The city was different beneath the moon.
Jamie drifted through New Haven's veins like a ghost, every step soundless, every breath unnecessary. The night pressed close, thick with mist and the hum of unseen lives. Her senses stretched out farther than she thought possible—beyond the cobblestones and storefronts, beyond the whisper of traffic—to the rhythm of existence itself.
Heartbeats.
Thousands of them.
They beat in perfect chaos: the quick flutter of a child running, the slow, steady thud of an old man at rest, the syncopated pulse of lovers in an upstairs apartment. The sound filled her head until she thought it might drive her mad.
And with every beat came hunger.
Her throat burned, dry as ash. The ache twisted inside her, half pain, half ecstasy. She could smell blood everywhere—in the rain pooling by the gutters, in the heat of passing bodies, even in her own memory. It was the one scent she could no longer escape.
She wandered through the narrow lanes of the old district, her reflection flitting between puddles and dark windows. The lamplight painted her in silver, made her seem ethereal, untouchable. Once, she had been someone who walked home late after work, phone in hand, hoodie drawn up against the chill. Now she was the chill.
The laughter came first—a sound too bright for such a quiet street.
Ahead, under the awning of a small café, a couple stood close together. The man's arm around her waist, the woman's pulse glowing like a red lantern in Jamie's vision. She froze. The scent reached her first—warm, living, impossibly inviting.
Her body moved before she could think. A step closer. Then another.
The world slowed. Every detail sharpened—the woman's breath fogging in the air, the steam curling from their cups, the rhythm of blood pulsing through fragile veins. Jamie could almost taste it on her tongue.
And then—
A flicker in the window caught her eye. Her reflection again: pale, feral, her pupils wide and rimmed in crimson. She saw herself not as prey, not as victim—but as predator. The shock of it sliced through her hunger like a blade.
Jamie stumbled backward, hand over her mouth, choking on the ghost of a heartbeat that wasn't there.
"No," she whispered. Her voice cracked in the empty air. "I won't."
The couple laughed again, unaware. Their joy felt like something sacred, something she had no right to steal. She turned and fled into the shadows.
She didn't stop until she reached the river. The water glimmered black under the moon, carrying the city's lights in trembling fragments. She knelt by the bank, staring at her reflection in the ripples. The face that stared back was both hers and not hers—eyes too bright, skin too flawless, as if the night itself had remade her in its image.
"What am I?" she murmured.
The river didn't answer. It only flowed on, ancient and indifferent.
When she finally rose, dawn was bleeding into the horizon. The hunger still burned, but somewhere beneath it—buried deep—was a flicker of something else.
Willpower.
Defiance.
A choice.
Jamie turned away from the river and vanished into the retreating shadows, a creature of darkness walking toward the first light of day.