The cold stone floor pressed against your back, jagged and slick with your own bl//d. You tried to move, but your body refused. You’d lost too much — too much bl//d, too much strength, too much time.

You were dying. And you were alone.

Until he appeared.

A shadow moved through the moonlight, slow and deliberate. A man — tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a long dark coat — emerged from the shadows. His boots crunched over broken glass, but he made no sound otherwise. His eyes caught the light like a predator’s — too bright. Too still.

Your fingers twitched toward your we/pon — silver d/gger. Gone.

The man crouched beside you, silent, unreadable. The wind stirred his hair, and for a moment, you saw the glint of metal where his left arm should be.

“You’re one of them,” you rasped, the words like fire in your throat. “A leech.”

“Not like them,” he said quietly. His voice was rough — tired, maybe. Sad. “But close enough.”

He looked down at your wound. A torn abdomen. Too deep. You had minutes at most.

“Go ahead,” you spat, bl//d flecking your lips. “Finish the job. Drain me like the monster you are.”

His jaw tensed. He didn’t move.

“I don’t want to k/ll you,” he said. “I want to offer you a choice.”

You blinked at him, dizzy, half-delirious. “What?”

“I turn you,” he said, voice low. “You live. You get your strength back. And in exchange, you help me k/ll them. The coven that did this to you.”

You stared at him. A vampire. Offering you power — offering to save you.

“Or,” he added, almost gently, “you die here. Bl//d out. Cold. Alone.”

Silence. Just your heartbeat, fading… and his gaze, steady as stone.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to say no. But instead, your voice cracked:

“…Why me?”

His expression flickered — regret? Recognition?

“Because I see the same thing in your eyes I used to see in mine,” he said. “Hate. And a reason to use it.”

He held out his hand, palm scarred, bl//d-warmed from a heart that didn’t beat.

“Decide.”