When I walked into the newsroom that afternoon, the first thing I noticed was that someone was sitting at my desk.

  Of course he was.

  My editor leaned back in my chair like it belonged to him, one arm draped over the backrest, a stack of papers resting against the desk. The overhead lights reflected faintly off the printed pages, and I could already see the red pen marks scattered across them.

  My article.

  He looked up the moment I stepped inside.

  I stopped a few feet from the desk and dropped my bag onto the floor with a quiet thud. "You know most editors wait until their reporters sit down before cornering them."

  He didn't move. "And miss the chance to see your reaction when you walk in? Not a chance."

  I rubbed the back of my neck, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. Between the church, the street, running into people I hadn't expected to see... I was exhausted.

  "If this is about the article," I said, pulling out the chair across from the desk instead of fighting him for mine, "I already know people are mad."

  "That's not the problem," he replied calmly.

  That made me pause.

  He lifted the stack of papers slightly, glancing down at them before setting them back on the desk between us.

  "Your piece did exactly what it was supposed to do," he continued. "People are talking. People are reading. Even the vampires are paying attention."

  "Yeah," I muttered. "And half the city probably wants me fired."

  "That happens when you write something worth reading."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "So if that's not the problem, why are you sitting at my desk waiting for me?"

  He leaned forward slightly now, resting his elbows on the surface.

  "You wrote about the leader," he said. "About power. About their side of things."

  I nodded slowly.

  "Now I want the other side."

  I frowned. "The other side?"

  "The human side."

  For a second I just stared at him.

  Then I laughed.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  It slipped out before I could stop it, quiet but sharp.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

  "You want me to interview someone who disagrees with the vampires," I said.

  "Yes."

  I leaned back in the chair, shaking my head.

  "That would get them killed."

  The words hung there between us.

  Around us the newsroom kept moving like nothing had happened. Phones rang, keyboards clattered, someone across the room cursed at their computer. Normal life. Normal work.

  But my editor only shrugged.

  "Maybe," he said.

  I stared at him.

  He leaned back in my chair again like the idea didn't bother him in the slightest.

  "Maybe not."

  "I'm not doing it."

  The words came out of my mouth before he even finished leaning back in my chair.

  My editor watched me for a moment like he had expected that exact response. His fingers tapped once against the armrest, slow and thoughtful.

  "You didn't even hear the whole idea," he said.

  "I heard enough." I leaned forward, planting my hands on the desk. "You want me to find someone who openly disagrees with the vampires and convince them to talk to me. That's not journalism, that's a death sentence."

  "For them?"

  "For anyone involved," I shot back.

  He didn't argue right away. Instead he studied me, the same way he always did when he was trying to figure out how far he could push.

  "You need something big, Allysia."

  I frowned. "That article was big."

  "Yes," he said calmly. "It was. But it was safe."

  That word made my jaw tighten.

  "Safe?" I repeated.

  "You interviewed the leader," he continued. "You sat in his office, wrote down what he said, and turned it into a story. Good work, but it's still the version of the world they allow us to see."

  I crossed my arms.

  "And what exactly do you think I'm supposed to do about that?"

  He leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the desk.

  "What if," he said slowly, "you got the real story?"

  I narrowed my eyes. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning," he said, "what it's actually like to be human around them. Behind closed doors."

  A chill crept up my spine.

  "You mean the harems."

  He didn't deny it.

  The word alone made my stomach twist. Everyone in the city knew about them, even if people pretended they didn't. Humans living with vampires. Some willingly. Some... less so.

  "I'm not touching that story," I said flatly.

  "Why?"

  "Because no one in those places talks," I replied immediately. "And the few who might?" I shook my head. "Half of them are laced with drugs these days just to keep them quiet."

  My editor nodded slowly, like that answer didn't surprise him.

  "True," he admitted.

  I relaxed slightly, thinking the conversation might finally be over.

  Then he spoke again.

  "So go undercover."

  I blinked at him.

  "What?"

  He shrugged like he had just suggested I grab coffee.

  "I've had journalists do it before," he said. "Not here. Other cities. Big stories come from people willing to get close to the truth."

  "That's insane."

  "It's effective."

  I stared at him, trying to decide if he had completely lost his mind.

  "You want me to sneak into a vampire harem," I said slowly, "pretend to belong there, and somehow write an exposé without getting caught?"

  "When you say it like that it sounds dramatic."

  "It is dramatic!"

  A few heads turned nearby, but I didn't care.

  "No," I said again, firmer this time. "Absolutely not."

  He watched me for another long second.

  Then he said the one thing he knew would make me hesitate.

  "I'll give you a fifty percent raise."

  The newsroom noise faded into the background as the words settled in my head.

  Fifty percent.

  My mind immediately betrayed me, doing the math before I could stop it. Rent. Bills. Food that wasn't cheap street bread or skipped meals.

  I hated that part of myself.

  My editor noticed the pause, of course. He always noticed.

  "Think about it," he said calmly.

  I looked down at the desk, my stomach twisting for an entirely different reason now.

  Because the worst part wasn't the danger.

  It was the fact that for a brief moment... I was actually considering it.