we passed through the lobby. It wasn’t like the last hospital I been at—not chaotic or loud. Everything moved quietly, like everyone already knew exactly where they were supposed to be and why.

  A few people in dark uniforms walked with tablets in hand. One of them paused to open a door for a patient in a wheelchair with a thick bandage wrapped around his chest. Another figure moved through the far hallway—broad-shouldered, dressed in a gray undershirt and pants, barefoot, his arms covered in fur from the elbows down. No one looked twice.

  The elevator bay sat beyond a polished stone archway, lit by narrow lights recessed into the walls. The ceilings were high, but not cavernous—everything about the space felt deliberate, as if it had been designed to feel calm without being cold.

  We turned into a side hallway before reaching the elevators. It was quieter here. The floors changed from smooth tile to something softer—like padded panels meant to absorb the sound of footfalls. I heard doors opening and closing somewhere deeper in the wing, followed by quiet conversation and the soft beep of equipment. It wasn’t silent. It was managed.

  Through a glass wall ahead, I saw what I thought was a waiting area—until I realized none of the patients were human. Two werewolves sat across from each other, one cradling his arm in a sling, the other pressing gauze to the side of his face. They looked tired, but not afraid. A nurse passed between them carrying a tray, nodding politely.

  Next to them, a man in a long white coat stood at a counter, speaking softly to another nurse. His skin was pale—almost translucent—and his eyes, when they caught the light, reflected a faint reddish hue. He didn’t blink often.

  “Dr. Fen,” Dr. Volkova said in passing. “Hematologist. He rotates between human and vampire cases depending on the need.”

  She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. I didn’t speak. I didn’t want to sound ignorant, and I didn’t trust my voice to be steady.

  We moved through another corridor that curved slightly inward. The lighting changed again—cooler now, but not unpleasant. The glass along the walls had a faint frost to it, like privacy glass waiting to be activated.

  There were no signs on the doors. No names. Just numbers and smooth, embedded panels beside each handle. Dr. Volkova stopped in front of one.

  “This way.”

  She placed her hand against the panel. The lock disengaged with a soft chime, and the door eased open. I stood there for a second, staring into the room. It was bright inside—clean, structured. A private consultation space, not a patient room. I could see a desk, chairs, a long display counter near the wall with various medical instruments stored neatly in recessed shelves.

  Dr. Volkova looked back at me, patient as always. I stepped inside without saying anything. Because saying anything felt like I’d finally acknowledged that I belonged here, and I didn’t know how to feel about that yet.

  Dr. Volkova gestured toward a padded bench along the far wall. “Sit. Someone will check you over before we move to my office.”

  I did as she asked. The bench was firmer than it looked but covered in a soft material that didn’t feel like vinyl or leather. I folded the coat around myself a little tighter, more out of instinct than cold. The door hissed softly open, and the man from the hallway stepped in. I recognized him instantly—the pale one with the coat and dark eyes. Dr. Fen.

  He hadn’t seemed threatening before, and he didn’t now. Just precise. He moved with the same fluid grace he’d had behind the glass, like his body responded to music no one else could hear.

  “It is a pleasure, Miss Erika,” he said. His voice was smooth, touched by an accent I couldn’t place but felt old and careful. His s’s lingered slightly. There was something behind them—not a hiss, exactly. Just enough to remind me that he wasn’t like the others.

  “I am told you had quite the encounter.” He took a slow step forward. “May I?”

  I nodded once.

  He approached calmly, giving me time to brace without rushing anything. His hands were cool, long-fingered, but they didn’t tremble. He touched only where he needed to—checking my pulse, brushing his fingers lightly under my jaw, tilting my wrist.

  “No signs of stress or bruising,” he murmured. “Pulse is elevated but not alarming. Color normal. No marks.”

  He offered a soft smile. His fangs were visible—long, neat, and clean. But nothing about them felt aggressive. Just... part of him.

  Then he turned to Dr. Volkova. “Your turn.”

  She pulled back the collar of her coat without a word, exposing a faint bruise blooming near her collarbone.

  “You’re back early,” he said casually, examining the mark with professional ease. “I was under the impression your Colorado assignment continued through the end of the month.”

  “Something came up,” she replied, giving the briefest glance in my direction.

  “Ah.” He shifted slightly. “And that something would be Miss Erika?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Fen ran a device gently along the line of her neck. It let out a soft tone and dimmed again.

  “You’re clear,” he said. “No structural strain. Vitals within expected range. No lingering symptoms.”

  He turned to me again and gave a respectful incline of his head. “You are in good hands, Miss Erika. Dr. Volkova does not return early for just anyone.”

  He gathered his tools with care, placed them into a slim leather case, then offered one final look between us before turning to leave. The door slid shut quietly behind him. Dr. Volkova gave a small breath, like she’d finally let herself relax for the first time all day.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”

  She didn’t wait. I stood and followed her, trying to ignore how my legs still felt like they weren’t fully mine.

  Dr. Volkova’s office sat behind a smooth, silver-trimmed door that whispered shut as we entered. I expected something clinical—white walls, metal desks, maybe a row of labeled cabinets. What I stepped into instead felt like the opposite.

  It was clean, yes, but not sterile. The kind of clean that came from discipline, not design. Everything was perfectly arranged: books along recessed shelves, a polished black desk centered on the far wall, and two high-backed chairs that looked more like they belonged in a courtroom than a hospital.

  The walls were matte charcoal, accented by vertical strips of soft light that pulsed faintly like a resting heartbeat. There was a large framed print above the desk—something abstract and sharp, all hard angles and faintly shifting colors. I didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but it made me uneasy.

  Dr. Volkova moved without hesitation, crossing to the desk and activating a wall-mounted display with a simple hand gesture. I stayed near the doorway, unsure whether I was supposed to sit or just wait.

  Mr. Staroko was already waiting in the office when we stepped in. His hands resting lightly on the back of one of the chairs, posture relaxed but focused. His gaze moved to Dr. Volkova the second entered.

  “You okay?” he asked, the question low, but not absent of concern.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “Nothing serious.”

  He gave a small nod, like he didn’t fully believe her but wouldn’t push—not here. I stayed off to the side and moved to sit in one of the chairs.

  Mr. Staroko looked between the two of us, before leaning a against a wall, his arms crossed. “Walk me through it,” he said. “The full version.”

  Dr. Volkova nodded once and began.

  “We entered the mall. Erika and I were near the main atrium. I stepped away briefly. When I turned back, she was gone.”

  His jaw twitched—just slightly—but he didn’t speak.

  “I followed her scent to a storefront. The gate was locked. I smelled a corrupted Incubus inside—powerful, masking well. I forced entry and engaged him.”

  She folded her hands on the desk, voice still level.

  “He dropped his glamour when confronted. I didn’t see Erika anywhere inside the store. The Incubus attempted to flee. I disabled him, then continued searching. He recovered faster than anticipated and counterattacked. We fought through the store and into the rear hall.”

  Her eyes flicked to me, then back to Staroko.

  “That’s when Erika reappeared. No transition. No portal. One second she wasn’t there—the next, she was.”

  He absorbed all of it without interruption. His posture eased just slightly, like that was the part he’d been waiting to hear. “So she wasn’t targeted?”

  “Doesn’t look that way. More opportunistic from the looks of it. He was drawn to her.”

  He let out a short breath, nodding once. “Still, you handled it. No breach. Minimal exposure.”

  “I tried to keep it contained,” she confirmed.

  Satisfied, he turned to me, his tone lighter. “And you? You alright?”

  I nodded, unsure if I was supposed to elaborate. But his expression didn’t demand anything—it was just... patient.

  “I didn’t mean to leave,” I said. “There was a shirt in the display window. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I don’t know why. It felt like... something was pulling me toward it.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “And inside?” he asked.

  I hesitated. “The man was strange. Too polite. Too... smooth. I felt trapped. I wanted to move, but my body didn’t listen. And then it was like the world folded in on itself.”

  His brow furrowed, just slightly. “Folded how?”

  “I don’t know. The light changed. The sound, too. I couldn’t feel the floor. I wasn’t... here, but I wasn’t gone either.”

  Dr. Volkova didn’t interrupt. She watched me the way she always did—focused, not probing.

  “I followed the fight,” I continued. “I don’t know how, I just... followed through whatever I was in. When she stopped him, I stepped forward and came back. That’s all.”

  There was a beat of silence, then Mr. Staroko nodded again.

  “You did well,” he said quietly. “You didn’t panic. You’re here.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I nodded again. Just then, Dr. Volkova’s desk chimed softly. She tapped the console and read the message.

  “Dr. Zaraki wants to see us,” she said.

  Staroko raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

  “He’s expecting us at the mansion,” she replied, her tone unreadable. “He wants to be brought up to speed.”

  Staroko glanced between the two of us, then gave a slow exhale. “Of course he does.”

  The ride to the mansion didn’t take long. No one spoke much on the way. Mr. Staroko made a few short calls. Dr. Volkova stayed quiet beside me. I stared out the window, watching the trees bend in the wind. It wasn’t until the vehicle slowed and turned onto the long driveway that my stomach started to knot. Not from fear. Just the sense that something was about to shift.

  We entered through the side garage access—something they seemed to prefer when things weren’t... normal. The security doors slid open without needing to be touched. Once inside, it felt like the house was already waiting for us.

  We moved down the hall in silence, footsteps soft on polished stone. I recognized the path. We were headed toward Dr. Zaraki’s office. Dr. Volkova walked ahead of me, posture crisp and unreadable. Mr. Staroko kept pace just behind her.

  We rounded the corner, and the office door was already open. Dr. Zaraki stood just outside it, speaking with a man I didn’t know.

  The man turned slightly as we approached. He was tall, built lean, dressed in an ash-gray coat that moved like it was heavier than it looked. His boots were spotless, his posture relaxed. Nothing about him stood out at first—until his eyes met mine.

  He had slitted pupils. Not animal-wide. Just wrong enough to make something instinctual in me recoil. His stare wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t curious, either. It was... measuring. Like I was prey worth considering. I froze, just for a breath.

  He gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Not friendly. Not dismissive. Just enough to make it clear he’d seen me. Dr. Zaraki finished whatever he’d been saying and stepped back.

  “Thank you for your visit, Veloce,” he said evenly. “That information was very helpful.”

  The man—Veloce—smiled faintly and walked past us without a word. His coat brushed slightly near me, and I caught the scent of something sharp and earthy, like wet stone and static.

  Mr. Staroko muttered, just loud enough to catch. “Fucking werecat.”

  I glanced at him, unsure what that even meant. Dr. Volkova’s eyes tracked Veloce as he moved down the hall, her shoulders tighter than before. Dr. Zaraki turned back toward us and motioned toward the open door.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “I hired him to track down an artifact I’ve been chasing for a while. I know you don’t like dealing with his kind, Stephan, but Casper Veloce and his clan are extremely good at what they do.”

  Mr. Staroko didn’t respond, but his expression said plenty. Dr. Volkova gave a low breath through her nose, then walked into the office without a word. I followed her in, still feeling the weight of that look Veloce had given me. It hadn’t felt evil. It had felt patient.

  Dr. Zaraki’s office always felt like a contradiction. It was warm but severe—like every object in the room had been selected with intent and absolutely no softness. Dark wood floors, a dark desk that looked like it belonged to someone with enemies, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves arranged with surgical precision. The painting of his late wife still hung behind him. No clutter. No wasted space. Just function wrapped in quiet power.

  Dr. Volkova stood near the center of the room. She didn’t sit. Mr. Staroko took a chair, but not the one closest to the desk. I stayed back, near the door, unsure whether I was invited to sit or just... watch.

  Dr. Zaraki stepped around to his side of the desk, folding his hands on the surface like he already knew what she was going to say.

  “Well?” he asked calmly.

  Dr. Volkova didn’t waste time.

  “We were at the Lindale Mall. Erika and I separated briefly—eyes still on her. She was standing just outside a store when I turned away. When I looked back, she was gone.”

  Dr. Zaraki’s expression didn’t shift.

  “I picked up her trail immediately,” she continued. “It led me to a storefront—Hot Topic. The security gate was sealed. Her scent was fresh, but I couldn’t see her inside.”

  She paused briefly, voice measured.

  “That’s when I caught the other scent. Male. Incubus. Corrupted.”

  She left the word hanging just long enough to let it settle.

  Dr. Zaraki nodded once. “Continue.”

  “I breached the gate and entered. The creature was still maintaining glamour. He engaged when he saw me. Erika was not visible at any point inside the store. I engaged him. We fought through the storefront into the rear hall. That’s where she reappeared.”

  “Reappeared,” Dr. Zaraki echoed, not as a question, but as a test.

  “One moment empty hallway. Next moment, she was there. No shimmer, no shift signature. Just... there.”

  “And her condition?”

  “Stable,” she said. “No injuries. No visible trauma. Dr. Fen cleared her and me both.”

  He looked at me for the first time since we entered. His expression wasn’t unkind. It was curious—but not in the way most people looked at me. It was the kind of look people gave old artifacts or books written in languages they couldn’t read yet. I didn’t speak. I didn’t think he wanted me to.

  “The Incubus?” he asked.

  “Dead.” she answered.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “I believe it was a hunger-based engagement,” Dr. Volkova continued. “Not targeted. She’s... appealing prey to that species.”

  Dr. Zaraki leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the desk.

  “Appealing how?”

  Dr. Volkova looked my way, just for a moment.

  “Bright,” she said simply. “She radiates like a flare to anything with predatory attunement.”

  He considered that in silence.

  “Not surprising,” he finally said. “She’s untrained. Unmasked. And something about her nature isn't bound by conventional anchors.”

  Mr. Staroko shifted in his seat but didn’t speak. Dr. Zaraki glanced at him, then back to Dr. Volkova.

  “She’ll stay on campus,” he said. “At least until she can suppress her field.”

  I finally spoke, voice quiet but steady.

  “So I did something wrong?”

  Dr. Zaraki’s eyes met mine again. Not hard. Just direct.

  “No,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then why do I have to stay?”

  “Because not everyone who sees you will ask permission before deciding what you’re worth.”

  That landed harder than I expected. I looked down, unsure how to feel. It wasn’t punishment—but it didn’t feel like freedom either. Dr. Zaraki turned back to his console, tapping in a few quiet commands. Then he stopped and looked up again.

  “You’re not a prisoner, Erika. But I’d prefer you remain close. For now.”

  I nodded slowly.

  He nodded back, satisfied.

  Outside the window behind him, the trees swayed in the wind—calm, for now. But I had the sense that he saw storms before anyone else felt the breeze.

  Dinner was already prepared by the time we stepped into the dining room. The long table was set for four. Silverware arranged in perfect symmetry. Plates already waiting, covered by polished domes that reflected the room’s soft golden light. The house smelled warm—something savory and herbal drifting from the kitchen I hadn’t seen yet.

  Dr. Zaraki took the seat at the head of the table. Mr. Staroko pulled out a chair for Dr. Volkova without a word, then sat across from her. I hesitated a little longer, unsure if I was supposed to sit at the far end or beside someone. Dr. Zaraki gestured quietly to the seat between him and Dr. Volkova. I slid into it and folded my hands in my lap, not quite sure what to do with them.

  No one said grace, and there was no small talk. Just the quiet clinking of utensils and the soft hum of background music playing from somewhere I couldn’t see. Classical, I thought. Something string-heavy and slow.

  No one made speeches. No one prayed. Food was already on the table, still warm—roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, bread rolls wrapped in cloth to keep them from going cold. It smelled... normal. Safe.

  I watched the way they moved. Calm. Controlled. Like this was something they did often. It wasn’t formal—it was routine. But for me, it felt strange in a way I couldn’t explain. Not bad. Just new.

  No one asked me to speak. No one asked me to explain myself. They just passed around a breadbasket and poured drinks. Dr. Volkova asked if I wanted water or juice. I said water.

  Mr. Staroko didn’t talk much. He seemed content to listen. Dr. Volkova asked a few questions about how I was feeling, but not in a prodding way. Just... checking in. I gave short answers. She didn’t push.

  It wasn’t the food that made it feel comforting. It was the lack of pressure. I wasn’t being studied here. I wasn’t being measured. I was just... eating dinner. Halfway through the meal, Dr. Zaraki set down his fork and looked across the table toward me.

  “I’d like to arrange something for you,” he said, his tone gentle.

  I paused, waiting.

  He smiled faintly. “Some light interaction with the werewolves again. Nothing intense. Just an opportunity to observe and learn. To give you an opportunity to practice controlling your abilities around others.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Not yet. So I just nodded once. He didn’t push. The conversation moved on—softly, sparingly. The kind that filled the room just enough to keep the silence from feeling heavy. For once, I didn’t feel like I was sitting in the middle of a crisis.

  The conversation softened after that. A few quiet remarks between Dr. Volkova and Mr. Staroko about logistics. Something about a delivery being pushed back. I didn’t know the details, and I didn’t need to. Their voices were low and even—comfortable with one another in the kind of way that only comes with time.

  I remembered Dr. Zaraki telling me that they were more than just co-workers. I was starting to truly see it. It felt calming to see them relaxed and enjoying the meal. It made me relax just a bit more.

  I took another sip of water and glanced at my plate. Mine was half-finished. I wasn’t used to meals like this—where no one was watching your hands or tracking how much you ate. Where no one made you feel guilty for leaving something untouched.

  For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t eating because I had to. I was just eating.

  I shifted slightly in my chair and looked toward Mr. Staroko. “Are there any werewolves my age?”

  He looked up from his glass, surprised—not by the question, I think, but by the fact that I’d spoken. His face relaxed just slightly.

  “Actually, yes,” he said. “Finley Balfour’s son is your age. He and his group meet regularly for training and group sparring. Good kids. Disciplined. Grounded.”

  I wasn’t sure what I expected, but something about the way he said it made it sound less like a threat and more like an offer. Like he was already running scenarios in his head to make it happen smoothly.

  “Oh,” I said softly. “That’s... good. Thank you, Mr. Staroko.”

  He chuckled—just once, but it cracked through the stillness like sunlight through cloud.

  “You don’t have to call me ‘Mr.’ I go by Director Staroko.”

  I blinked, unsure if he was joking. He didn’t sound like he was. I looked over at Dr. Zaraki for confirmation.

  He didn’t even lift his head. “He is the Director of SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation. Second only to me.”

  The words landed with more weight than I expected. I looked back at Mr. Staroko—Director Staroko—and gave a small nod.

  “Oh…” I said, quietly, because there wasn’t anything else to say.

  “You can call him Stephan,” Dr. Volkova added without looking up from her plate. “If you want to watch him flinch.”

  Mr. Staroko cleared his throat, adjusting his silverware like it had misbehaved. “I don’t flinch.”

  “You correct everyone who tries,” she said, tone mild but surgical.

  “That’s not flinching. That’s protocol.”

  Dr. Zaraki smirked faintly and lifted his glass.

  “I’ll stick with Director,” I said quickly, and meant it.

  The laughter that followed wasn’t loud, but it was real. And for a moment, it didn’t feel like I was eating dinner with people above me. It felt like I was just... at a table, with people who saw me. Not as a problem that had to be solved. Not as a responsibility. Just... me. I didn’t know what that made me yet. But it felt like a good place to start.

  After dinner, there was no ceremony. No announcements. Just the slow, familiar rhythm of people cleaning up a meal together. Dr. Volkova stood first, collecting plates without asking. When I reached to help, she gave me a small look and a headshake. “You’re a guest,” she said, her voice gentle but final.

  Mr. Staroko rose beside her, already gathering the glasses. He didn’t say anything—just moved with her in a way that didn’t require conversation. There was no friction. No misstep. He handed her utensils without looking. She took them without asking.

  They disappeared together through the kitchen archway, the sound of running water and faint laughter following them down the hall. Not loud laughter. Just the kind that slips out when someone says something small, familiar, and only meant for one other person.

  I stayed in my seat, watching the light catch along the polished rim of my water glass. I didn’t feel left out. I just felt still.

  Dr. Zaraki remained seated at the head of the table, slowly sipping a mug of dark tea. His gaze wasn’t distant, but it wasn’t fixed on anything either. He seemed content to let the room breathe.

  “Do they live here?” I asked quietly.

  He looked up, brows lifting just slightly like the question had brought him back into the moment.

  “No,” he said. “They live on campus in separate quarters about three blocks east. A private home close enough for response, far enough for space.”

  I nodded, unsure what to say in return.

  He swirled the tea slightly in the mug before adding, “They built it together.”

  I looked back toward the kitchen, where the sound of dishes being rinsed and cabinets closing carried softly through the halls. I didn’t envy them. Not exactly. But it was... something. Something stable. Something quiet. Something that didn’t have to fight to exist.

  They weren’t acting like people who had anything to prove. They were just moving through their evening like the day hadn’t left a scar behind. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe they were used to days like this.

  The thought made something in my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain—not a bad ache. Just... foreign. I leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the room settle around me. I didn’t feel like a guest anymore. But I didn’t feel like I belonged yet either.

  Still—this was the first time I wasn’t trying to figure out whether I should be afraid of the people I was with. And that counted for something.

  The soft clatter of dishes continued from the kitchen, paired with the low murmur of Staroko and Dr. Volkova’s voices as they moved back through the house. Dr. Zaraki and I stayed at the table. He didn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere. Neither was I.

  After a few minutes, a butler entered silently and placed two small bowls on the table. No words, no fanfare. Just the quiet click of porcelain on polished wood.

  I blinked at the bowl in front of me. It was ice cream. Smooth, pale, and perfectly rounded. I stared at it for a moment before glancing at Dr. Zaraki.

  He had already picked up his spoon and was scooping a bite like it was the most natural thing in the world. I looked back down at mine. I didn’t move.

  No one at the monastery had ever brought ice cream. There were no celebrations. No sweet surprises. Desserts were rare, practical, and quiet. Ice cream was something I had only seen on faded posters or in books that I read growing up.

  “Go on,” he said. “It’s just vanilla. Safe bet.”

  I picked up the spoon and hesitated before sliding it through the soft surface. The cold hit the metal fast. I brought the bite to my mouth and took it in.

  The chill shocked my tongue at first, then melted smooth and slow. It was creamy and light. The flavor was soft, not overpowering—just enough sweetness to be comforting. But it was the cold that stayed with me. It didn’t bite. It steadied me somehow. Like I was being grounded in my body again.

  I closed my eyes for a second and let it linger. My shoulders loosened without meaning to. Something inside me shifted—a coil I hadn’t realized was drawn tight finally began to ease.

  It wasn’t just the taste. It was the temperature. The way it slowed everything down. The way it made me feel... real. Dr. Zaraki said nothing, but I could feel his eyes on me. Not studying. Just watching. After a few more quiet spoonfuls, he spoke.

  “Would you mind telling me your version of what happened?”

  I set my spoon down, gently.

  “I don’t remember everything,” I said. “Just that I felt drawn to the storefront. There was a shirt in the display. I stared at it too long. I felt like it was staring back.”

  He nodded, prompting me gently.

  “I stepped closer. It wasn’t fear at first. Just... pressure. Like I wasn’t supposed to move, but I also couldn’t leave.”

  I glanced toward the empty archway, then back at him.

  “When the man spoke to me, it felt off. Not what he said—how he said it. Too smooth. Too still. Like everything was wrong, but nothing was moving fast enough to scream.”

  I took another bite, the cold helping again.

  “I fell. Or slipped. I don’t know how to describe it. The world went quiet. Flat. Like the sound dropped out of a room.”

  “You couldn’t feel the floor?” he asked gently.

  I nodded. “Or the air. I followed the fight. I could see them, Dr. Volkova and the creature. It was like watching from behind glass. But I moved with them. Then when she stopped the creature I stepped out and I was here again.”

  Dr. Zaraki took that in without judgment.

  “You stayed aware?”

  “Yes,” I said

  “Anchored?” he ask.

  I hesitated. “Not really. I didn’t feel like I was in my body the whole time.”

  He leaned back slightly and nodded. “But you returned. No external force pulled you.”

  “No.” I replied.

  He offered a faint smile. “That’s good.”

  I didn’t know if he meant it, but I appreciated the way he said it. We sat in silence for a while after that. I finished the ice cream. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t freezing from the inside out. I was just... cold.

  My room was exactly as I had left it. Nothing had shifted. Nothing had been disturbed. The bed remained neatly made, the corner chair cradled the clean folded clothes from earlier this morning, and the lamp on the nightstand glowed with that same soft amber light that didn’t chase shadows—it simply softened them.

  I stepped inside and closed the door behind me with a quiet click. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was comforting. Like something sacred had been left behind and was still waiting for me.

  A cool breeze drifted in through the cracked window, carrying the scent of pine and stone. I stood there for a moment, breathing it in, letting it settle through me. The noise of the day—the voices, the weight, the echo of my name in someone else’s mouth—all of it began to fall away.

  I crossed to the bed and sat on the edge. The blankets were smooth, the seams straight. I smoothed them anyway allowing myself a few moments to just exist in this space.

  Then I stood again, moving slowly, deliberately. I changed into the cotton sleepwear that was placed out for me, folded my clothes and placed them with care on the chair. The motions calmed me. They gave shape to a day that had tried to slip through my fingers.

  When I started to pulled back the covers, I paused. Something about the way the blanket caught the lamplight made me stop.

  I lowered myself to my knees beside the bed. Not rushed. Not ritualistic. Just present. I clasped my hands, rested my forearms on the mattress, and bowed my head. The words came slowly at first—quiet, familiar. Anchoring.

  “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…”

  I crossed myself, and the tension that had gathered at the base of my skull began to release.

  “Lord, thank you for this day. Thank you for bringing me through it. For letting me find safety when I didn’t expect it. For the hands that caught me when I fell.”

  I paused, then added, more softly, “For the warmth of dinner. For silence. For people who didn’t ask more of me than I could give.”

  I swallowed and closed my eyes tighter.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know why I was born this way, or what it means. But I know You see it. I know You know me, even when I don’t know myself.”

  The wind stirred the trees outside the window. I didn’t open my eyes.

  “I ask for strength to understand. And patience to endure. And courage to not run from whatever comes next.”

  Another breath.

  “And please… protect them. Dr. Volkova. Mr. Staroko. Dr. Zaraki. They didn’t have to help me. But they did. Let me be worthy of that.”

  I felt the heat behind my eyes before I felt the tears slip free.

  “And if I can’t be strong yet... at least let me not break.”

  I stayed there for another long moment, hands still clasped.

  Then I crossed myself again, whispering, “Amen.”

  I stood slowly, pulling the blankets back with care before climbing into bed. The sheets were soft and cool against my skin, the weight of the covers just enough to press me into place.

  Outside, the wind moved the branches in soft arcs. The walls didn’t creak. The shadows didn’t stretch. Nothing watched me from the corners. It was just a room. A place I could call mine. And for the first time, I wasn’t praying because I was expected to. I was praying because I like it was right. Like I needed too.

  Sleep came quickly. But peace did not. One moment I was staring at the ceiling, the next I was standing beneath a silver moon, its light pale and cold over a forest drowned in snow. The world stretched in every direction—trees black against the sky, their limbs tangled and still.

  There was no wind. No sound. Just the soft pressure of snow under my bare feet. It didn’t sting. It didn’t burn. It just existed. I took a breath, but the air felt thin. Like the dream wasn’t finished forming.

  I turned slowly, trying to find a landmark—something to tether me. There was no trail. No structure. Just shadows between trees, and snow that reflected the moonlight like cracked glass. And then the shadows moved.

  Not naturally. Not with the grace of wind or the tilt of branches. They stretched like liquid, slow and deliberate, spilling between trees as if they were alive. I stood frozen. The weight of the silence pressed in like stone.

  Then a chuckle rippled through the air—deep, amused, and wrong. The kind of sound that echoed before it ever reached your ears.

  “You can hide all you want… little Veldrith…”

  I staggered back. My foot broke through a crust of snow and caught on a root, but I didn’t fall.

  The name hit something deep inside me—something buried so far down it didn’t have a voice. Just a tremor. The shadows kept moving. Faster now. The trees bent with their passing, not from pressure—but from submission.

  “You don’t belong to them.”

  I ran. I didn’t wait. I didn’t look. I just moved—branches scratching at my arms, snow kicking up around my ankles, heart hammering so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. The ground blurred beneath me. My breath came in short, ragged bursts, but I didn’t stop.

  I didn’t know where I was going. There was no direction. No sound of pursuit. But I knew I was being chased. I could feel it. Just behind the trees. Just beyond the next breath. I ran harder.

  The forest deepened. The snow thickened. The moonlight narrowed. Then I tripped—my foot catching on something I couldn’t see—and hit the ground hard. The snow didn’t cushion. It swallowed.

  I gasped and pushed myself up, but the cold burned now. Real. Sharp. A reminder. I turned, and the woods were different. Darker. Wrong.

  I didn’t know where I was anymore. I wasn’t sure I ever had. Somewhere behind me, the voice chuckled again. This time lower. Closer.