The room had gone quiet—quiet in the way that follows a gunshot or the drop of something fragile. Hazel stood by the window now, her arms folded as sunlight traced pale gold lines across the floor.

  Mariah leaned against the wall, jaw tight. Celine sat curled in the corner of the sofa, her knuckles pale from how tightly she gripped her own wrist.

  Verity didn’t pace. She remained exactly where she stood, calm, composed—but there was tension behind her eyes, something more than professional concern.

  “I need you to understand something,” she said. “What happened to that girl—it wasn’t just a murder. It was a method. Whoever did it understood exactly what they were doing.”

  Hazel turned her head slightly. “Expin.”

  Verity nodded once, unfolding the thin file in her hands. “Hemotropis luxura maintains a perfect biological equilibrium in the host. It's part of why you heal so quickly—why your strength is so constant. Everything inside you is reguted. Your cells don’t decay at normal rates. Your organs don’t wear the same way a human’s would. But that bance—” she raised a hand and let it hover—“is built on one thing: blood volume.”

  Celine blinked. “You mean like… anemia?”

  “No,” Verity said. “I mean like a machine losing pressure. Your bodies are pressurized systems—far more sensitive than they appear. If you’re wounded, the virus accelerates clotting and repairs what’s broken. But if you lose too much blood too quickly…”

  Mariah’s voice was low. “It stops.”

  Verity nodded. “Exactly. Once that threshold’s passed, the virus can’t maintain equilibrium. It prioritizes critical functions—but your heart rate already rests at five beats per minute. The second that regution is lost, your body starts shutting down.”

  Hazel’s brows drew together, her voice measured. “And regeneration ceases.”

  “Yes,” Verity said. “There’s a point of no return. The girl who died this morning… she was bled out. Veins and arteries both. Her heart was still intact, but there was no activity. No clotting. No resistance. Whatever makes you more than human—was turned off.”

  A cold hush followed.

  Celine swallowed. “So it’s not silver, or stakes, or sunlight.”

  Mariah crossed her arms. “It’s simpler than that. Just bleed us dry.”

  Hazel’s gaze dropped, her voice quieter now. “What was her name?”

  Verity looked down at the file. “They only had her listed by her middle name. Lena.”

  Hazel repeated it under her breath, almost like a vow. “Lena.”

  Verity set the file on the table. “I’m not telling you this to scare you. I’m telling you because someone knew this. Someone tested for it. And if they tried it once…”

  “They’ll try again,” Hazel finished, her voice like still water.

  Celine looked between them. “Then what do we do?”

  Verity gave a quiet breath. “We get ahead of it.”

  The weight of silence pressed against the walls again—denser now, thicker than before.

  But Verity wasn’t done.

  “There’s one more thing,” she said, her voice steadier than it had any right to be. Her fingers tapped once against the folder before she closed it with a soft snap. “Being bled out… it doesn’t just happen.”

  Hazel’s gaze lifted.

  “You’re not like normal humans. Your heart rate, resting as low as it is—five beats per minute—makes rapid blood loss almost impossible. You don’t hemorrhage. You don’t gush. Even deep wounds won’t bleed you out unless they’re catastrophic or sustained. Which means…”

  “Lena was restrained,” Mariah said quietly, her voice like flint striking steel.

  Verity nodded. “Yes. There was no sign of a single fatal injury. It was repeated. Incisions made across arteries and veins, many of them shallow, deliberate. Done over time. Hours, likely. A controlled drain. She was conscious at least part of the time, if the bruising around her restraints is anything to go by.”

  Celine covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide and gssy. “They tortured her.”

  “They wanted to see how far they could go,” Hazel murmured, more to herself than to the others. “They studied her like an experiment.”

  Verity’s jaw tightened. “That’s what worries me the most. Whoever did this… they didn’t kill her in fear or panic. They did it to understand. To test limits.”

  Mariah’s fists clenched. “And now they know.”

  Celine’s voice cracked. “So what do we do now? Wait for another one of us to disappear?”

  Hazel finally turned from the window, her gaze cutting like gss. “No. We start asking questions before they ask more of us.”

  Verity nodded, her posture still calm but the weight of her words undeniable. “Exactly. We’re not waiting for another body to turn up.”

  She looked to each of them in turn. “You’re going to help me make sure Lena’s the st.”

  The silence lingered, clinging to the edges of the room like dust in sunlight. Hazel didn’t move, her arms folded, her golden-amber eyes unreadable.

  Mariah stared at the floor, lost in thought, while Celine sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness.

  “…Why leave her behind?”

  Verity turned toward her.

  Celine’s expression was twisted with confusion, and something quieter—something closer to fear. “If they went through all that trouble, if it was deliberate, methodical… why leave the body? Why not dispose of it? Burn it? Hide it?”

  Mariah looked up, her expression sharpening. “She’s right. They had control. They could’ve made her vanish completely.”

  Hazel watched Verity closely now. She already knew the answer. But she wanted to hear her say it.

  Verity exhaled slowly, the weight of it dragging her shoulders down. “Because they wanted us to find her.”

  The words hung in the air like frost.

  “It wasn’t just a test,” Verity continued. “It was a message. They wanted someone—maybe us, maybe the people in charge—to see what was possible. What we are vulnerable to. A body is proof. It’s not just about murder anymore.”

  Hazel’s voice was quiet, ft. “It’s a warning.”

  Celine looked sick, sinking back against the cushion. “But who would even—who could—do something like that?”

  Verity folded her arms, her jaw tightening. “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  Hazel’s posture shifted, barely perceptible—but the room seemed to feel it. A quiet intensity pulsing beneath the surface of her stillness. Like something coiled had begun to unspool.

  Mariah leaned against the wall, voice low. “Then tell us where to start.”

  Verity walked over to the table and set the folder down carefully, like it might shatter if dropped too hard. She looked at each of them—Hazel, Mariah, and Celine—not as patients, but as something closer to her responsibility. Or maybe her gamble.

  “I want you all to listen closely,” she said. “Until we understand more about who did this and how far they’re willing to go, I’m advising the following.”

  She raised a hand, ticking points off one by one with sharp crity.

  “Stay in public areas whenever possible. Crowded pces, open spaces. Avoid walking home alone or lingering in unlit areas. If you feel like you’re being watched, don’t ignore it. Record it. Report it.”

  Mariah nodded, jaw clenched. Celine pulled her knees up slightly on the couch, still quiet, but listening intently.

  Verity continued, “In private, you need to be even more vigint. Lock your doors. Don’t open them unless you’re sure of who’s there. Don’t go anywhere off-grid—not yet. Until we know how they tracked her, we have to assume you’re being watched as well.”

  Hazel’s expression didn’t change, but her arms slowly uncrossed, hands lowering to her sides.

  Verity took a breath, then added, “Tomorrow, I want to meet again. Not here—off-campus. Somewhere secure. I’m going to begin stress testing your capabilities—strength, speed, reflexes, reaction time. We need to know exactly what you're capable of—and what they might already know.”

  Celine hesitated. “You think that matters?”

  Verity’s eyes were steady. “I think they’re preparing for a fight. I want us to be ahead of them when it happens.”

  Mariah gave a soft, bitter ugh. “So we’re soldiers now.”

  “No,” Verity said firmly. “You’re survivors. And I’m making sure you stay that way.”

  Hazel met her gaze. “Where do we meet?”

  Verity picked up a small notepad and tore off a page, folding it neatly before handing it to Hazel. “Tomorrow. Noon. No one else. If Alex asks, tell her it’s nothing urgent—but that you’ll fill her in after. She deserves the truth, just not all at once.”

  Hazel pocketed the slip. “Understood.”

  Verity let her arms fall back to her sides. “Go home. Be seen. Be normal. But don’t let your guard down.”

  The room remained quiet as the three infected women gathered themselves, each changed now in ways more fundamental than the virus had managed.

  Hazel lingered as the room began to loosen, the tension shifting from something taut and fragile into something colder, heavier.

  Verity busied herself collecting papers and returning to protocol, but Hazel moved with purpose—first toward Mariah, then Celine.

  “We should stay in touch,” Hazel said simply.

  Mariah straightened. “Agreed.”

  They exchanged phones, quick and quiet, the unspoken weight of solidarity humming beneath the surface.

  Mariah’s fingers moved fast, precise, almost like Hazel’s. When she handed the device back, her gaze met Hazel’s evenly.

  “I’m not good at trusting people,” she said. “But I’ll answer if it’s you.”

  Hazel offered the faintest nod. “That’s enough.”

  Next, she turned to Celine, who was slower to stand but no less composed than before. She held out her phone without needing to be asked, typing with her thumb and then gently passing it over.

  “I’m not as brave as you two,” she admitted with a slight smile, eyes soft. “But I want to be.”

  Hazel looked at her—not past her, not through her—and offered something gentler than her usual quiet grace. “Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the choice to show up anyway.”

  Celine’s breath hitched slightly. “Then I guess we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

  “We will,” Hazel promised, sliding her phone back into her coat pocket.

  A beat passed between them, then Hazel stepped toward the door. Verity gave her a subtle nod, nothing more.

  Outside, the light was beginning to fade into the gold-blue edge of early evening. The streets of Fairhaven buzzed with students, city workers, and the sound of distant music bleeding out from open cafés. Life continued, unaware of the storm moving just beneath its surface.

  Hazel walked with the kind of stillness that didn’t invite attention but couldn’t help drawing it. Her pace never hurried, her posture always upright. And beneath it all—something simmering. Controlled. Watchful.

  By the time she reached the university, students were pouring out of lecture halls. She spotted them quickly: Stel with her hair half-tied, ughing at something Erin said, and Alex, leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed and posture rexed, but her eyes tracking Hazel’s approach before anyone else saw her.

  Hazel gave a small wave.

  Stel perked up and turned with a smile. “There you are!”

  Alex’s expression didn’t change, but her gaze lingered on Hazel a second longer than usual—keen, curious.

  Hazel reached them without a word and fell into step beside them like she’d never been gone.