Seraphina's POV
The electric clippers buzz against my skull.
"Stay still, 247," the processing guard snaps. "Unless you want me to cut more than hair."
I close my eyes as chunks of brown hair fall to the sterile white floor. Six months ago, Marcus loved playing with my hair. Six months ago, I had a name.
Now I'm just a number.
The clippers finish their work. I open my eyes to see a stranger in the mirror—a bald girl with hollow eyes and a grey jumpsuit. A barcode tattoo wraps around my left wrist like a shackle. Courier 247.
"Move along," the guard says, pushing me toward the training room.
The facility is all white walls and fluorescent lights that hurt my eyes. Everything smells like bleach and something metallic. Blood.
Twenty other couriers stand in neat rows, all wearing the same grey uniform, all branded with barcodes. Most look terrified. A few look dead inside already.
"Listen up!" A man strides into the room—tall, pale, with eyes that gleam red in the harsh light. My stomach drops. He's a vampire.
"I'm Gregor, your trainer," he announces. "For the next week, I'll teach you how to stay alive. Some of you won't make it through training. Most of you won't survive your first year. The mortality rate for blood couriers is thirty percent. Remember that number when you're tempted to break the rules."
A girl beside me starts crying softly.
Gregor's head snaps toward her. "You. Step forward."
The girl trembles but doesn't move.
"I said step forward!" Gregor's voice cracks like a whip.
She stumbles out of line, tears streaming down her face.
"Rule number one," Gregor says, circling her like a predator. "Vampires smell fear. They smell tears. They smell weakness." He leans close to her throat. "And weakness makes them hungry."
The girl sobs harder.
"Please," she whispers. "I just want to go home."
"You don't have a home anymore." Gregor straightens up and addresses all of us. "You're property now. Cargo. The blood you carry is worth more than your lives. Remember that."
He dismisses the crying girl with a wave. She scurries back to the line.
Then Gregor's eyes land on me. His lips curl into a cruel smile.
"Well, well. Courier 247." He walks toward me slowly. "Don't you look different from the last time I saw you, Dr. Vale."
My blood runs cold. He knows me. He knew me before.
"That's right," Gregor says, reading my expression. "I attended your engagement party. Beautiful venue. Terrible ending." He laughs. "Who would have thought the brilliant Dr. Seraphina Vale would end up here? Bald and broken, just another criminal serving time."
Heat floods my face. The other couriers stare at me.
"I didn't do what they said—" I start.
"Nobody cares." Gregor cuts me off. "Guilty or innocent doesn't matter here. You're Courier 247. That's all you are now." He leans close enough that I can smell blood on his breath. "And I'm going to enjoy watching you learn your place."
For the next six months, training is hell.
We learn to carry blood containers—special refrigerated cases that keep vampire blood fresh. We learn to never look vampires in the eyes. We learn to walk quickly but not run, speak only when spoken to, and never, ever let them taste us directly.
"Direct feeding creates bonds," Gregor explains during one lesson. "Bonds make vampires possessive. Possessive vampires keep their food sources. You don't want to be kept."
Every day, Gregor singles me out for extra humiliation. Drop and give me fifty push-ups, 247. Clean the blood storage room with your bare hands, 247. Stand in the corner for an hour because I don't like your face, 247.
The other couriers learn to stay away from me. I'm cursed—the fallen doctor who deserves everything she gets.
At night, locked in my tiny cell, I cry into my thin pillow and think about Marcus and Jade. They're probably together right now, celebrating their freedom while I lose myself piece by piece in this nightmare.
Six months later, I get my first real assignment.
"Courier 247," Gregor announces during morning assembly. "You'll transport a blood shipment to the Eastern District tonight. Deliver to the address on your orders. Don't be late. Don't lose the container. Don't die."
He hands me a silver case that feels warm to the touch. Inside is vampire blood—precious, powerful, worth more than my life.
The Eastern District is dangerous. Everyone knows that. Two couriers died there last month.
"Any questions, 247?" Gregor asks with a nasty smile.
"No, sir."
"Good. Try not to embarrass yourself."
That evening, I board a special transport van with five other couriers. Nobody speaks. We're all carrying our own death sentences.
The Eastern District is darker than the rest of the city—fewer streetlights, more shadows. The van drops us at different addresses. When it's my turn, I step out alone, clutching the silver case.
The address leads me to an old warehouse. The door is slightly open.
My heart hammers as I step inside.
"Delivery for—"
Something moves in the darkness. Fast. Too fast.
A hand grabs my throat and slams me against the wall. The silver case clatters to the floor.
Red eyes gleam inches from my face. A vampire, but not the one I'm supposed to deliver to. This one looks wild, dangerous, wrong.
"Fresh courier," he hisses, fangs extending. "They sent me a gift."
I can't breathe. Can't scream. Can't move.
This is it. I'm going to die in my first delivery.
But then another voice cuts through the darkness—cold, commanding, and somehow worse than the vampire choking me.
"Let her go, Marcus."
My attacker freezes.
And I realize two impossible things at once:
First—this vampire choking me is named Marcus.
Second—that voice giving orders sounds exactly like my dead ex-fiancé.