But none of that was what I was thinking about anymore. Every day, without fail, my phone buzzed around sunset. Sometimes it was just a single message.
Simon: You remembered to eat today?
Sometimes it was a photo. The same chair by the fireplace, or a stray cat perched on the porch like it owned the place.
Once, he sent a picture of the clear night sky. Stars caught through broken window glass, a stretch of black-blue that looked too lonely for its own good.
I told myself I didn’t care. That I didn’t need to reply. That it was better this way. Distance, silence, and pretending that night hadn’t happened.
Except I did reply. Every damn time. Short answers, clipped sentences.
Yeah.
Busy.
Stay hidden.
But my chest still tightened whenever his name lit up the screen. I didn’t realize how much I looked forward to them until the one afternoon my phone stayed silent.
I texted Simon.
Kit: Fed yet?
No response. Ten minutes. Then twenty. My stomach twisted.
I shouldn’t have cared. I told myself that over and over. He was a vampire. He didn’t need me checking in like some worried partner.
But the image of him, tired, thinner than he’d been, those faint shadows beneath his eyes, refused to leave my head. Before I realized what I was doing, I was pulling on my jacket.
The streets were mostly empty, a chill wind cutting through the dark. I left Guild headquarters, and took a cab. The old house sat at the end of the road like a shadow of itself.
When I saw the faint light glowing behind one of the curtains, something in my chest eased. He was home.
I knocked once before pushing the door open. The hinges groaned softly, the familiar scent of dust and smoke wrapping around me.
Simon looked up from where he sat by the fire. He didn’t look surprised to see me, just tired. The kind of tired that went beyond lack of sleep.
“Kit,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I shut the door behind me. “You didn’t answer my text.”
“I was resting,” Simon said.
“That’s not an answer.” I dropped the small cooler I’d been carrying onto the table.
His gaze flicked to it, sharp and wary.
“What is that?” Simon asked.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Don’t make it weird.”
He didn’t move. I sighed and flipped the lid open. Inside were a few sealed containers wrapped in brown paper, faintly cool to the touch.
“I told the butcher I needed it for a hunting dog I was training,” I said. “Which isn’t technically a lie.”
Simon stared at me, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You brought me blood.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to hunt a deer myself,” I muttered. “And you clearly haven’t been eating properly, right?”
