The church always feels older than the rest of the town, like it was built first and everything else simply grew around it. The stone walls hold the cold in a way that never really leaves, and the air carries that damp smell of old wood, candle wax, and incense that has probably been settling here for decades. Even on warmer days the building never quite loses its chill.

  Tonight it feels even quieter than usual.

  No one is here except Father Eric and me.

  His office sits down the hallway behind the sanctuary, the door cracked just enough for a strip of warm light to spill across the wooden floor. Every so often I hear papers shifting or a chair scraping softly, which means he is still working. Father Eric has known my mother for years. Long before everything changed, he was always around the house for dinner or stopping by to talk with her about something from the church.

  I could go talk to him.

  But I don't.

  Instead I sit alone in the front pew near the altar, where the church feels darker and heavier than the rest of the room. A few candles burn near the front, their flames flickering just enough to send shadows crawling across the stone walls.

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

  My fingers move without thinking, finding the necklace resting against my collarbone. The pendant belonged to my mother. The edges are smooth now from years of rubbing it between my fingers whenever my mind drifts somewhere I can't quite control.

  Like now.

  Because the quiet always brings me back to the same place.

  Elias.

  My brother is the only living relative I have left, though I'm not even sure if that still counts anymore. Elias has always been the reckless one between us. While most people are careful about the things they believe, Elias has always chased the things everyone else says are impossible.

  That's what led him away from here.

  Most people in town treat vampires like stories meant to scare children or entertain tourists who wander through the old parts of the city. They're something you laugh about during the day and maybe think about a little too much when the streets get quiet at night.

  But every once in a blue moon, the stories turn out to be real.

  And every once in a blue moon, a vampire offers someone the chance to become one of them.

  Elias didn't hesitate.

  He took the offer.

  That was a year ago.

  No dramatic goodbye. No long explanation. Just a quiet decision that carried him somewhere I couldn't follow. Most people assumed he had simply left town like plenty of others do, but I knew better. Elias had always been fascinated with the things people were afraid to understand.

  Eventually that fascination caught up with him.

  I roll the necklace between my fingers again, staring at the dim candlelight on the altar while the church settles deeper into silence around me.

  Sometimes I wonder if Elias regrets it.

  Sometimes I wonder if he's even still himself at all.

  The quiet doesn't last.

  The heavy wooden door at the back of the church groans softly as it opens, the sound echoing farther than it should in a space this empty. I straighten slightly, my fingers slipping away from my necklace as I glance over my shoulder.

  For a moment the doorway is nothing but a darker shape against the night outside.

  Then someone steps in.

  Zane pushes the door closed behind him, the old hinges creaking again before settling into silence. The faint candlelight from the altar stretches just far enough across the room for me to recognize him, though I probably would have known it was him anyway. Zane moves with a certain kind of quiet confidence, like someone who has spent most of his life walking into rooms without needing to announce himself.

  He pauses just inside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light.

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  For a second, his gaze drifts across the pews before landing on me near the altar.

  There's the smallest flicker of surprise on his face, though it disappears almost immediately.

  "Didn't expect anyone else to be here," he says, his voice low enough that it doesn't disturb the stillness of the church too much.

  His footsteps echo softly as he walks down the aisle, the sound of them steady against the wooden floor. Zane has always been easy to recognize even in low light. Dark hair, slightly messy like he never quite bothers fixing it after running his hands through it too many times, and a posture that always looks relaxed even when he's clearly paying attention to everything around him.

  He stops a few pews away instead of sitting beside me.

  Not far. Just not close enough to feel like he's crowding the quiet space I'd carved out for myself.

  "What are you doing here this late?" he asks.

  I shrug slightly, leaning back against the pew.

  "Thinking."

  Zane lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh.

  "That sounds dangerous."

  The corner of my mouth lifts just a little, though the feeling fades quickly. The church falls quiet again for a moment, the candles flickering softly at the altar.

  Zane glances toward the statue near the front before looking back at me.

  "You look tired," he says.

  "I am."

  There's another pause, though this one feels different. He studies me for a second longer than most people usually would, like he's trying to decide whether to say something else.

  Eventually he looks away, running a hand briefly through his hair.

  "I was looking for Father Eric," he says. "Didn't think I'd run into you."

  I nod toward the hallway behind the sanctuary.

  "He's in his office."

  Zane follows my gesture with his eyes but doesn't move right away. Instead he leans back slightly against the end of the pew in front of him, arms loosely resting along the wooden top.

  The candlelight catches in his eyes for a moment when he glances back at me.

  "You've been here long?"

  "Long enough."

  He studies my face again, quieter this time.

  Not in an obvious way. Not the way people stare when they're being rude or curious.

  More like he's making sure I'm actually okay.

  After a second he nods slowly, as if he's answered his own unspoken question.

  "Well," he says, pushing himself upright again, "I'll try not to interrupt the deep thinking."

  But he doesn't walk toward Father Eric's office yet.

  He lingers there for just a moment longer than he probably needs to.

  "So," he says after a moment, his voice quiet enough to match the stillness of the church, "how's the job going?"

  The question pulls me out of the dull fog my thoughts had been wandering through all evening.

  A small smile slips onto my face before I can stop it.

  "My job?"

  Zane shrugs lightly. "Yeah. The paper. You used to talk about it like it was the best thing that ever happened to you."

  It still is.

  The shift in my mood happens almost instantly. The exhaustion sitting on my shoulders feels a little lighter, and I sit up straighter in the pew, resting my arms along the back of the seat in front of me.

  "I do love it," I admit. "Most days, anyway."

  Zane watches the change carefully, like he notices the difference right away.

  "What are you working on now?" he asks.

  For a moment I hesitate, not because I want to keep it secret, but because saying it out loud still makes it feel a little unreal.

  "I got offered something," I say.

  His eyebrow lifts slightly. "That sounds serious."

  "It kind of is."

  I pause, glancing briefly toward the candles near the altar before looking back at him.

  "The paper wants me to write an exclusive."

  "An exclusive on what?"

  "Not what," I correct softly. "Who."

  Zane waits.

  "Leader Cazoro."

  The name hangs in the air between us.

  Even inside the quiet safety of the church it feels strange to say it out loud.

  Leader Cazoro is not just another political figure or town official. He is something else entirely, something the world still hasn't quite figured out how to treat normally.

  A vampire.

  Zane's relaxed posture tightens almost immediately.

  "You're serious."

  I nod, the excitement bubbling up again despite the nerves sitting just beneath it.

  "They want me to sit down with him. A full interview. Personal history, leadership, the whole thing. No one from the paper has ever gotten that kind of access before."

  Zane doesn't answer right away.

  His gaze drifts toward the altar, his jaw tightening slightly in a way that is easy to miss if someone isn't paying attention.

  "You're excited," he says finally.

  "I am," I admit. "And terrified."

  That earns the faintest breath of a laugh from him, though it carries very little amusement.

  "You're going to interview a vampire," he says slowly, like he is testing the sentence just to see how ridiculous it sounds.

  "When you say it like that, it sounds worse."

  "It is worse."

  I shake my head, leaning back slightly against the pew again.

  "This is huge for my career, Zane. Do you know how many reporters would kill for something like this? Leader Cazoro almost never agrees to interviews."

  "And you're just... what?" he says. "Going to sit across from him and ask questions like it's a normal conversation?"

  "That's kind of how interviews work."

  Zane lets out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side.

  Something in his expression has changed now.

  The relaxed calm he carried when he first walked in has been replaced with something sharper. Concern, maybe. Or something closer to frustration.

  "I don't like it," he says.

  The words come out more firmly than anything else he's said tonight.

  I blink at him. "You don't have to like it."

  "That's not the point."

  His eyes settle on mine again, steady and serious now.

  "You're talking about sitting alone with someone who's older than this entire building," he says, gesturing slightly toward the church walls. "Something that could snap a person in half without even trying."

  "I'll be fine."

  "You don't know that."

  The certainty in his voice makes the space between us feel tighter somehow.

  For a moment neither of us says anything.

  I roll the necklace between my fingers again, the smooth pendant cool against my skin as the candlelight continues its quiet dance across the sanctuary.

  "I'm still going to do it," I say finally.

  Zane studies my face for a second longer.

  Of course he already knows that.

  People who know me well usually do.

  Eventually he exhales slowly and looks away toward the rows of empty pews stretching behind us.

  "Yeah," he mutters. "I figured you would.".