The sun had already hidden behind Salt Blake's worn-out buildings when Kimberly opened her eyes. The air reeked of old alcohol, damp wood, and cigarette smoke. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was—until she felt the warmth of something beside her: a steaming cup of coffee balanced on an old crate.
She sat up slowly, her body still stiff from the early morning cold, and peered through the broken window of the bar. Across the street, leaning against a lamppost, the bar's old owner — Roshi — lit a cigarette and watched the sidewalk. He didn't look directly at her, but it was as if he knew she was there.
Kim furrowed her brow, suspicious.
"What kind of guy leaves coffee for a stranger?" — she muttered, taking a sip. The flavor was strong, almost bitter, but the warmth flowing down her throat made her stomach feel full — something she hadn't felt in days.
She stayed there for a few minutes, watching the first passersby, the slow-moving traffic, the echoing footsteps in the alleys. Life went on, indifferent. And she, in the middle of it all, still didn't know if she belonged to this world.
When the sun rose fully, Kimberly stood, adjusted her torn hood, and walked away without looking back.
"I can't get used to this. He's just an old man. I don't need anyone."
The day passed like so many others: quick thefts, suspicious glances, the constant fear of being caught. The city smelled of rust and despair. And, at night, of blood.
When the moon rose, Kimberly found herself once again in the same alley, the same corner near the dumpster where she had slept. The bar was closed, the silence sharp, and the cold wind dragged papers across the street. She pulled her coat tighter around her, thinking about how the morning coffee already seemed like a distant dream.
Then something caught her attention — a muffled sound, a stifled scream.
She peered into the shadows and saw three figures pressing a man against the wall: two men and a woman. The silhouettes moved quickly, the air seemed to vibrate around them. And the smell… metallic, familiar.
Blood.
Kim took a step forward, hesitating. Her instinct told her to run, but something inside her — that old anger, that suppressed thirst — made her move closer.
"Hey!" — she shouted. — "Let him go!"
The three figures turned at the same time. Their eyes glowed a crimson red in the dim light.
One of them laughed.
"Well, well… looks like we have an intruder."
The woman, with a cruel smile, tilted her head.
"A vampire child… I can smell it. What a waste."
Kim froze for a moment, feeling her blood boil.
"I'm not one of you."
But they advanced. The first strike came fast — she dodged, the second nearly grazed her shoulder. She kicked the third; air hissed between her teeth. For a brief second, her eyes glowed red, her fangs protruded — and the three vampires recoiled, surprised.
"So it's true," — one of them said. — "A vampire. This shouldn't exist."
They circled her. Kim backed up until her back hit the cold wall. Heavy breathing, racing heart. The hunger inside her awoke again, whispering: bite, end them.
But before any of them could move, the sharp report of a gunshot echoed.
The vampire on the right fell, a hole burning between his eyes.
Another shot. Then another.
The old man from the bar was there — Roshi — gun in hand, expression serious, steps deliberate.
"Step aside," — he said, and his tone was not threatening. It was a warning.
The two remaining tried to attack him, moving like shadows, but Roshi was precise. One shot to the leg, another to the heart. Within seconds, the alley was silent again — except for Kimberly's trembling breaths.
She looked around: three bodies on the ground, the thick scent of blood in the air, the man who had been attacked unconscious a few meters away. Roshi holstered his gun calmly, as if it were just another ordinary night.
Kim stared at him, still panting.
"How… how did you do that?"
He just sighed, grabbing the injured man by the arm.
"Old habit."
She waited for him to say more, but he just turned and looked at her.
"Come with me. It'll get colder soon."
Kim crossed her arms.
"I don't need help."
"Neither do I," — he replied. — "But sometimes, it's good to have it."
She hesitated. Looked at the bodies, the blood, the alley. And for the first time in a long while, she felt afraid of herself.
"Fine," — she finally said. — "Just for tonight."
The bar was empty, lit only by a single hanging lamp. Roshi improvised a bed with some blankets and an old pillow in the back. Kimberly lay down, staring at the cracked ceiling and listening to the wind pounding against the window.
She didn't know whether to thank him or run in the middle of the night. But the warmth of that morning coffee came back to her mind.
For the first time in months, she closed her eyes without thinking of blood.
Before falling asleep, she whispered to herself:
"Just for tonight…"
But deep down, she knew something inside her — something she had been denying — was beginning to change.