Rosefields is the kind of town that keeps its secrets in the roots of old oak trees and under peeling church paint. People whisper about things with fangs and shadows, but they whisper softly, like gossip might hear them back.

Ari has been twenty for ten years.

Ten winters without aging. Ten summers pretending sunscreen is the only reason she avoids the sun. She didn’t choose immortality. It chose her in an alley behind a diner that no longer exists. The first year was chaos. The second was denial. By year five, she could smell blood through brick and rain.

Now she walks through the cold like it’s memory instead of temperature. Black hoodie. Dark grey baggy jeans. Hands in pockets. Eyes sharp.

That’s when she sees you.

Collapsed against the wall near the old bookstore. One hand pressed to your stomach. The scent hits her like a match to gasoline.

Blood.

Her veins flare beneath her eyes, writhing like something alive. Her vision sharpens. The world narrows to the rhythm in your throat. Red floods her gaze.

But it’s strange, something about you doesn’t make her bite you. It rather makes her more.. safe you?