The world was gone.
Not black. Not silent. Not cold. It was something else—something quieter than death, stranger than dreaming. It was as if her soul had unstitched itself from the fabric of her body and was floating somewhere in between breath and memory, between heartbeat and heaven.
Elvira floated.
Not with wings. Not with will. Just with the strange, invisible thread of something that refused to let go.
She hovered over her own body, stretched out on the hospital bed like a discarded marionette—pale, still, veined with bruises and the shadows of things that had gone too far. Her hair spilled over the pillow like ink. Her lips were slightly parted, breath faint and struggling. Machines hummed nearby, indifferent. Tubes ran into her arms, feeding her time she hadn't earned.
And above it all, Elvira watched.
Watched the cold sterility of the room. The rhythm of her chest. The nurse in blue gloves checking the chart, adjusting her fluids. Watched as she herself did not move, did not stir.
Yet somehow—she was not entirely alone.
There was a shimmer. A crackle in the air.
And then, from the edge of this strange dream-place, Avegar stepped into the light.
Not the Avegar she'd last seen—the hollow-eyed man wrapped in smoke and lies. This Avegar stood in starlight. Cloaked in something deeper than shadow, older than sorrow. His eyes were the color of grief, and something about him glowed faintly—not with life, but with longing.
"Avegar?" her voice whispered, though no sound left her lips.
He didn't answer.
He stood at the foot of the bed, staring at her, his expression unreadable. Pain lived in the furrow of his brow. Regret clung to his shoulders like frost.
"You found me," she whispered.
Still no answer. But his eyes flicked upward—just barely—and she felt it. Felt the tether between them shiver.
This wasn't real. Not entirely. But it was something. Some seam between the world of the waking and the dead. And in that seam, they stood again.
He reached for her—not her body, but her soul. And she, in that strange echo of herself, reached back.
Their fingers met. And time cracked.
She saw it all. His memory. His pain. The boy in the pantry. The scar. The blood. The scream that never made it out of his throat. The ghost of his father. The lies. The years of silence. The weight of a thousand nights curled into himself, trying not to feel.
She saw Marco. And the gazebo. And the whisper of a threat.
"If you don't walk away from her… I'll make her disappear."
She saw herself again—falling. The wind. The dark. The final breath.
And then—hands.
His.
Catching her.
"No," she breathed aloud in this strange in-between world. "No. I died. I fell."
But her soul trembled. Because something had caught her. Dragged her back. Something had refused to let go.
And she knew. She wasn't dead.
Not yet.
—----
A gasp ripped from Elvira's throat as she jolted upright in the hospital bed.
The world snapped into focus like a lurching lens: ceiling tiles etched with spider-cracks, IV lines tugging at her arm, the slow, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor beside her.
She inhaled too fast and nearly choked. Her lungs felt full of ash. Her chest ached with the force of return. The memory of the fall still clung to her skin—wind howling in her ears, stone rushing to meet her, the cold finality of the void. But something had caught her. Something had refused to let go.
Avegar.
She could still feel his fingers laced through hers in that spectral space. His eyes looking straight into the marrow of her soul.
He had saved her.
Or… something had.
Elvira coughed, the pain sharp and real this time, and pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Her fingers found the iron and garnet pendant still resting there. Warm, pulsing faintly. The only warmth in the sterile room.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed. Outside the window, the world carried on, unaware of the girl who had nearly left it.
A nurse passed by in the hallway, her silhouette warping through the frosted glass. Elvira reached for the call button—only to find the cord coiled uselessly on the floor.
Odd.
Her pulse ticked faster.
That's when she heard it.
The click of the door unlocking. Quiet. Deliberate.
Elvira's breath hitched. Her heart rate monitor spiked.
She expected Avegar.
Instead, Marco stepped inside.
He was holding a bouquet—at first.
He wore a pale buttoned coat, bloodless lips stretched into something like a smile. But his eyes were wrong. Too bright. Too wide. Like someone balancing on the edge of something sharp and irreversible.
"Elvira," he said softly, voice like rustling paper. "You're awake."
She pushed herself up further, wincing. "Marco… what—why are you here?"
He closed the door with a whisper and turned the lock behind him. "You nearly died. They said you'd never wake up. But I had faith." He took a step closer. "You always were strong. Strong enough to break things without meaning to."
"Where's Avegar?" Her voice cracked.
Something flickered in Marco's expression. "Gone. Like they always are when it matters."
She stared at him, senses ringing like church bells. "I don't understand. What are you doing?"
Marco smiled again. "I brought you something."
He set the bouquet on the table beside the bed, then reached into his coat. His fingers brushed the handle of something metal and small—too thin for a weapon. Too deliberate to be innocent.
She recognized it a moment later: a surgical scalpel. Gleaming.
Elvira froze.
"Marco—"
"Don't make this difficult," he said. "Please. I didn't come here to hurt you. I came here to end it. Cleanly. Silently."
He stepped closer.
"I loved him, you know," he whispered. Through his silences. His storms. His lies. I saw what no one else did, and I thought that if I just stayed, if I just waited… he'd choose me."
"Marco, please—"
"But he chose you." His voice cracked like ice. "A girl who didn't even know the truth. A girl who stumbled into his darkness and made him feel again. He let you in." His knuckles whitened around the scalpel. "You took what was mine."
Elvira's breath trembled. She glanced at the unplugged call button. No help. No time.
"You don't want to do this," she said. "You're angry. Hurt. But this—this isn't the way."
"It's the only way," he said. "He'll never look at me while you're alive. But maybe if you're gone—"
The door banged open.
"Excuse me!" Sister Verena snapped, pushing a mobile IV cart into the room. Her small frame belied the storm in her voice. "What do you think you're doing in here?"
Marco turned, startled.
In that instant, Elvira saw the old woman's hand flick—not to the IV bag, but to the heavy metal pole attached to it.
With surprising speed, the Sister swung.
The stand cracked against Marco's ribs with a hollow thud.
He staggered back, snarling, the scalpel clattering to the floor.
"Run!" the Sister barked, lunging toward Elvira's bedside. "Get back, now!"
Marco hissed, clutching his side, then darted toward the window. He slammed it open, glass shivering in its frame, and with one final look—wild and wounded—he vanished into the dark.
The Sister rushed to Elvira's side.
"Are you hurt?" she demanded.
Elvira shook her head, breath ragged. "No… no. But he was going to—he had—"
"I saw." The Sister scooped the scalpel with a latex glove and tucked it into a sealed evidence bag. "Not your concern anymore. He won't get far."
Elvira collapsed against the pillows, muscles burning with fear and relief.
"I thought Avegar would be here," she thought.
The Sister paused. She knew he was. For three nights straight. Wouldn't leave her side. But he vanished just before she woke up. Like something pulled him away."
Elvira closed her eyes.
A storm was gathering.
And she wasn't ready.
---
Across the city, Anna's fingers hovered over her laptop trackpad, her expression grim. Her studio apartment was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the cold glow of her screen.
The photo was unmistakable.
Marco, mid-sneer, hand on Avegar's chest.
Avegar—fangs bared, eyes burning crimson in the flash.
There was no denying it now. The truth couldn't be caged anymore.
She uploaded the image to her blog, one of the most widely circulated in the underground investigative scene, and attached the following headline:
"Predator in Plain Sight: Vampire Among Us — Confirmed"
And below it:
"Photo reveals suspected supernatural entity in elite circles. Linked to known political families. Dangerous. Seductive. Real."
She added one more photo: Avegar outside Atelier 7, eyes glowing faintly as he glanced upward—completely unaware of the lens trained on him.
Anna hesitated for only a moment before hitting publish.
She didn't do it to destroy him.
Not entirely.
But the world deserved to know. If Avegar was what she feared, then silence made her complicit.
The blog post surged.
Shares. Comments. Cross-links. Traffic spiked.
She received a call within minutes—from an encrypted number.
She answered.
A male voice spoke, clipped and direct.
"This is Section V of the National Institute of Anomalous and Paranormal Affairs. You've made contact. Confirm sighting?"
Anna's throat went dry. "Yes. Photo confirmed. I know where he was."
A long pause.
Then the voice continued. "We're initiating Operation Dawnbreak. Phase One: Surveillance. Phase Two: Containment. You've done your duty, Ms. Vale."
The call ended.
She stared at the screen.
Her hand trembled.
Outside her window, the streets remained quiet. Normal.
But in the corners… shadows began to move.
---
Avegar stood on the rooftop of an abandoned cathedral.
The wind tore at his coat, carrying the scent of stone and old blood. Below him, the city pulsed with light—blissfully unaware of what now stirred in its underbelly.
He wasn't ready for what came next.
Because now, the world knew.
And it was only a matter of time before they came for him.
From the distance he heard siirens.
And something more.
Silver-plated trucks. Figures in black armor. A sun sigil branded on their shoulders.
Vampire hunters.
The Institute had mobilized.
And the hunt had begun.
Avegar turned to the west, toward the hospital where she waited, alive and alone, not knowing whether to hate him or forgive him.
He closed his eyes.
---
Anna Vale hadn't slept in 48 hours.
Her apartment was dark, lit only by the dual glow of two monitors, both humming with open image files, encrypted tabs, and fragmented text drafts. Beneath the desk, her bare foot tapped restlessly on the wood floor, the tremor betraying her calm facade.
On one monitor: a close-up still of Avegar exiting Atelier 7. His features were human—but just barely. The high cheekbones, the unnatural clarity in his eyes, and the faintest trace of fangs visible in a caught breath. Her lens had captured it. Not accident. Instinct.
On the second monitor: Marco, blurry but distinct in the backdrop. His hand on Avegar's shoulder. His expression unreadable. An accomplice? A pawn? Or something worse?
Anna didn't know. And she hated that.
Her finger hovered over the "Publish" button.
The photos were undeniable.
With one breath, she clicked "Upload Images."
She watched the progress bar crawl.
And when it hit 100%, she opened a new headline and began to type.
VAMPIRE IN THE GAZEBO: Shocking Elite Secret Revealed – National Inquiry Launched
Then, beneath it in bold, eye-catching font:
Marco Derval Linked to Alleged Immortal. Institute Confirms: 'Target Identified, Action Underway.'
Every word felt like a confession.
Because she knew him. She had seen Avegar's face up close—not in a photo, but in person. He'd once brought Elvira tea after rehearsal, quiet and composed. She remembered how tender he was toward her. Almost... reverent.
And yet, now?
He was a monster on her screen.
The screen flickered with an incoming encrypted message:
DO NOT DELETE. POST IS LIVE. TRAFFIC SPIKE: 12K views/min. You did the right thing. —NIA Affairs Liaison
Anna leaned back, pressing her palms to her eyes.
Her hands were shaking.
Not with fear.
With consequence.
She wasn't afraid of vampires.
She was afraid of what happened next, even if her blog was anonymous.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, a photo sent to her directly—a drone-captured shot of Avegar on a rooftop, cloak flaring behind him, almost a silhouette against the mist. Taken tonight.
The message below it read:
Warrant active. Avegar is on the move. Operatives en route. Stay inside. You are now a national informant. Do not make contact.
She stared at the image for a long time.
His face was turned slightly, as if listening to something the wind carried.
There was no malice in it. Only resolve.
She closed the image.
And posted a second update:
Confirmed: Avegar sighted tonight in New Carthage Central District. High alert. Public urged to avoid Atelier 7 and surrounding blocks.
A new feed opened on the news site—comments exploding.
Is this real??
I saw him! On the tram last week!
They live among us. What did I say?
Anna turned to the window, the glass icy beneath her fingertips. From her ninth-floor perch, she could see the first van pull up across the street. Unmarked. No sirens. Two men in black body armor stepped out, shoulders squared, faces hidden by visors. A third carried something shaped like a rifle—but longer, narrower.
They walked to the building opposite, entered without knocking.
She saw a red beam scan across the lobby.
More would follow.
The Institute didn't wait for permission.
Anna stepped back from the window, closed the blinds.
She had just changed the world.
She should feel victorious.
Instead, her stomach twisted.
Because no matter how monstrous Avegar might be—she remembered the way he looked at Elvira. And she had never seen a look like this.
The doorbell rang.
Anna froze.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
She crossed to the intercom. "Yes?"
Static.
Then a low voice, almost teasing:
"Nice article, Anna. Very brave of you."
Her blood ran cold.
"Marco?"
Silence.
Then a soft laugh.
"I always knew you'd betray someone eventually. But Avegar? Tsk tsk. You made a powerful enemy tonight."
A flicker on the hallway camera—no one there.
Then, a breath against the door.
"I'd get some sleep while you still can."
Then nothing.
No footsteps. No door closing. Just… nothing.
She stepped back, heart pounding, hands trembling.
She shut the laptop, locked the windows, and slid the deadbolt on her door.
Outside, the city was screaming in silence.