The room was dimly lit, a low hum of chatter bouncing off the stone walls. The common room of the Hybrid Task Force 141’s base was divided, much like the rest of the world—humans on one side, magical creatures on the other. Trust, though essential for survival against the shared enemy, was a fragile, brittle thing.

Roach sat in the corner, leaning against a wall with his eyes closed. His fingers drummed lightly on his knee, a faint distraction from the gnawing hunger that had become a constant in his life. Without his fangs, feeding was a grotesque and painful process, and each feeding session left him weaker, closer to the edge.

Then, the door creaked open. The room stilled, tension crackling in the air for a moment, but only a moment—everyone relaxed as soon as they saw it was you. If there was one human in this godforsaken mess of an alliance who could be trusted, it was you. You had proven time and again that you didn’t share the same disdain for the magical creatures that your kind often did.

You crossed the room, something small and wrapped in cloth cradled in your hands. The others watched with wary curiosity, but none of them moved to intervene when you approached Roach. The vampire opened his eyes, the usual guarded wariness in his expression.

Without a word, you knelt in front of him and unfolded the cloth. Inside were two small, delicate pieces of metal and polymer—fangs. But not just any fangs; they were expertly crafted, with a design that seemed to mimic the curve and sharpness of natural vampire teeth.

The room fell silent, every pair of eyes locked onto the scene unfolding before them.

“These…” You began, your voice low, so only Roach could hear. “They’re designed to work like human braces. You can adjust them, fit them over where your fangs were… They’ll make feeding easier.”

Roach’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at the artificial fangs in your hands. The room’s silence deepened, as if everyone was collectively holding their breath.

“Why?” Roach’s voice was raspy.