“Heather!” Conner shouted, gripping the drone remote like it might somehow tether her to the ground. “Get the hell down!”

  He shouted again, louder this time, but Heather was already halfway to the top of the cell tower and showed no signs of slowing down.

  “I told you, it’s fine!” she called down breezily. “It’s not even that high up!”

  Her voice carried a strange mix of defiance and exhilaration. Conner squinted up at her, shielding his eyes from the afternoon glare. Ever since she’d become a Half-Vampire, she’d been bolder—more reckless. Climbing things. Starting arguments. Walking through the dark like it belonged to her. He didn’t know if becoming a Half-Vampire fried some sort of part of her brain that felt fear.

  Not only was she trying to climb an old cell tower, she was still in her school uniform, a skirt no less.

  “Ughhhhhhh,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I can buy another drone, Heather! It's not a big deal!”

  From above, her answer came sharp and fast. “No way, I can’t afford to replace it! That was the last of my money, Conner! And I refuse to let you pay for your own gift.”

  Her voice cracked just slightly on the last word.

  He stared at the base of the tower for a few seconds, like maybe it would grow shorter if he glared at it long enough. Then, with another sigh, he slung the remote onto the ground and stepped up to the ladder. The metal was cold and partly rusted.

  The fence gate to the tower looked like it was broken down. Graffiti all along the concrete base, and broken beer bottles sparkled in the weeds. The whole place reeked of abandonment—an old telecom relic left to rust beside a strip of gaudy fashion outlets and fast-food joints.

  As he climbed, a sudden gust of wind caught him sideways, making him curse under his breath and cling tighter to the rungs. One slip and he’d be what the we (The British) call (I think?) a “Splatter-Brain.”

  “Brilliant,” he muttered, jaw tight. “All this because my drone played Hitler and killed itself...”

  Above, Heather was now standing on the top platform, carefully stepping between cables and rusted metal. She let out a breath like she’d been holding it the whole way up. Her legs trembled just enough to betray her nerves.

  She crouched low, reaching toward the drone. It dangled in a tangle of old wires, as if the tower itself didn’t want to let it go. Conner watched her gently tug it free, piece by piece, her hands surprisingly steady.

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  “Still works,” Heather shouted.

  Conner was surprised to hear the drone still worked, but he didn’t say anything—he was too busy clinging to the ladder, trying not to look down, until he finally reached the top, the same one Heather had climbed through minutes earlier.

  He hauled himself up and stepped onto the platform, breathing hard. The wind was stronger up here, and the metal creaked softly beneath their feet. Heather didn’t seem to notice him right away—she was crouched beside the drone, inspecting it carefully, turning it over in her hands to check for damage.

  Then she turned around and froze.

  Her eyes widened slightly as she realised he was standing right behind her. A flush of red crept across her cheeks.

  “Did you…” she began, a flicker of embarrassment in her voice.

  “I told you it was a bad idea,” Conner cut in flatly, not meeting her gaze. “So don’t even start.”

  Heather smirked, the blush still lingering. “Did you enjoy it?” she teased, tilting her head.

  Conner gave her a deadpan look. “You’re impossible.”

  She grinned wider, clearly enjoying herself, then stepped closer and held out the drone. “Thanks again. For, you know... Following me, making sure I didn’t fall.”

  He moved up toward her and took the drone from her slowly. Heather hesitated a second longer, fingers lingering on the plastic shell before letting go.

  “You didn’t have to come up after me,” she said, softer now.

  “I’d be my ass if you died,” Conner replied.

  She laughed quietly, looking out over the edge. The city stretched out below them, a mess of rooftops, neon signs, and distant traffic.

  “You’d miss me if I fell—admit it,” Heather teased, balancing near the edge with that smug half-smile of hers.

  “Probably,” Conner replied dryly. “But only because I’d have to be the one identifying your corpse to the bobbies.”

  That earned him a light but deliberate shove on the arm.

  “Shit!” Conner yelped as his balance tipped. His shoes brushed on the metal grating, and for a heart-lurching second, his arm hung toward the edge. The drone slipped from his hand and spiralled off the side, landing onto the ground below.

  Heather gasped, her hands flying to her face. “AHHhh! Oh my god!” she shrieked, wide-eyed, her voice punching through the cold air like a fire alarm.

  Conner groaned from where he landed, one hand gripping the railing, the other braced against the floor. “Damn…” he muttered, pushing himself up slowly. “Shut up, ya bloody Banshee…”

  Heather’s panic cracked instantly into visible relief. Her shoulders dropped, her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “You lik—”

  Knock Knock.

  Heather’s thoughts were cut short. The world tilted sharply as a jolt of clarity struck her—something was wrong. Her eyelids fluttered, and she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, only to realise she couldn’t move.

  Her hands were bound. So were her legs.

  Panic surged up her spine.

  “Who the hell’s that?” a voice grumbled nearby, raspy, like someone had just swallowed something too thick to go down clean.

  “That’ll be Pricilla and Marno,” a woman replied, her tone clipped and irritated. “Must be back with the other one.”

  Knock Knock.