A flash of something sharp. His fangs. My breath stutters, my body locking tight, but not in fear. No—not fear. I should have known.
Vampire.
The thought should send me turning the other way. But it doesn’t. Because what I feel isn’t fear—it’s a gradual, creeping awareness that I’m not as invisible as I told myself I’d be.
I didn’t come out here to be seen. I came to disappear. No title, no guards, no eyes tracking my every breath. Just a mask and a few stolen hours in a city that doesn’t know my name. I told myself that was freedom. That if I kept my head down and my voice low, I could move through the night untouched.
But now—this man. Thisvampire.He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He just watches.
In Astral, vampires don’t act on curiosity. They act on orders. Bound by blood, by law, and worse—by my father’s will. They don’t have the luxury of disobedience. Whether they walk through courts or shadows, it’s all the same. They see. They report. They serve.
I don’t know him. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know me. My father’s spies don’t wear uniforms or offer polite warnings. They blend in. They’re trained to. He could’ve seen me in passing, heard whispers, caught a glimpse through someone else’s eyes. And if he recognizes me now—if he even suspects—I’ve lost control of tonight.
And yet I don’t move.
A reckless, traitorous part of me wants him to see me. Not the mask. Not the name.Me. And that’s the part that scares me most. Because I don’t know what’s more dangerous—being recognized, or being forgotten.
He watches me carefully, unmoving, his body composed with a stillness that feels purposeful. And for a brief moment, I can feel the shape of my realization settle—quiet and tense, like a held breath.
“I should have known you were one of those,” I murmur, the words almost an afterthought, shaped with quiet curiosity rather than accusation.
He tilts his head, amusement passing across his face.
“One of those?”
I meet his eyes and nod once, calm and deliberate. “A vampire.”
His posture adjusts, just slightly—shoulders drawing back, chin lifting by a fraction. The smile lingers, but something beneath it stills. A pause, precise and unblinking. The air between us sharpens, like the space itself has leaned in to listen.
“Depends on who’s asking,” he says, his voice low.
I offer a slight shrug, a gesture of careless charm, letting a veil of indifference fall over my words.
“I’m just a curious girl, interested in the stories people like to tell. Vampires seem to collect more than most.”
His brow arches, though he does not move. He watches me closely now—closer than before—as if trying to decide whether I am exactly what I appear to be, or something else entirely.
“Are you asking if the rumors are true?” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, the edges of it softening into something more grounded—something serious. Something real.
I lift my glass to my lips, smirking against the rim.
“I guess that depends on which ones you’re talking about.”
His lips twitch into the faintest smile.
A pause—just long enough to make me feel the weight of his attention before he speaks again.
“And which ones are you most curious about?"
I hold his gaze, unwilling to flinch.
“I think people like to romanticize vampires,” I say, tilting my head. “No heart, no soul… cursed to exist rather than live.” My voice is light, almost teasing, but my fingers tighten around my glass. “Tell me—does any of it hold truth?”
Something in his demeanorshifts.
His expression turns stoic as he watches me. Then, without a word, he steps closer. My breath catches, my grip tightening around my glass.
His voice drops lower, edged with something I can’t quite place."And what is it you hope is true?"
