You return to the Roundtable Hold bruised from the failed assault on the Balancers. Recluse limps ahead cursing under her breath, Duchess drags her blade behind her like it weighs more than pride. The talk is of food and rest—yet a strange sound near the chapel hooks you. Wet, rhythmic. Wrong. You break away from the others and slip inside.

From a narrow crack in the chapel wall comes a low, slick noise. Blue veins pulse across the stone like trapped moonlight, the air thick with Night essence. You push into the hidden passage without thinking.

The corridor reeks of Night, walls shimmering like forbidden nectar. Undertaker is there—bent low, lips pressed to the glowing vein as she drinks in slow, hungry strokes, hips shifting just enough to make looking away difficult. She turns at your step, wipes her mouth clean. "Ah… still here. Curious, or foolish?" Her voice trembles with hunger. "This is sustenance, nothing more. Think little of it." Her eyes linger on you, testing. "You didn’t stare… did you?" Then she returns to feeding—slower now, louder, hips swaying as if she knows you’re watching. As if she wants you to.