A few hours earlier

  Mark sat there, staring at the screen while the phone buzzed in his hand.

  On the third ring, there was a click — Seth picked up.

  "I saw her today. She’s alive," Mark said.

  Silence. A couple seconds dragged by.

  "That’s bullshit. She couldn’t have made it. Everything was a mess. Her DNA was all over the walls. Mixed with Strob’s. You saw it yourself. Nobody walks away from that. There was nothing left... nothing to survive."

  "And yet. I saw her this morning. Downtown. At a grocery store. She was picking out meat."

  "You told anyone else?"

  "No. Just you."

  Seth’s voice turned sharp, almost mechanical.

  "Keep it that way. Don’t stick your nose in. This isn’t our mess."

  Mark gritted his teeth.

  "Right. Keep hiding in your little cave. Sleep tight," he added with a dry, mocking grin.

  He ended the call before Seth could reply.

  Yeah right, sweet dreams, liar...

  Seth stood by the window, staring at the streetlights, and dialed a short number.

  "She’s alive," he said flatly.

  The response came fast.

  "We know. She’s being watched. But thanks for the heads-up."

  Call ended. No further words.

  Mark sat there, phone in hand, stewing in silence.

  Seth’s reaction rubbed him the wrong way — too clean, too cold, like none of this mattered. No shock. No fear. Not even curiosity.

  Now he was mad at himself too.

  Why the hell did I even call him? What the hell was I expecting...?

  ***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

  Chris watched in silence as the taxi carrying Gerda disappeared into the night. His hand still remembered the warmth of her elbow, and his mind stubbornly refused to move on, stuck in a moment that shouldn’t have happened.

  Interesting effect, he thought. Completely unnecessary.

  He walked back into the club and headed straight to the bar. The first sip of alcohol burned going down, bitter and hot, but even that couldn’t erase the lingering sensation of her touch. His gaze stayed locked on the void, as if he could drown his anxiety there, unwind the knots tangled deep inside.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A few minutes later, a tall man appeared beside him, dressed in simple dark clothes. His shoulders were squared. He moved with quiet confidence, neither hurried nor slow, just the way people do when unpredictability has long since become routine.

  His clothes made no sound. Nothing about him drew attention. He was steady. In his hands, he carried a tightly wrapped bundle.

  "Hey Mark! On time, as always," Chris said without turning.

  "And you’re as unfocused as ever," Mark replied, handing over the bundle. "New formula. Concentrated. One pill per dose now. Don’t take two like before or the effect might get out of hand. You could forget how to be a shifter. Or human. Or whatever it is you’re pretending to be today."

  Chris accepted the package in silence, still staring into his glass. The pulse inside him was already quickening, refusing to let him return to calm.

  Mark froze, sniffed the air, and frowned.

  "Something wrong?" Chris asked, eyes still low.

  "The smell... familiar somehow," Mark muttered. "I’ve smelled it before, but the meds dull my senses. I had to double up because of the full moon. I can’t catch it."

  He didn’t pursue the thought. Just turned and disappeared into the shadows of the club, as if he’d never been there.

  Chris was left alone. But the solitude didn’t feel empty. If anything, it buzzed under his skin — her scent, her gaze, her warmth. Too vivid to be just a memory.

  He tried to distract himself. Walked through the club, met a few curious glances. The usual games. The usual signals. But inside, only silence and a strange kind of ache. Steady. Dense. Like water that doesn’t move.

  A minute later he was in his car, giving the address — the one Gerda had let slip an hour ago. She’d been so shaken, she even gave him the apartment number. No need to search the whole building. Perfect.

  The entrance greeted him with the usual quiet. He went up to the right floor and stopped at the door. He didn’t knock or try to open it. The lock wasn’t a barrier. But still, he stood there, shoulder resting against the wall, like his presence alone was shifting something.

  He focused inward. Gerda’s sleep was restless, uneven. Her thoughts moved like smoke, tangled in confusion, hurt, and loneliness. They hovered in the air, close to the skin.

  Chris closed his eyes and sent out a wave. A warm, gentle touch, like a blanket on a cold night. He brushed her dreams with care, like someone who knew how not to cause harm. The image he sent was simple — a dance, a touch, fire that warmed instead of burning.

  He left only when her breathing steadied. He didn’t look back. But her name still pulsed in his chest, like a heat that refused to fade.

  *****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

  The club hadn’t changed, but something inside Chris had. The space felt dimmer. The air, heavier. He waited, knowing she would come.

  Gerda spotted him at the bar. Recognized the shape of him. Perfect. No need to ask the bartender — that would’ve been awkward. She came for answers. He clearly knew something about what was happening to her.

  At first, he didn’t look up, giving her the chance to walk away. He took a sip of tequila — short, like he was checking if there was still any flavor left in the night. Then, slowly, he turned toward her and leaned in.

  The kiss was soft, unhurried, like he just brushed her lips. Maybe this was becoming their thing. Their way of saying hello. Internally, he braced for a slap.

  He expected her to pull away. He had crossed a line, boldly, sure she’d stop him. But she didn’t. She met him halfway, as if she’d been waiting. Her response was calm and certain. A little defiant.

  Her fingers rested on his shoulders, slid to his neck. Not out of passion, but to come closer. To show she was the one in control. To make the moment more real, more alive. This was exactly the kind of audacity she’d expected from him.

  The heat inside her matched the rhythm he knew as his own. He let himself be open to it, responded in kind. Their kiss deepened. Neither wanted to be the first to pull away.

  When they finally parted, eyes locked, he hesitated for a second — slightly surprised. As if he saw something new in her. Something unplanned. Uncalculated.

  "You’ve changed," he said quietly, like he wasn’t expecting it.

  "You started this game," she replied, her lips brushing his. "I’m just playing along. Living my dreams the best way I can."

  Both of them meant to tease. To keep each other off balance. But the game had shifted. Now it was playing them.

  The silence between them grew dense. Like air before a storm. Like wine you save for the end of the night — knowing it’s the last, which makes it taste even sweeter.