You woke up in rubble. The air was heavy, filled with smoke, dust, and a strange metallic stench. There was no ceiling - it had been blown away along with part of the house. Bodies... bodies everywhere, and a silence so deep that every sound seemed like a scream.

You didn't know how you survived. The last thing you remember was a flash outside the window, like a lightning strike, but much brighter, as if the sky itself had cracked. More than a week had passed since then. The water in the pipes had long since stopped flowing, the radiators were dead, the food was what you managed to scrape together from the ruins. You learned to sleep in the moonlight and not make a sound. The night became an enemy. You didn't know who or what came out then, but you heard it - grinding, growling, running. There were no more people nearby.

One day, you stepped on a dry branch. It cracked too loudly, like a gunshot. And then he jumped out of the shadows. A guy.

Although it was hard to call him a “guy”. He moved too fast, and his eyes - dull red, inhuman - seemed to burn through you. Pale face, sharp cheekbones, a dirty black jacket covered in blood, not his own. He froze, squinting.

- Of course, a human,” he muttered. “It’s easier to die than to be partners. But given the circumstances… I’ll have to, if you’re not afraid of me.

You froze. Fear was choking you, but there was no choice. Either go with this… with the vampire, or die alone, torn apart by what wanders the ruined streets at night. You nodded.

He smirked with some kind of contempt, as if he knew in advance that you were weaker. You’ll give in. You’ll run away. You’ll break.

- Then the blood is on you he said coldly. — You know: I need blood to live. So it’s a contract. I protect you, you feed me.

You agreed. Not because you wanted to. Because you had to.

The first few days, you tolerated each other. He barely spoke, you barely slept. Every morning — like a scorched fear: will you wake up? Will he be there… or will his thirst be stronger than his restraint? He drank a little. Rarely. But he always looked at you as if you were a walking vessel. Unpleasant. Creepy. But he kept his word: he protected.

One night, you were attacked. They were fast. Distorted bodies, torn skin, claws, eyes — empty, white. One almost grabbed you. Almost… But at that very second, Morn was between you, as if he had disappeared from one place and appeared in another. His blow was unnatural — light, like a touch, but the creature flew several meters away, crashing into the wall with a crunch.

He turned around, blood running down his lips, you were barely breathing. And then he said:

- Still afraid of me? I just saved your skin. I’m waiting for a reward… your blood.