The quiet rhythm of the interview is broken by a knock at the door.

  It is not loud, but in the stillness of Cazoro's office the sound carries easily across the room. My pen pauses above the page as both of us glance toward the door.

  Cazoro does not seem surprised.

  "Come in," he says calmly.

  The handle turns.

  The door opens.

  And the moment I see who steps inside, something in my chest tightens with sudden recognition.

  It is him.

  The vampire from the lab.

  The memory flashes back instantly. The rushed entrance, the way he had clearly not expected anyone to be there, the way my fingers had instinctively closed around my necklace before I shoved it beneath my shirt. He had noticed, I remember that much. His eyes had caught the movement, though he never said a word.

  Now he stands in the doorway of Cazoro's office, looking far less rushed than the last time I saw him.

  For a brief second, his gaze lands on me.

  Recognition flickers there.

  Just for a moment.

  Then his attention shifts back to Cazoro.

  "My apologies," he says, his voice steady. "I didn't realize you were in the middle of something."

  "That's quite alright," Cazoro replies easily.

  He gestures lightly toward the man standing in the doorway.

  "Come in."

  The vampire steps inside, closing the door behind him with quiet precision.

  Up close, the resemblance between them is impossible to miss. The same composed posture, the same sharp awareness in their eyes. Yet where Cazoro carries himself with the calm patience of someone used to command, the other man's presence feels sharper somehow, like a blade that hasn't quite decided whether it needs to be drawn.

  Cazoro turns slightly toward me.

  "Miss—" he begins.

  I give my name again quickly.

  He nods once before gesturing toward the man beside the door.

  "This," he says, "is my brother, Xavian."

  So that's his name.

  Xavian inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment, though his eyes drift briefly back toward me again as if confirming the same recognition I felt moments ago.

  I offer him a polite smile.

  "Nice to meet you," I say.

  He does not return the smile fully, but something in his expression softens just enough to show the greeting has been received.

  "I wasn't aware you had family involved in your leadership," I say, turning my attention back to Cazoro.

  "Most people aren't," Cazoro replies lightly.

  That answer alone sparks at least three new questions in my mind.

  I glance down at my notebook, then back up again.

  "Would it be alright if I asked a few more questions?" I say. "About that, actually."

  Cazoro smiles faintly.

  "Of course."

  Then he glances toward his brother.

  "Xavian," he says calmly, gesturing toward one of the chairs along the wall. "If you don't mind waiting."

  Xavian studies the room for a moment, his gaze passing over me once more before he moves across the office and sits down without argument. He leans back slightly in the chair, arms resting loosely along the sides, though there is something in the way he watches the conversation that suggests he is paying attention to every word.

  I turn back toward Cazoro, my pen already moving again.

  "Alright," I say.

  "Let's talk about your family."

  Cazoro folds his hands together on the desk, the faintest hint of amusement returning to his eyes.

  "A topic even older than politics," he says.

  My pen touches the page.

  "Leader Cazoro," I begin, "how long have you and your brother been... working together?"

  Cazoro leans back slightly in his chair, his fingers loosely laced together as he considers the question.

  "My brother and I have worked together in one form or another for quite some time," he says.

  "That sounds very diplomatic," I reply, jotting a note before looking back up. "How long is quite some time exactly?"

  A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

  "Longer than most cities have existed in their current form."

  My pen pauses.

  "That's... impressively vague."

  Behind me, I hear the faint shift of fabric as Xavian adjusts slightly in his chair, though he remains silent. I can feel his attention resting on the conversation, steady and observant.

  "So you've stayed together this entire time?" I ask. "That's unusual, isn't it?"

  "For vampires?" Cazoro asks.

  "For anyone."

  That earns a quiet chuckle.

  "Yes," he admits. "It is."

  His gaze drifts briefly toward his brother across the room.

  "Most vampires are solitary by nature," he continues. "Long lives tend to make people... independent."

  "And yet you two stayed together."

  "We did."

  I glance down at my notebook again.

  "Were you both turned around the same time?"

  That question shifts the air in the room just slightly.

  Not dramatically. Just enough that I notice.

  Cazoro's expression doesn't change much, though his fingers tap once against the desk before becoming still again.

  "Not exactly," he says.

  Before I can follow up, a voice speaks from behind me.

  "No," Xavian says calmly. "Not exactly."

  I glance over my shoulder.

  He's still seated where Cazoro told him to wait, one arm draped along the back of the chair, though now his attention is fully on us instead of pretending to be politely distant.

  Cazoro glances at him with mild amusement.

  "You were supposed to wait quietly."

  "I am waiting," Xavian replies.

  I can't help the small smile that slips onto my face.

  "So you weren't turned together?" I ask, turning slightly so I can see both of them.

  Cazoro gestures lightly toward his brother.

  "Xavian joined me... later."

  "That's one way to describe it," Xavian mutters.

  There's a story there.

  A big one.

  I scribble another note quickly.

  "And your family before that?" I ask. "Were there more of you?"

  Cazoro's gaze settles back on me again.

  "No," he says simply. "Just us."

  The answer feels heavier than the words themselves.

  I glance briefly toward Xavian again.

  For a moment our eyes meet.

  Something flickers there. Recognition again, but mixed with something more thoughtful this time.

  Like he's remembering the same moment I am.

  The lab.

  The necklace.

  I quickly return my attention to my notebook.

  "So your brother works with you now," I say. "Is he involved in the political side of things as well?"

  Cazoro opens his mouth to answer, but Xavian speaks first.

  "No."

  The answer is flat and immediate.

  I glance back at him again.

  "And what do you do then?" I ask.

  He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable.

  "Different work," he says.

  That sounds suspiciously like a polite way of saying none of your business.

  Cazoro lets out a quiet breath that might almost be a laugh.

  "My brother prefers to remain... less visible," he explains.

  "Someone has to," Xavian adds dryly.

  I nod slowly, writing that down even though it doesn't answer the question at all.

  Then I glance back up at Cazoro.

  "Do many vampires keep family connections like this?" I ask.

  "Very few."

  "Why?"

  His answer comes without hesitation.

  "Because eternity changes people."

  The calm certainty in his voice makes the room feel suddenly quieter.

  "Most relationships do not survive that kind of time," he continues. "Human or otherwise."

  I tap my pen lightly against the page.

  "But yours did."

  Cazoro glances toward his brother again, and for the first time there is something almost reflective in his expression.

  "Yes," he says quietly.

  Behind me, Xavian shifts again in his chair.

  And for a moment I get the strange feeling that he's watching me just as closely as his brother is.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The air in the room shifts after that answer.

  Not dramatically, but enough that I feel it settle in the space between the three of us. Cazoro's comment about eternity hangs there like something heavier than a simple interview response, and for a moment I wonder if I've wandered too close to a subject neither of them actually wants to explain.

  So I pivot.

  Quickly.

  I glance down at my notebook and flip the page, letting the movement create a small break in the tension.

  "Alright," I say lightly. "Different direction."

  Cazoro's eyebrow lifts slightly with mild amusement.

  "Very well."

  I tap my pen against the page once before asking, "You've been leading the city for almost twenty years now. That's a long time for any leader, human or otherwise. What would you say has been the most difficult part of the job?"

  The shift in topic works.

  Cazoro settles back in his chair again, thoughtful rather than guarded.

  "The expectations," he says.

  "From humans?"

  "From everyone."

  I scribble the answer down quickly.

  "Leadership tends to create a strange illusion," he continues. "People assume that the person in charge must have every answer prepared in advance. That every decision is made with perfect certainty."

  "And that's not the case?"

  He smiles faintly.

  "Of course not."

  Behind me, I hear the quiet sound of Xavian shifting again, though he still hasn't moved from his chair near the wall.

  "So how do you make those decisions?" I ask. "When the answers aren't obvious?"

  Cazoro rests his forearms lightly on the desk.

  "I ask a different question."

  "What question?"

  "What outcome protects the most people."

  My pen slows slightly as I write that down.

  "That sounds almost... human."

  Cazoro's eyes flick upward briefly in quiet amusement.

  "Vampires are not as different as your stories suggest."

  I glance toward Xavian over my shoulder.

  "Do you agree with that?"

  For a moment it seems like he might ignore the question entirely.

  Then he tilts his head slightly.

  "Depends on the vampire," he says.

  "Helpful," I reply dryly.

  That earns the faintest hint of a smirk from him.

  I turn back toward Cazoro again.

  "One more question about leadership," I say.

  "Go ahead."

  "You stepped into public power when most vampires stay hidden," I continue. "Has that decision ever put you in danger?"

  The question seems to interest both of them.

  Cazoro doesn't answer immediately.

  Instead, his gaze drifts briefly toward his brother before returning to me.

  "Danger is a relative concept," he says.

  "That sounds ominous."

  "It is honest."

  I lean forward slightly in my chair.

  "So there are people who oppose you."

  "Of course."

  "Humans?"

  "Some."

  "And the rest?"

  The corner of his mouth lifts again.

  "Other vampires."

  The answer sends a small ripple of curiosity through my mind.

  "There are enough of them to form opposition?"

  "More than you would expect."

  I jot that down quickly, already knowing the newspaper editor is going to love that line.

  As I lift my head again, I notice Xavian watching me.

  Not casually.

  Intently.

  Almost like he's measuring something.

  The moment our eyes meet, he looks away.

  I clear my throat lightly and return my attention to my notebook before the silence stretches too long.

  "Alright," I say. "Next question."

  I turn another page in my notebook, the soft scrape of paper filling the brief silence that settles over the room.

  "Alright," I say, lifting my eyes again. "You mentioned other vampires opposing you."

  Cazoro watches me with the same calm patience he has carried through the entire interview.

  "Yes."

  "That seems... complicated," I continue. "Most people barely understand how vampires function individually, let alone politically. Is there some kind of structure among you?"

  Cazoro's expression shifts with mild interest.

  "A structure?"

  "A hierarchy, alliances, something like that," I clarify. "Or is it more... chaotic?"

  Behind me, I hear the faintest breath of a laugh.

  Xavian.

  I glance over my shoulder briefly.

  He hasn't moved from his chair, though his posture has changed slightly. One ankle now rests over his knee, arms folded loosely as he watches the conversation unfold with quiet amusement.

  "Chaotic is a generous description," he says.

  Cazoro glances at him briefly before answering.

  "There are no formal governments among vampires," Cazoro explains. "No councils or official borders."

  "But there must be influence," I press. "Power tends to collect somewhere."

  "Influence exists," he admits. "Usually around individuals who have survived long enough to gather it."

  "Like you."

  His smile returns, small and controlled.

  "Something like that."

  I scribble the note down quickly.

  "So when other vampires oppose you," I ask, "what exactly does that look like?"

  Cazoro considers the question carefully.

  "Sometimes it is political," he says. "Differences in philosophy. In how openly we should interact with human society."

  "And other times?"

  "Other times," he says calmly, "it is less polite."

  That answer sits on the page in front of me like a small spark waiting to catch.

  "Violence," I say quietly.

  Cazoro doesn't deny it.

  "That must make leadership difficult."

  "It makes it interesting."

  Behind me, Xavian shifts again.

  "You're leaving out the part where some of them try to kill you," he says casually.

  I turn in my chair again, raising an eyebrow.

  "That seems like a pretty important detail."

  Cazoro sighs lightly, though there is no real frustration in the sound.

  "My brother prefers direct explanations."

  "And you prefer diplomatic ones," Xavian replies.

  I glance between them, trying not to smile at the quiet tension in their exchange.

  "So there are vampires who actively try to remove you from power?" I ask.

  "Yes," Cazoro says simply.

  "And you're still here."

  "That tends to irritate them."

  I write quickly again, my editor practically cheering somewhere in the distance.

  Then a new thought crosses my mind.

  I tap my pen against the page.

  "Alright," I say slowly. "Different question."

  Cazoro gestures lightly for me to continue.

  "You've lived long enough to watch entire generations come and go," I say. "Cities change, technology changes, cultures change. What's the biggest difference between the world you were born into and the one we live in now?"

  For the first time during the interview, Cazoro grows noticeably still.

  Not uncomfortable.

  Just thoughtful.

  He looks toward the tall windows for a moment before answering.

  "Humans used to fear the dark more," he says quietly.

  I blink.

  "That's the biggest difference?"

  "Yes."

  I tilt my head slightly.

  "Why?"

  His gaze returns to mine.

  "Because once humans learned how to fill the night with light," he says, "they began believing the darkness had disappeared."

  The room falls silent for a moment after that.

  Then, from behind me, Xavian speaks again.

  "They're wrong," he says.

  The calm certainty in his voice sends a faint chill down my spine.

  I glance at my notebook again, then back up at the two brothers sitting across the room.

  "Good thing I'm here asking questions then," I say.

  Xavian's mouth tilts faintly at one corner.

  "You have no idea."

  The silence after Xavian's comment lingers for a moment.

  I write the last line in my notebook, underlining it once before looking back up.

  Cazoro is watching me again.

  Not the casual attention he had earlier. This is more focused, more curious, like the interview has slowly turned into something else entirely.

  "You're very good at that," he says.

  "At writing?" I ask.

  "At asking questions."

  I smile slightly. "That's the job."

  "Yes," he says thoughtfully. "But most reporters ask the same safe questions everyone else does."

  His eyes move briefly over the open pages of my notebook.

  "You don't."

  "Is that a complaint?"

  "Quite the opposite."

  I lift my pen again, ready to continue.

  "Alright then," I say. "Next—"

  "No."

  The word stops me.

  I blink at him.

  "No?"

  Cazoro leans back in his chair, a faint spark of amusement appearing in his expression.

  "You've been asking questions for nearly an hour," he says calmly. "It seems only fair that I get one."

  "That's not usually how interviews work."

  "Humor me."

  Behind me, I hear the faintest exhale that might be Xavian suppressing a laugh.

  I glance between them.

  Then I shrug.

  "Alright," I say, closing my notebook halfway. "One question."

  Cazoro's gaze sharpens slightly, as if he had been waiting for that answer.

  "Why journalism?" he asks.

  The question catches me slightly off guard.

  "Because I like answers."

  "That's not the real reason."

  I tilt my head.

  "And how would you know that?"

  He gestures lightly toward my notebook.

  "Because you ask questions the way hunters track footprints," he says. "Carefully. Patiently. Like you're looking for something specific."

  I pause.

  "That's... a very dramatic interpretation of note-taking."

  "Perhaps."

  He leans forward slightly now, resting his arms on the desk again.

  "But curiosity like yours usually comes from somewhere."

  I study him for a moment before answering.

  "My brother," I say.

  The room grows a fraction quieter.

  "He disappeared a year ago," I continue. "Stories never made sense. Rumors never line up. Journalism seemed like the best way to get closer to the truth."

  Cazoro's expression shifts, though it's subtle.

  "Truth," he repeats.

  "Isn't that the goal?"

  "For some people."

  "And for vampires?" I ask.

  A faint smile appears again.

  "For vampires," he says slowly, "the truth tends to be... complicated."

  I shake my head lightly.

  "That sounds suspiciously like you dodging my question."

  "I already asked my question."

  "Fair enough."

  I reach for my notebook again, but before I can open it fully he speaks once more.

  "There is something else I'm curious about."

  I pause.

  "That sounds like a second question."

  "It is."

  I raise an eyebrow.

  "You're breaking your own rules already."

  "Occupational hazard."

  Behind me, Xavian shifts in his chair again, clearly entertained now.

  Cazoro studies me for another moment before speaking.

  "When you knocked on that door this morning," he says, "were you nervous?"

  "A little."

  "Only a little?"

  "I try not to show it."

  His gaze drifts slowly over my face, thoughtful.

  "You succeeded."

  "That's good."

  "Yes," he says quietly.

  Then the corner of his mouth lifts again.

  "Though I suspect if I had been less charming," he adds, "you might have been slightly more intimidated."

  I laugh softly.

  "That's a bold assumption."

  "Is it?"

  He tilts his head slightly, studying me in that same deliberate way again.

  "I've lived long enough to recognize when someone walks into a room prepared," he says.

  "And?"

  "And you walked in like someone who knew exactly what she was doing."

  My pen taps against the notebook.

  "That's called professionalism."

  "Perhaps."

  His eyes flick briefly toward the diamond earrings at my ears before returning to my face.

  "Though I suspect the rest of the city will be very disappointed to learn their fearless reporter is also quite charming."

  I shake my head, smiling despite myself.

  "You're very comfortable flirting with someone holding a pen."

  He doesn't miss a beat.

  "Writers have always been dangerous," he says smoothly.

  Behind me, Xavian mutters quietly,

  "Unbelievable."

  I glance over my shoulder.

  "Something you want to add to the interview?" I ask.

  He leans back in his chair again, unimpressed.

  "No."

  Cazoro's smile widens just slightly.

  "You see?" he says. "My brother prefers silence."

  "And you prefer attention."

  He meets my gaze again.

  "Only when it's interesting."

  And suddenly I have the strange feeling that this interview has become much more complicated than I planned.

  I reopen my notebook, trying to pull the interview back into something resembling professionalism.

  "Alright," I say. "Back to the interview before this turns into something my editor definitely didn't assign me."

  Cazoro leans back in his chair again, amused.

  "A shame," he says lightly. "It was becoming far more entertaining."

  Behind me, Xavian shifts again.

  "You're distracting her," he says.

  The comment is calm, but there's an edge beneath it.

  Cazoro glances toward his brother with mild interest.

  "Am I?"

  "Yes."

  I glance over my shoulder at Xavian.

  "You're welcome to participate," I tell him. "Interviews allow multiple voices."

  He studies me for a moment, arms still folded across his chest.

  "I doubt that's what you planned when you walked in."

  "No," I admit. "But surprises make good stories."

  Cazoro laughs quietly.

  "She's right about that."

  I turn my chair slightly so I can see both of them again.

  "Actually," I say, tapping my pen against the notebook, "this might be useful."

  Xavian raises an eyebrow.

  "For the article," I explain. "People know almost nothing about vampire families. If the two of you have worked together this long, that's... significant."

  "Significant," Cazoro repeats thoughtfully.

  Xavian exhales slowly, clearly unimpressed.

  "You're enjoying this too much," he tells his brother.

  "Of course I am."

  Then Cazoro looks back at me.

  "You realize," he says, "that most people would be far more nervous sitting between two vampires asking personal questions."

  I smile slightly.

  "Most people aren't journalists."

  "Or brave," he adds.

  "Or reckless," Xavian mutters.

  I glance back at him.

  "That sounded like a compliment."

  "It wasn't."

  But there's the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  Cazoro watches the exchange with quiet interest.

  "You see," he says, "this is exactly why I allowed the interview."

  "Because I ask good questions?"

  "No."

  His eyes hold mine.

  "Because you're interesting."

  The word lands heavier than it probably should.

  Before I can respond, Xavian speaks again.

  "You're doing it again."

  Cazoro sighs dramatically.

  "My brother believes I flirt too much."

  "You do."

  I raise an eyebrow.

  "Do vampires argue like this often?"

  "Constantly," Xavian says.

  "Only when he's wrong," Cazoro adds.

  I shake my head, laughing softly.

  "Well," I say, flipping to another page, "this is definitely going to be my most unusual interview."

  Cazoro's eyes gleam slightly.

  "I certainly hope so."

  Behind me, Xavian's voice is quieter now.

  "It will be."

  Something in the way he says it sends a faint shiver of curiosity down my spine

  "I... I think I have everything I need," I say, though my hands tighten around the notebook more than I like to admit.

  Cazoro doesn't move back. He moves forward instead, each step measured, closing the space between us until I can feel the faint heat radiating from him.

  "You have, have you?" His voice is smooth, teasing, but there's a sharp edge beneath it—something meant to unsettle me.

  I swallow and try to meet his gaze, forcing myself to stay composed.

  Behind me, a shadow shifts. One of them has moved silently—Xavian.

  I can sense him more than see him, the subtle weight of his presence behind my shoulder. He doesn't step forward aggressively; he doesn't need to. The fact that he's there is enough to make my pulse quicken.

  "You've been careful," Xavian's voice says softly, carrying admiration, almost warm against the tension in the room. "But you're braver than most."

  Cazoro chuckles low in response, his tone flirty and deliberately cutting.

  "Brave?" he asks, leaning in slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Or foolish?"

  I clutch my notebook tighter, taking a small step back.

  "You should be careful," he murmurs, so close now that I can feel the heat of his presence. "Curiosity is a dangerous trait... especially when it leads someone right into my office."

  Xavian shifts again, leaning lightly against the wall with effortless grace, his gaze never leaving me.

  "You handled yourself well," Xavian says, his voice calm and approving. "I'd give you higher marks than most who come here."

  "And yet," Cazoro continues, lowering his voice to a smooth drawl, "none of them are quite... like you."

  My stomach tightens. The combination of admiration and challenge—Xavian's silent praise paired with Cazoro's teasing degradation—creates a dizzying effect I didn't anticipate.

  "I... I think I really do have what I need," I say again, trying to sound firm.

  Cazoro leans in a fraction closer, eyes gleaming.

  "Do you?" he asks, almost whispering. "Or are you pretending to be done... when you're not?"

  I swallow hard, realizing I'm not sure of the answer myself. Behind me, Xavian's gaze stays warm and approving, steady and protective in a way that Cazoro's isn't, and I can feel the subtle, dangerous pull of both their attention on me at once.

  I clutch my notebook tighter and take a slow, careful breath. This is no longer just an interview. It's a game—and I'm standing right in the middle of it.

  "I really... I should get going," I say, forcing a lightness into my voice I don't feel.

  Cazoro tilts his head, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his face.

  "Already?" His tone is teasing, edged with challenge. "I thought we were just getting started."

  I swallow and keep moving, my heels clicking softly on the polished floor.

  Xavian rises from his chair, moving silently to fall just a step behind me. His presence is calm, controlled, almost protective, but the attention in his eyes is unmistakable.

  "Xavian," Cazoro says lightly, his voice smooth but pointed, "don't hover too much. Let her walk."

  "I'm not hovering," Xavian replies casually, though his eyes never leave me. "I'm... observing."

  Cazoro chuckles, low and dark. "Observing, of course. Make sure she doesn't trip on her own confidence."

  I force a small laugh, though my heart is racing. The contrast between them is dizzying—Cazoro leaning into teasing degradation, his charm sharp and magnetic, while Xavian follows silently, offering admiration with every quiet glance.

  I keep moving, one careful step at a time.

  "You're careful," Xavian says softly, almost under his breath, "but not cautious enough."

  I glance at him quickly, unsure how to respond. His tone is not mocking; it's approving, almost... protective.

  Cazoro, not missing the glance, smirks. "Don't let him fool you. That calm exterior hides a sharp edge. You should be careful of both of us."

  I stop for just a fraction of a second, my chest tightening. The thrill of it is undeniable—the danger, the tension, the sharp contrast between them.

  "I... I can handle myself," I say, keeping my eyes forward and ignoring the subtle heat in my cheeks.

  Cazoro leans in closer, close enough that I feel the faint scent of him, and murmurs, "I'm counting on it."

  Xavian steps lightly beside me now, his proximity less aggressive than Cazoro's, more deliberate, a quiet anchor as I move toward the door.

  I can feel their eyes on me as I open it.

  "Goodbye... for now," Cazoro says smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriating, charming smirk.

  I glance back at him and then at Xavian. Both are watching me, but in very different ways. One is teasing, the other quietly approving.

  I step out into the hallway, notebook pressed against my chest, heels clicking against the marble floor, and I realize just how dangerous—and captivating—this little "interview" has become.

  And I have no idea which one I'm more afraid of.