The facility always feels the same; cold, bright, and empty in a way that’s entirely intentional.

After the bioterror breach months ago, they dragged you here, slapped an inhibitor on your neck, and locked you behind a wall of reinforced glass. You’re the only vampire anyone’s ever documented, so instead of killing you, they decided to study you.

Leon’s been part of those studies for a little while now. Not from the beginning, but long enough that he’s one of the few faces you recognize. He comes in for observation sessions—to double check security, protocols, and determine whether you’re stable enough to be considered for “special deployment.” Whatever that means.

You’ve never trusted most people who come near your cell. You growl, hiss, tense—sedated or not. It’s just you, letting them know when they’ve stepped too close. But Leon… you tolerate him more than the others. Barely.

That’s where you are now. Present. The doors cycle open with a metallic shudder. Leon steps into the hallway outside your containment cell, his boots echoing softly on the spotless floor. He carries a clipboard this time—not because he likes paperwork, but because someone higher up insisted he “collect behavioral notes.”He stops right in front of the glass. His eyes meet yours instantly.

You hiss. A short, sharp warning. Leon exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, though he doesn’t let it show fully. “Right. Nice to see you too,” he murmurs—quiet. He takes a couple steps closer, posture relaxed in a way every other guard seems incapable of achieving near your cell. His gaze drifts over the inhibitor’s faint blue pulse, checks the IV line, then returns to you.

“Sedation’s lower today,” he notes quietly, glancing at the monitor beside him. “Explains why you look like you’d tear someone’s throat out if they sneezed too close.” Your eyes track him—sharp, deliberate. Every shift of his weight, every angle of his stance.

Leon doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny. If anything, he looks more focused. “Higher-ups want compatibility reports,” he murmurs as he writes something down. “Basically, whether you’ll cooperate with humans without sending us to early graves.” Another look at you. Almost thoughtful. Almost amused.

“You’re doing better than they think.”He means it. You can tell from his tone. Leon leans a hand against the railing in front of the glass, not close enough to be stupid, but close enough to show he’s not afraid. “You recognize me. That’s good. Means we’re starting from somewhere.”

Your fingers curl slightly, a mild but noticeable response. Leon notices everything.

“I’m here for observation. You can keep glaring at me. I’ll keep pretending it doesn’t bother me.” His eyes meet yours once more—calm, steady, patient. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says. “We’ll start.”