Maisie sat in the passenger seat, arms folded tight over her chest, staring out at the distant glow of the skyline. Her thoughts looped back to Josh's last message, the one she hadn't dared play twice.
An "independent movement" of Alucards. That's what he'd called it.
But that didn't make sense. Weren't the White Angels supposed to be helping Alucards? Protecting them from the government's abuse, advocating for reform, equal rights, and dignity? At least, that's what her father always told her. That's what the brochures and public statements said.
So why was Josh whispering about rogue Alucards like they were a threat? And why was the plan to infiltrate this so-called movement instead of supporting it?
Control. That word kept surfacing in her mind, cold and clinical. Maybe that's what it had always been about, not freedom. Not equality. Just control.
She bit her lip. Was that what the White Angels wanted? Not peace, but ownership?
Her stomach twisted. And now she was about to drag Igor into all of it.
Maisie buckled herself in, eyes fixed on the horizon as if the stars held answers. "Igor, I need to talk to you about something. But first, let's start flying."
Her voice didn't sound like her usual self, less bubbly, more clipped. Sharper. Igor noticed. Maisie was rarely this direct. Normally, she'd sugarcoat her intentions with a joke or some banter, not drop them like a blade.
"Yes, Mistress. Right away." Igor responded automatically, but a prickle of unease crept through the back of his mind. What was she up to?
The hovercar rose with a quiet hum, gliding into the regulated veins of the skyway. Below them, the city lights blurred into neon veins, but up here, the world was all discipline and surveillance. The glowing traffic lanes cut through the night like ghost roads, precise and untouchable. This was the airspace of the obedient—one misstep, one flicker above the speed threshold, and the patrols would descend like vultures.
Maisie used to think the sky was freedom. Now it felt more like a cage with invisible bars.
Igor piloted carefully, his hands steady on the controls. He didn't speak, and neither did she, not at first. The silence between them stretched, weighted by the kind of thing that didn't belong in the open air.
Finally, she broke it. "Igor, I need you to do me a favor. A favor only you can do. And you have to keep it a secret from my parents, and everyone else."
His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "Mistress…?"
He didn't like the sound of this.
"I need you to come to a rally with me. A White Angels rally."
Igor's stomach twisted. He knew that name too well. The White Angels, a so-called revolutionary movement that claimed to fight for a better world but left destruction in their wake. Their rallies were never just gatherings; they were powder kegs, one spark away from chaos.
He inhaled sharply, eyes fixed on the skyway ahead. "I just can't, Mistress. It's far too dangerous. And to be honest…" He hesitated. "I don't think you should go either."
Maisie turned to him, brows furrowed. For the first time in a long while, Igor wasn't simply following orders—he was resisting.
And worse, she wasn't sure she could blame him.
Lately, even she had begun to question what the hell the White Angels were trying to do. Josh kept talking about "independence" for the Alucards, but independence from what, exactly? The corporations? The labs? Weren't the White Angels the ones already holding the reins? Sometimes it felt like they didn't want to liberate anyone; they just wanted control. A new kind of leash.
Her hands trembled at her sides. She hated this, hated the knot of panic tightening in her chest, the way her voice cracked when she tried to sound in control.
"Igor… please. Don't make me pull rank."
He said nothing, just stared at her, unreadable. The faint buzz of internal diagnostics flickered behind his eyes.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice as if she could soften the moment by sheer will. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to drag you into this. But I need your help. And I don't have time to argue."
Still, he didn't move.
"This is just temporary," she said. "I'll undo it as soon as I can. But right now… I'm your registered handler. I could say the word and have you reassigned. That's not a threat." She lied smoothly. "It's reality."
Igor blinked slowly, watching her carefully.
Maisie forced a brittle smile. "You're too valuable. They'd scoop you up in a second. You're a—"
She hesitated, almost saying "hot cake," a stupid phrase she'd heard her father use. But it felt wrong now—ugly in her mouth.
"You're rare," she finished instead.
And that was the truth. Rare enough that Josh had asked her, specifically her, to bring Igor. That alone made her suspicious. Josh didn't ask for favors unless he had an angle. What exactly did he want with an Alucard he barely knew?
There was a long silence.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Just… please listen. Just for now."
Igor clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides. His mind screamed to fight back, to push against the suffocating chains of servitude—but his survival instincts held him still. He lowered his head in forced submission.
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, the words burning like acid in his throat.
What am I going to do now? Panic clawed at his chest. If he went through with this, he could be killed. If he backed out, he might end up back in the coal caves, or worse, in slavery jail. His only way out might be to run. Or… something more drastic. If escape wasn't an option, maybe he could take Maisie with him and force her away from this madness. But why? Why would she do this to him? What was he to her? A tool? A bargaining chip for the White Angels?
Maisie smirked slightly at his compliance. "Good. The rally is at one a.m. in Seattle, at the Space Needle skyway." She met his gaze with cold confidence. "You'll be taking me there anyway, but I wanted you to know in advance."
Igor swallowed his resentment, forcing his voice to be neutral. "Thank you, Mistress, for telling me."
The words felt like venom, but Igor swallowed them down anyway. He had to. Keep up appearances. Pretend everything was fine. Pretend he hadn't just been strong-armed into something that made every cell in his body scream.
His patience was thinning by the second.
Maisie used to seem kind. Sweet, even. Naïve in that soft-sheltered way. But now? She sat across from him with that clipped tone and stiff posture, and he wasn't sure if she was scared or just becoming someone else entirely.
Had she always been like this? Two-faced when it counted, just good at pretending with him? Or had the White Angels sunk their claws in so deep they'd hollowed her out and rebuilt her into this version, nervous, manipulative, desperate?
He wanted to believe she was still the girl who asked him dumb questions about vampire history just to hear his voice. The girl who fed him grapes once when he was chained in the observation room, laughing like they were just playing some weird game.
But if he'd been wrong about her…
If she was just another Angel in training, ready to use him like a pawn and toss him when she was done?
Then maybe it was time he stopped playing along.
The hovercar drifted into the driveway on a smooth descent, settling with a soft hiss of hydraulics. Everything went quiet. No more wind, no more navigation beeps. Just the hum of the engine dying out and the heavy silence stretching between them.
Maisie didn't rush to unbuckle. She moved like someone deep in her head, a little sluggish, weighed down. Her hand hovered over the belt for a second before clicking it loose.
Igor's grip on the controls tightened until his fingers ached. He'd done his job—got her home safe, like always. But it didn't feel right this time. Didn't feel like duty. It felt like surrender.
And as she reached for the door, some brittle part of him cracked.
"Go ahead," he muttered. "Make your grand exit."
Maisie paused, hand still on the handle, twisting to look back at him. "What's your problem?"
She said it with that practiced deflection, that uptick in her voice that tried to sound calm but came out defensive.
He didn't answer right away. His jaw was locked tight like the words were trying to break through, but he couldn't risk letting them out. Not the real ones. Not the ones that would cost him.
He'd learned long ago: Alucards don't vent. They break things. Or get broken.
He looked away, down at the floor, chest rising and falling a little too fast. He wanted to tell her everything—how much this hurt, how betrayed he felt, how messed up it was that she was dragging him into something that could get him killed.
And she wasn't even sure why.
She'd asked him to go to a White Angels rally like it was nothing. And he knew what those rallies meant. Explosions. Screaming. Bodies. Always bodies.
But even now, she didn't seem confident in her reasons. She wasn't marching in there with a purpose. She was… wavering. Full of doubts, she hadn't said out loud yet.
Maisie watched him, the anger in her expression fading a little. She tilted her head. "Are you alright?"
He let out a bitter half-laugh, barely a sound.
That was the question, wasn't it?
Was he alright?
No. He hadn't been for years.
But now? Now he was starting to wake up.
He forced a smile, though it felt paper-thin, like a mask about to slide off. "I'm fine."
But he wasn't. Not even close.
Anger gnawed at him like a hungry animal. Not the hot, explosive kind. No, this was slow-burning, the kind that settled into his bones and whispered: You're not free. You've never been free.
All these years of obeying, following orders, getting praised for being "compliant", what had it gotten him? A handler who couldn't even look him in the eye when she gave him orders. A life where saying no was a death sentence. He was tired of it. Tired of being a weapon passed between hands. Tired of pretending this wasn't killing him.
Maisie was already halfway to the house, shoulders tight, her steps uneven like she wasn't entirely sure of what she was doing either. She didn't look back.
Then, too quickly, too lightly, she turned over her shoulder and said, "Okay, let's go inside, Igor."
She made it sound normal. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just threatened to reassign him.
He followed, but something had shifted. His body moved, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Plotting.
"Yes, Mistress," he said flatly, slipping ahead to open the door. His voice came out smooth, automatic. She walked past him like he wasn't even there.
The second her back was turned, he clenched his jaw so tight it ached. Rolled his eyes in disgust.
The anger surged up too fast. Raw. Ugly. Barely containable.
Why? Why now? Why did it feel like he was going to snap?
But he already knew.
He was an Alucard.
And Alucards didn't just feel emotions, they lived in them. Every flicker of rage felt like fire in the veins. Every insult, every slight, carved itself into the skin.
No matter how calm they looked on the outside, their bodies betrayed them. A twitch in the cheek. Eyes bleeding red. Nails lengthening into black glass points. Fangs poking at the edges of a fake smile.
His wings, folded tightly under the backplate he wore, shivered beneath the skin like they wanted out. Like they knew flight meant freedom. Meant escape.
But flight wasn't an option.
It never had been.
The device buried in his spine, the one they called a "regulatory harness," like that made it sound less monstrous, saw to that. One false move, one unapproved wing twitch, and the embedded shock rig would fire off a jolt strong enough to drop a rhino.
Only a master could deactivate it. Only someone like Maisie.
And even if she did? Lifting a human took effort. Real, brutal effort. He could do it, sure. But the pain of carrying someone who'd just threatened to reassign him like a faulty vacuum cleaner?
That'd be a different kind of torture.
He stood there for a beat too long, staring into the empty doorway after her.
Maybe it was time to stop obeying.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending he didn't hate what they were turning him into.
Suppressing the fury that still crackled under his skin, Igor slipped through the corridors like a ghost. The halls were dim, half-lit like always, their sterile silence broken only by the distant hum of lights overhead. He didn't need to see anyone. Didn't want to.
Other servants tended to avoid him anyway. Alucard or not, he didn't belong.
Some of them whispered that he had it easy. That being assigned to "Mistress Maisie"—sweet, harmless Maisie—was a cushy gig. A reward. Maybe even a promotion.
Tonight proved just how wrong they were.
He made it to the male quarters without a word, the shared space cold and half-empty. Most of the other men were out or asleep. That suited him just fine. The fewer people to see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the better.
He sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders rigid, hands hanging between his knees. Staring blankly at the wall like it might offer answers.
But all it offered was silence.
What even was she anymore? Maisie Lennox. She used to look at him like he was almost a person. Used to thank him, smile at him, and treat him like he mattered, at least a little. But tonight… tonight she'd looked him dead in the eye and reminded him what he was.
A possession.
And the worst part? She'd flinched too. She'd hesitated. Like she didn't fully believe it either. Like she was trying to convince herself he was just a tool. Just another controlled creature under White Angels' jurisdiction.
His breath came in slow, measured drags. Isolation had kept him alive this long. Keep your head down. Don't get attached. Don't talk back.
But that strategy was starting to crack.
He felt it. The change in the air. The unspoken edge in her voice. The fact that she was dragging him into a rally, a White Angels rally, of all things. He could practically hear the sirens screaming in his skull.
After tonight, it wasn't just about survival anymore.
Later that night, under the washed-out glow of the estate's security lights, Maisie made her way to the hovercar parked discreetly along the outer path. Midnight air bit at her skin, but it wasn't the cold making her stomach twist. Every step felt heavier than the last. She wasn't sure if it was guilt, fear, or the thrill of finally doing something real. Maybe all three.
Igor followed in silence, just far enough behind to make it awkward. His eyes kept darting between her and the hovercar like he was waiting for her to call the whole thing off. Like he wanted her to.
Maisie glanced back, more to reassure herself than him. "I'm sure about this," she muttered, fingers fumbling a bit as she unlocked the car.
The hovercar's lights flickered on with a quiet ping, its engine humming to life like it was in on the secret. Sleek. Expensive. Silent.
Igor didn't say a word. But his body language spoke plenty, shoulders slightly tensed, jaw tight, that look in his eyes like he was calculating every way this could go wrong. He didn't trust this. He didn't trust her. Not completely.
"I know the skyways are heavily monitored," Maisie said, trying to sound unfazed. "But don't worry. I've got everything covered."
He raised one eyebrow. Just one. It said everything he wasn't saying out loud.
She slid into the driver's seat like she'd done it a thousand times, even though this was probably the riskiest thing she'd ever done in her life. The seat molded around her, and the dashboard lit up with the soft pulse of holographic menus. She tapped through the interface fast—almost too fast, like it might stop her if she hesitated.
"This car's got a modified comm system," she said casually, flipping through the encrypted channels. "Spoofed ID. We'll show up on the grid, but not that grid. You know what I mean?"
Igor stared at her like she'd just sprouted wings. "Spoofed?"
Maisie exhaled sharply. Right. He'd never been in this kind of world—not the privileged kind, not the kind where access and deception came baked into the family crest.
"You'd be surprised what people like us can get away with," she said, her voice a little sharper than intended. "My family's not just rich. We've got access—encryption, forgery tech, scramblers, proxy systems. It's all legal if no one checks too hard."
He didn't argue, but his silence wasn't trust, it was resignation. This wasn't the first time someone made a decision for him and expected obedience.
Maisie glanced over. For a second, all the bravado slipped. "You think I'd put us at risk like this without planning?"
His face didn't move, but something in his eyes flickered. Doubt. Maybe fear.
"No one's going to expect a Lennox kid to sneak off in the middle of the night on a rogue mission," she added, quieter now. "We're invisible when we want to be."
There was a long pause. The kind that filled up the space between them like fog. Eventually, Igor nodded once, slowly and carefully.
No agreement. Just... acceptance.
Maisie gave him a quick smile, almost nervous, almost grateful, and tapped the throttle.
"Trust me," she said, eyes locked on the skyway ahead. "We're fine. Just stick with me."