I sat at my desk long after my editor had walked away.

  The newsroom had slowly returned to its usual rhythm around me. Phones rang. Someone laughed across the room. A printer spit out a stack of papers like nothing unusual had happened.

  But I barely heard any of it.

  My eyes stayed fixed on the blank screen in front of me.

  Go undercover.

  The words kept circling my mind like vultures.

  It wasn't just dangerous. It was stupid. The kind of idea that sounded bold in a newsroom meeting but ended with someone disappearing if the wrong vampire decided they didn't like the story.

  If a powerful one found out what I was doing, I wouldn't just lose my job.

  I could lose a lot more than that.

  My fingers tapped lightly against the desk as I stared at the computer. The glow from the screen reflected faintly in the dark glass of the window beside me, showing a tired version of myself staring back.

  Still... if I was going to do it, I couldn't start with someone powerful.

  That was the first rule.

  The strongest vampires had the most influence, the most control. The ones surrounded by guards and loyal humans who would never risk speaking to a reporter.

  No. If I wanted the truth, I had to start lower.

  Find someone who didn't have that kind of protection.

  Someone who couldn't crush me the second they suspected something.

  Which meant there was really only one place to start.

  The Blood Bank.

  My stomach twisted the moment the thought settled in.

  Everyone in the city knew what the Blood Bank was, even if the name made it sound respectable. Officially it was a place where humans could donate blood for vampire consumption.

  Unofficially... it was where girls went when they needed money badly enough to sell pieces of themselves.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Some of them only sold blood.

  Others sold a lot more.

  The vampires who visited the place weren't the elite ones sitting in towering offices like Cazaro. They were the lower ranks. The ones who still had money and influence, but not enough to have private human households of their own.

  Which meant the humans working there saw things.

  Things people like me never got to witness.

  I leaned back in my chair slowly, staring up at the bright office lights.

  If I wanted a real story... if I wanted something big enough to justify the risk...

  The Blood Bank was where it started.

  And the thought alone made my skin crawl.

  The decision sat in my chest like a stone.

  For nearly an hour I stared at the screen, trying to convince myself it was a terrible idea. Every version of the story in my head ended the same way. Someone finding out. A door closing behind me. A vampire realizing the quiet human in the corner was asking too many questions.

  Dead journalists didn't publish stories.

  But neither did the ones who spent their whole careers playing safe.

  With a quiet breath, I pushed back from my desk and stood.

  If I stayed there any longer, I'd talk myself out of it.

  My editor was in the back corner of the newsroom, flipping through a stack of reports when I approached. He didn't look up right away, but I could tell he knew someone had stopped in front of him.

  "I'll do it," I said.

  That got his attention.

  His eyes lifted slowly to mine, studying my face like he was checking to see if I meant it.

  "You're sure?" he asked.

  "No," I admitted. "But I'll do it."

  For a moment he didn't say anything. Then he gave a small nod, like the answer confirmed something he already suspected.

  "Good."

  I folded my arms. "Now explain how this works before I completely lose my mind."

  He leaned back slightly in his chair.

  "You won't be coming into the office anymore."

  I blinked. "What?"

  "I'll still pay you," he said calmly. "But not here."

  "That makes no sense."

  "It makes perfect sense," he replied. "To the public, you're finished."

  My stomach tightened.

  "You caused an uproar with that article," he continued. "Church leaders are complaining. A few human groups are angry. Some vampires aren't thrilled either."

  "Great," I muttered.

  "So we use it."

  I frowned. "Use it how?"

  "You've been fired," he said simply. "Publicly."

  The words landed heavier than I expected.

  "You're serious."

  He nodded. "If you're going to sell the story that you're desperate enough to end up at the Blood Bank, it needs to look real."

  I leaned against the edge of the desk, processing that.

  "You want me to pretend my life fell apart."

  "I want you to act the part," he said. "Sad. Alone. Broken. Desperate."

  His eyes stayed locked on mine.

  "The kind of woman who would sell blood just to get through the week."

  Something bitter twisted in my chest.

  That part wouldn't be as hard to act as he probably thought.

  "And if someone asks?" I said quietly.

  "Tell them the truth," he replied.

  I frowned.

  "You wrote an article people hated," he said. "You lost your job. You're struggling."

  He shrugged lightly.

  "Sometimes the truth makes the best cover."

  I looked down at the floor for a moment, letting the weight of the decision settle around me.

  Once this started, there was no walking it back.

  No normal shifts at the office.

  No safe distance between me and the vampires I wrote about.

  Just me.

  And whatever waited behind the doors of the Blood Bank.

  I finally looked back up at him.

  "When do I start?"

  He didn't hesitate.

  "Tonight."