In the darkness, there were no walls and no doors.

  Only a long, narrow corridor, like a shadow stretched too straight, with no end in sight. Red lights on the ceiling flickered in a rhythmic, clinical cadence, casting short, freezing gres whenever they pulsed.

  She stood in the center of the hallway, her hands bound by restraints, wearing nothing but a thin, hospital-issue surgical gown. There was no pain, but she knew she could not move.

  A speaker on the wall crackled to life, the sound of static tearing through the silence like a jagged bde.

  "...Subject Three, prepare for transport."

  Not a name. Only a number.

  She didn't know who "Subject Three" was, but the moment the voice sounded, she reflexively held her breath. From a distance came the sound of something being dragged. The screech of metal on concrete. Someone was sobbing, a muffled, desperate sound that was quickly drowned out by more static.

  The voice in the communicator was devoid of emotion as it continued calmly:

  "Next."

  The red light pulsed. She tried to step back, but her body refused to obey. The voice suddenly sounded very close, as if pressed against her right ear:

  "...Number confirmed."

  Lenka’s eyes snapped open.

  The room she was "borrowing" was silent, save for the distant howl of the wind outside the window. Kojin Lenka sat up, her heart hammering against her ribs, her hand instinctively covering her right ear.

  After a long moment, she cursed under her breath.

  "...That dream again."

  She didn't try to go back to sleep. She sat there for a while, feeling the uncomfortable echo of the nightmare clinging to her—not a clear sound, but a persistent static at the edge of her consciousness.

  She had no memories of her life before the "conversion." Or more accurately, her memories were a tangled mess, a blur where she couldn't distinguish her own past from those of others. She vaguely remembered the experimental cages, where researchers would deliberately trigger her bloodlust, forcing her to bite the "donors" they threw into the room—vagrants, death row inmates, the undocumented "ghosts" of society.

  Every time she drank, her mind was nearly submerged by a deluge of negative emotions, fractured images, and screaming voices. She wasn't even sure if "Kojin Lenka"—the name she used to anchor her existence—was truly her own.

  She shook her head and went to wash her face. As she turned the tap, the sharp click of the metal handle made her shoulders twitch reflexively.

  ...Too loud.

  She frowned and lowered the water pressure. For the past few hours, her senses had been unnervingly acute. The cshing of metal set her teeth on edge. The distant hum of an electronic device made her instinctively retreat. Even the faint static of a radio from a distant Hunter unit—

  She froze. Her chest tightened. The sound was gone, but she remained motionless for several seconds.

  "...Honestly," she grumbled, rubbing her temples. "Why is everything so noisy today?"

  She didn't notice that her fingers were still trembling as she lowered her hands.

  Night had not yet fully descended.

  The warm breath of an animal lingered in the woods, the scent of blood faint, quickly swallowed by the damp earth and moss. Saliya knelt on the ground, her hands stained with a dark, congealing crimson.

  It was her first true "kill."

  The body y before her—a medium-sized deer, its throat cut with surgical precision. There had been no struggle. She remembered her own heartbeat in that moment, so heavy it seemed to drown out the world.

  Ana stood nearby, her voice as calm as ever. "Remember, you didn't just take its life." She handed a clean white cloth to Saliya. "You must also accept and thank it for what it has given you."

  Saliya faltered, a look of guilt clouding her eyes. "...But it didn't have a choice."

  Ana watched her for a moment before saying softly, "That is exactly why you must respect it. We are a part of this world as well. Even if you were to eat only pnts and trees, you must give them respect." She paused, considering her next words. "This is what it means to be the True Blood. Keep it in your heart."

  Ana leaned down and closed the deer's half-open eyes. She took Saliya’s hand and pced her palm against the animal’s forehead as a gesture of reverence. "Remember its weight, the direction it fell, and the feeling you have right now. The next time you hesitate, these things will remind you that you are not a monster."

  Saliya obeyed, her fingertips trembling slightly. She didn't know if this counted as being forgiven. She only knew that something invisible had settled deep in her chest. After a long silence, she spoke softly.

  "...Ana."

  "Yes?"

  "I... I didn't see its memories."

  Ana paused and looked at her. "That’s normal."

  "But before..." Saliya hesitated. "With J... and with you... the Blood Memory was so clear."

  Ana thought for a moment. "Because an animal's 'Self' is thin. What leaves a trace in the blood isn't emotion; it's the Ego." She pointed to her own eyes. "Only a being that can recognize itself in a mirror leaves a mark in the blood."

  "...So not every life has one?"

  "Not every life has a clear sense of 'I am here'."

  Ana hoisted the carcass onto her back. "This is also why I insisted you drink my blood first to adapt. Those with a weak sense of self can have their minds shattered by the deluge of Blood Memories."

  Saliya lowered her head and gave a soft "Mm." For a moment, she felt a strange sense of relief. What she had just swallowed was merely a naming-less silence.

  "I’ll go bury it," Ana said. "Wait for me here."

  Once Ana was gone, Saliya checked the time. It was the hour. She drew out the foil-wrapped radio and switched the power on. She had repeated this ritual for days. Each time she finished her seven-second count, the only response was silence. She knew the risk grew with every attempt, but she couldn't stop. She was terrified that J was truly gone. This radio, which she could crush with a thought, was her only lifeline.

  She set the channel and took a deep breath.

  Hoo. Hoo.

  She kept the sound of her breath light and short, as if afraid to disturb the night.

  Silence. Seven seconds passed. No response.

  As she closed her eyes to power down the device, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't a sound, but a sensation of being targeted. In the next heartbeat, she heard a faint footstep behind her. Simultaneously, a shadow lunged.

  She had no time to turn. She raised her arm reflexively to block—

  CLANG!

  The screech of metal echoed. The radio was struck by a savage force and sent flying, smming into the ground. Its casing shattered, internal components scattering across the dirt.

  Saliya was stunned. Her mind went bnk.

  The assaint nded several paces away in a half-kneel. A lean, dark silhouette, messy silver hair, and golden cat-like eyes that burned like those of a wounded beast.

  Lenka.

  Her gaze swept over the bloodstains on the ground before snapping back to Saliya. Her voice was low and frigid. "...You’re making contact with the outside?"

  Saliya didn't answer. She walked slowly toward the shattered radio, picking up the broken antenna. Her knuckles whitened with the force of her grip.

  "No wonder I keep running into you two," Lenka’s eyes turned dangerous. "Who are you leading here?"

  The wind rustled the treetops. In the next second, they moved.

  Two shadows collided. Fists, cws, elbows, and knees—no testing, only raw combat. Saliya pinned Lenka’s wrist but was forced back several steps by a retaliatory strike. Lenka braced her footing and hurled Saliya violently against a tree trunk.

  The impact exploded with pain. A primal instinct Saliya had been desperately suppressing was torn open. Her breathing turned ragged.

  In the next instant, shadows erupted from her body.

  Lenka froze. "What the hell is that—?"

  It wasn't the halberd she had seen before. From the shoulders of the slender girl she had just thrown, a pair of massive, demonic bat-wings manifested—forged entirely of shadow.

  Lenka stood paralyzed for two seconds. And in those two seconds, the darkness in the distance moved.

  BANG!

  A single gunshot shattered the night. Lenka spun around, but she was too slow. The muffled thud of the bullet hit the vertebrae of her lower back. The sizzling sound and the searing heat told her instantly: Silver.

  The second shot followed immediately. She had no way to dodge. She could only watch the silver streak of the trajectory close in on her throat.

  —It's over, was the only thought in Lenka's mind.

  In that heartbeat, Saliya moved. She didn't think. Her body acted first. She lunged forward, tackling Lenka to the ground.

  THWACK.

  Agonizing pain exploded on the right side of Saliya’s face. Blood instantly blinded her vision. She heard the distinct crack of her own skull fracturing. The world tilted. Yet, she held the person in her arms tight, refusing to let go.

  The third shot never came.

  From the distance came a low wail and the whistle of a bde cleaving air. A familiar, freezing aura approached at high speed. Ana had returned, her shadow-sword dissipating as she arrived with a grim expression.

  "We have to go, Sister. Hunters are nearby. I dealt with the one who ambushed—"

  Ana stopped as she took in the scene. She saw Saliya staggering to her feet, supporting the limp Lenka, with blood streaming down her face. Then she saw the fragments of the radio.

  Her fury fred as she gred at the immobilized Lenka. "...Do you have any idea what stupidity you’ve—"

  "Ana!" Saliya cut her off. As Saliya lifted her head, Ana realized the wound wasn't a graze; her entire right eye was a ruin. "Ana... she was hit by a silver bullet. Help me."

  Ana took Lenka, and Saliya quickly gathered the radio fragments. The three vanished into the night.

  When Lenka woke, she found herself lying on a makeshift bed of leaves, branches, and stone sbs. She tried to sit up—

  "Don't move. Your spine is cracked. Silver bullet," Ana’s hand pressed her back down. "You need to rest. I’ll give you some blood to recover your strength ter."

  Lenka looked around. Nearby, Saliya was sitting with her back turned, attempting to repair the shattered radio. Lenka felt the crushing weight of her misunderstanding.

  "Why... why did you save me?" Lenka asked, looking at Ana.

  Ana shot her a look that was practically a gre. "I didn't want to save you." She gnced at her sister. "But Sister took a bullet for you. If I let you turn to ash in the sunrise, she’d never let me hear the end of it."

  "Her injury...?" Lenka had been paralyzed, but her senses—including her memory—had been functioning.

  "The bullet’s been removed," Ana replied casually, though her irritation was pin.

  "That was silver—" Lenka whispered in disbelief. Saliya’s injury was no less severe than hers.

  "We aren't afraid of silver," Ana said ftly.

  "What?" Lenka was speechless. It took her several seconds to process the words. Not afraid of silver? What does that even mean?

  She reflexively tried to look at the bandages around her waist. The dull ache of the burn remained, like something cooling in her bones. "...Impossible," she whispered. "Silver works on vampires. UV, garlic, silver bullets... they all work on me. They can kill me."

  Ana looked at her. Her gaze wasn't cold; it was the hesitation of someone deciding whether to speak a hard truth. She turned to Saliya.

  "Sister."

  Saliya didn't look back, but her hands paused for a split second. "Tell her," she whispered.

  Ana looked back at Lenka, her tone calm to the point of cruelty. "Because you aren't a vampire."

  The air seemed to vanish from the room. Lenka’s head rang. "What did you say?"

  "Your regeneration, your physical prowess—they are actually slightly higher than ours. And your cws, your sensitivity to silver..." Ana listed them one by one. "Those are not 'vampiric traits'."

  Lenka’s fingers gripped the leaves beneath her. She wanted to argue, but she found she couldn't say a word. Because everything Ana said was true. She remembered Ana calling her a "hybrid" during their first meeting on the tower. She remembered the demon wings Saliya had manifested—something she had never seen on herself or any of her "kind."

  "Then... what am I?" her voice was dry.

  Ana looked at her and spoke the answer pinly. "A hybrid of Werewolf and Vampire."

  In that moment, all color drained from Lenka’s face. She stared bnkly at Ana, then at Saliya’s back. "...But werewolves... they’re just stories, aren't they?"

  "To most humans, yes," Ana said. "But they were real. They were wiped out in the Witch Hunts of the 17th and 18th centuries."

  Lenka’s breathing grew erratic. "Then why... why do I drink blood?"

  "Because you have the bloodline of a vampire," Ana’s voice softened slightly. "But that blood is thin. It’s not enough to make you a vampire, but just enough to make you no longer a werewolf. You are neither. You have no pce in either world."

  The words felt like a hollow void opening in Lenka’s chest. She wanted to ugh, but she couldn't. "...So all these years..." her voice was a ghost of a sound. "I thought I was the monster of monsters... and I didn't even know what kind of monster I was?"

  Saliya stopped her work and turned around. The right side of her face was wrapped in a simple bandage, the bloodstains not yet fully cleaned away. She walked over and knelt beside Lenka. She didn't offer empty comfort.

  "You are not a monster," Saliya said softly.

  Lenka’s hand trembled.

  "It’s just that... the way you were brought into this world was cruel."

  The sentence was harsher than any comfort, yet more real.

  A long silence followed. Finally, Lenka whispered, "Then what about you? What are you two?"

  Ana answered simply, "Pureblood Vampires." She paused. "In the human world, we may be the only two left."

  Lenka was stunned. The realization finally hit her. She had just been saved by the st purebred vampires on earth. And one of them had taken a silver bullet to the face to protect her.

  Her throat tightened. Her eyes drifted to the bandage over Saliya’s right eye. "...Your eye..."

  Saliya didn't answer. She simply turned back and resumed fixing the broken radio. After a moment, she said ftly, "That has nothing to do with you."

  But the words carried no conviction at all.