Selene's POV:
Silence peeled at me as I walked into the room.
Every step felt heavier than the last, though I wasn't tired. The quiet pressed against my ears, thick and almost tangible, making each breath a little louder than it should have been. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and something lingering in the air from the day—coffee, dust, and the faint scent of him. Robert was still sitting there, exactly where I had left him—relaxed in posture, yet every muscle seemed ready, like a predator who had trained his body to respond before his mind could even register danger.
When his eyes met mine, a faint smile tugged at his lips. It wasn't wide, but it carried years of restraint, unspoken words, and the subtle comfort of someone who had endured storms but still managed to remain anchored. That smile had always unsettled me; it was calm but not empty, patient yet not indulgent, as if he had seen the world in ways I couldn't fully comprehend—and somehow, he had survived it all.
"All these years," he said quietly, his voice low and deliberate, each word deliberate as though carefully measured, "I've always focused on my work. On surviving. On my own happiness. I never really thought I'd fall for something real… until you."
I paused mid-step, letting the weight of his words settle. There was a strange sort of warmth in the silence that followed, almost like the room itself was holding its breath. Slowly, I walked over and sat beside him. The sofa was firm under my weight, but the moment I leaned back slightly, I felt the subtle shift of his presence beside me—an invisible tether that reminded me of the life I almost never allowed myself to have.
"Robert, can we talk?" My voice wavered, just slightly, though I tried to hide it.
He turned toward me fully, giving me the undivided attention I had grown used to but still found grounding. His eyes weren't just looking; they were scanning, assessing, understanding in a way that both comforted and unsettled me.
"I know I've been distant lately," I said, my fingers flexing slightly in my lap, the words tasting foreign in my mouth. "Cold. Not the way I used to be. And I'm sorry." I drew in a slow breath, the air carrying the faint scent of him, and continued, "I really love you. I've just been so focused on how we're going to survive all this. I didn't want to lose you—or lose myself—but it feels like I was doing both faster than I expected."
He stayed quiet. His silence wasn't empty; it filled the space, heavy but steady, like the calm before a storm. I could feel him considering every nuance of my words, every flicker of expression across my face, as if he was reading me in ways even I didn't understand.
"No matter what happens," I continued, softer now, my voice barely above a whisper, "I'm choosing you. To the end. I hope you believe that—because I do."
The tension in the room eased, but it did not disappear. It lingered like a shadow behind our words, subtle yet persistent, reminding me of everything we had survived and everything still waiting for us.
"So," I added, forcing a smile, a small fragile curve that felt foreign on my lips, "can we go get ice cream? Or maybe a movie at the cinema. Then the park. Or all of it. I'm starving." I hesitated, then laughed softly, trying to keep the weight from my voice. "My fangs are itchy."
A low chuckle escaped him, quiet but enough to reach me.
"You always say the strangest things when you're trying to be normal," he said, shaking his head slightly, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"Normal is overrated," I replied, just as softly.
We started with ice cream.
The night air was cool, tinged with the faint smell of damp earth and asphalt. People passed by, chatting, laughing, oblivious to the tension that seemed permanently woven into my veins. I focused on the sweetness on my tongue, the chill of the treat grounding me, pretending that the world outside could wait for just a few moments. The cold cream slid across my taste buds, a small reminder that the night could hold something simple, fleetingly ordinary, even for us.
Then the cinema—dark, silent, except for the flickering of light across the walls and the muffled sounds of the film. His arm brushed mine as we settled into our seats. For a while, I almost forgot the threats, the hunger, the secrets curling beneath my skin like invisible tendrils. His presence anchored me, and the tension in my chest eased slightly. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle steadiness of a person who had lived and survived enough to become nearly untouchable.
Afterward, we walked through the park.
The lamps glowed softly, casting long golden streaks between the trees. Couples strolled by, whispering to each other. Children ran past, laughter echoing through the night, pure and untainted by the dangers lurking in the shadows. Life moved here as though it had nothing to fear. I let myself imagine it was possible for us to have a life like this—quiet, simple, unthreatened. For the briefest of moments, I allowed myself to breathe freely, to feel the air fill my lungs without fear.
As we turned toward home, the streets grew quieter. The bustle faded, leaving only the distant hum of the city.
Then the scent hit me.
Sweet. Warm. Tantalizing.
My steps faltered. Hunger surged violently, a sharp and uncontrollable wave crashing through me. My senses narrowed, the world compressing into the rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn't mine, a presence calling to the deepest, most primal parts of me.
I inhaled again, tasting it in the air, sharp and irresistible, and it became unbearable.
Before Robert could even react—before I could fully process what I was doing—I moved.
One moment, someone was there, alive and unaware. The next… nothing.
When I stepped back, all that remained was ash drifting lightly across the pavement, dissolving into the night as if that person had never existed at all.
No scream.
No struggle.
Just absence.
Robert froze, body taut, eyes wide, disbelief written across his face.
I stared at my hands. They were steady, calm, methodical—unchanging, almost eerily composed.
"Is this…" I whispered, my voice barely breaking the night, "…my power?"
The silence didn't answer.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure whether I should fear the hunger—
Or marvel at how natural it felt, how much of me had been waiting for this moment, for the truth of what I could become.