Hale sat cross-legged in the center of the stones, his hands resting on his knees, eyes calmly scanning the circle of vampires that surrounded him. They were eerily still. They just watched without saying any words. Not one of them made a move.
Trying to break the stillness, Hale cleared his throat and said, "This whole area's deserted. I didn't see a single person on the way here. Why is that?"
One of the vampires, well built in height, lean, and smirking—stepped forward just slightly, just enough for Hale to notice him.
"You think we'd just tell you?" the vampire sneered. "Dream on."
Hale didn't flinch. "I mean, you could at least be hospitable. I came all the way out here."
A few of them chuckled.
He went on, undeterred. "Thing is, even though it's night and we're deep in the woods the places I found the markings… they didn't feel natural and even though it is cold in the woods and I cansee the chill from your mouths," Hale said slowly, "and I can deduce that it's cold—but I also assume that since you're vampires, you wouldn't feel it. You lot thrive in the cold, don't you?"
The vampires exchanged silent glances, none offering a word in response. Then, the one who appeared to be the leader stepped forward, his tone laced with mockery.
"You're a smart one, aren't you?" he said. "Since you know what we are, I want to assume you also have a way to escape…?"
Hale narrowed his eyes, undeterred. "So, either something else made those signs…" He leaned forward slightly. "Or you're not alone out here."
There was a brief silence.
Then Hale spoke again, his voice quieter, tinged with longing that maybe every father feels once or a couple times in their lifetime.
"I have a son," he said, almost to himself. "Back when I was in that house… I heard a voice on the phone, asking for help. It sounded like him."
He paused, eyes distant now, as if seeing something the others couldn't.
"There was something in that voice… desperation. Fear. Or maybe just the echo of how much I miss him." His tone cracked slightly. "I need to get back to him."
The vampires didn't move. The leader's expression flickered—just briefly—with something unreadable.
Hale straightened, his voice steadying again. "So if you're going to kill me, fine. But know this—I'm not afraid of you. I've got more important things to do."
The leader, now a little more sober, walked slowly toward the edge of the stones. Without a word, he sat beside them. One of the other vampires moved, about to warn him of the stones, but the leader raised a hand and waved him off without looking.
He stared for a moment, letting the silence stretch.
Then he turned his gaze to Hale, his voice calm.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Hale hesitated.
"…Hale," he said finally.
The leader nodded slowly, as if tucking the name away somewhere important.
"So Hale, I will tell you a little story."
Hale looked up intently, maybe he was going to get somethng worthwhile.
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Melissa stepped down from the van, obviously angry. Her brows were furrowed, and her arms crossed tightly as she paced a few steps away. Alistair stepped down too but remained silent, watching her quietly as she let out her rants.
"You think you can just drag me into this mess without even explaining anything?" she snapped. "I trusted you! without having to ask questions I followed your leadership also. And now you're acting like this is all normal? Are you kidding me?"
Alistair didn't respond. He waited until she was done, his face unreadable. Then, calmly, he said, "Follow me."
Melissa stared at him, tempted to argue, but something in his tone made her stop. She rolled her eyes and followed him, albeit grudgingly.
They stepped into the house that was abandoned for a while. Dust lay thick on every surface, and the air smelled of time and decay. Melissa's eyes scanned the room, and then she froze.
"My phone…" she muttered, spotting it in a corner.
She hurried over and picked it up. It was off. She held it tightly and turned back toward Alistair, just about to start talking again—another complaint ready to roll off her tongue—when she saw him.
He was standing by the dining table, his fingers gliding across its surface like he was feeling for something unseen. She paused, confused, watching closely.
And then—click.
A low, mechanical sound echoed from beneath the floorboards.
Alistair pulled the table back, the screech of its legs breaking the silence just as the rest of the team walked into the room—the guy with the winter coat, Pixie, and the one in the cowboy outfit. Without glancing at them, Alistair adjusted his glasses.
"Pixie," he said coolly, "get the can of petrol."
Pixie stopped in her tracks. For a moment, she didn't move. Then slowly, she turned to look at him. A chill swept through the room as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Her entire demeanor had shifted. The playful glint was gone. What replaced it was cold, deadly muderous intent.
Everyone froze.
Even Alistair.
But before anyone could say a word or make a move, Pixie let out a small, almost whimsical chuckle. The tension snapped like a stretched wire, and the air grew warm again. Her grin returned.
She rocked slightly on her feet, clutching her teddy bear as she turned around and began to hop toward the exit, light on both feet like nothing had happened.
"I'll get it," she sang as she headed back to the van.