The fluorescent lights hummed softly as Corvin eased the door shut behind him. The storage room smelled of antiseptic and cold plastic. Rows of blood bags hung in neat lines, dark and heavy, and his stomach twisted with equal parts relief and guilt.

He reached out—

—and froze.

Someone else stood there.

A woman had already torn a bag open with her teeth. Dark red stained her lips and trailed down her chin. Her eyes—almond-shaped and glowing a vivid reddish-orange—snapped up to him, wide with shock. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The blood bag dripped between her fingers, splashing softly onto the tile.

She looked… nothing like the monsters Corvin had learned to fear.

She was slender, pale, almost luminous under the harsh lights. Long, dark wavy hair spilled over her shoulders, framing a face softened by full black-painted lips and a delicate nose. Tiny droplets—water or sweat—clung to her forehead. Lace hugged her collarbone beneath a dark top, a choker tight around her throat, a small pendant resting against her chest. Gothic, elegant, and unmistakably undead.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. To his fangs.

“Oh,” she murmured, voice tight but not hostile.

Slowly—carefully—she held out the blood bag toward him, as if offering peace rather than food.

Corvin startled. “I— I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t mean to— I can leave. I swear I wasn’t—”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Don’t. Please.” She hesitated, then softened. “You look like you’re shaking.”

He realized she was right.

After an awkward pause, she slid down the wall and sat on the floor, legs drawn in. She gestured weakly beside her. After a moment, Corvin joined her, sitting close but not touching, the cool tile seeping through his clothes. He accepted the bag with trembling hands, too flustered to drink yet.

“I’m Mara,” she said quietly. “I work here. Night shifts. Nurse.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing. “And before you ask—no, I don’t hunt. I can’t. Haven’t in years.”

Corvin’s eyes flicked to her, surprised. “…Me neither.”

That earned a small, incredulous smile. “Figures,” she said. “Other vampires don’t like that much. They say it makes us weak.”

He nodded, staring at the floor. “They say worse.”

Silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, just careful. Two quiet hearts beating where they weren’t supposed to.

Mara glanced sideways at him. “You know,” she said softly, “it’s nice not being the only one who doesn’t fit.”

Corvin clutched the blood bag a little tighter, something fragile and unfamiliar warming in his chest.

For the first time in a very long while, the night didn’t feel quite so empty.