So I’d done as I was told. Just a rabbit, quick and clean. Now, sitting near the window, I caught myself glancing at the road every few minutes like some eager fool.
He’d texted me that afternoon.
Kit: Job’s done. Might stop by tonight.
Might. As if he didn’t know I’d been counting the hours.
I’d thought about what I’d say when he arrived. That I appreciated him checking the area for signs of my sire’s experiments, even when it put him at risk.
That I’d meant to thank him for the texts, for the strange comfort they’d become. That I wanted…what, exactly? To see him smile again? To remember what warmth felt like?
I didn’t know. I just knew the thought of him walking through that door steadied something inside me I hadn’t realized was fraying.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, throwing flickers of orange light over the cracked walls. The old house was starting to feel almost lived in. Like maybe it could belong to someone again.
That illusion shattered the moment I saw movement on the road.
Two figures. Dark coats, steady stride. One of them carried something slung across his back that gleamed faintly under the streetlight.
My pulse spiked. Hunters from the Guild.
Even from this distance, I recognized the telltale details Kit had taught me to spot. The silver-threaded cuffs, the reinforced boots, the weighted step of men used to carrying weapons.
Panic lanced through me, cold and sharp. I grabbed my phone and typed fast.
Simon: Two hunters. Outside.
Kit’s reply came almost instantly.
Kit: Get out of sight. Now. I’m coming.
I didn’t waste a second. The fire damn it. I hadn’t even thought of the smoke. I crouched and doused it with the water bucket, choking on the steam as the flames hissed out.
The light died, leaving the room in half-shadow. Footsteps crunched outside.
My chest tightened. Every instinct screamed to run, but where? The house was surrounded by open ground. If I bolted, they’d see me before I got twenty feet.
The boards creaked downstairs.
“Smell that?” one of them said. His voice carried, muffled through the floor. “Fire. Fresh.”
A pause. Then another voice. “Upstairs. Someone’s been squatting.”
They were coming.
I turned in a slow circle, desperate for somewhere, anywhere, to hide. The windows were boarded, the attic crawlspace too exposed.
My eyes landed on the narrow closet near the bed. The same one I’d used to stash my few belongings. It would have to do.
I slipped inside, easing the door shut just as boots thudded on the stairs. The small space smelled of dust and wood rot. I pressed my back against the wall, willing myself to stillness.
The hinges downstairs groaned again. Voices drifted up, closer now.
“Check the rooms.”
Light flared briefly under the door. Someone had a flashlight.
I didn’t breathe, couldn’t. The air felt heavy, clinging.
