The village was uneasy. Sarah could taste it in the air like a metallic tang, sharp on her tongue whenever she walked the narrow lanes between cottages. Children clung to their mothers' skirts. Men snapped at each other over small mistakes. Women crossed themselves more often when the chapel bell rang. The whole of Håvardby seemed strung tight on a fraying thread.
Sarah did not need to wonder why. She knew Astrid's hunger when she felt it, the jagged edge of it pressed into the hearts of others until they staggered with weariness. Astrid never fed with care, never bothered with balance. To her, a village was a feast to devour, not a web to keep whole.
Jonas had noticed too. Though he said nothing directly, Sarah saw the questions forming in the tilt of his head when she passed, in the way his gaze lingered on the hollow faces of the villagers. His curiosity was a stone in her gut. She could not answer if he asked, and she feared the day he would.
By dusk, the nest gathered.
The chamber beneath the earth breathed cold, the stone walls slick with moisture, the air so still it pressed against the lungs. Ingrid stood at the center, back straight, arms crossed. Erik loomed near her shoulder like a carved idol, silent and heavy. Astrid leaned against the wall, golden hair spilling over her cloak, eyes glinting like a fox who had found a henhouse.
"You've grown careless," Ingrid said. Her voice echoed against the rock, clipped and sharp. "The villagers are restless. Too many sleepless, too many weakened at once. They whisper now."
Astrid's smile spread slowly. "Do they whisper of monsters in the dark?" She laughed, soft and musical. "Good. Fear keeps them awake. It sharpens them. It makes them taste all the sweeter."
Erik's jaw tightened. Nils shifted uncomfortably. Sarah stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. "You've fed too heavily. I felt it in Marta, and the boy at the river. You'll bring suspicion down on us."
Astrid tilted her head, her gaze sliding to Sarah with lazy delight. "Ah. The lamb bleats."
"Enough," Ingrid warned. But Astrid's grin only widened.
"You're always watching, Sarah. Always counting, always measuring. Do you think that makes you better than me?" She stepped closer, circling. "Tell me is it Marta you fret for, or him?"
Sarah stilled, though her chest tightened. She did not speak, but Astrid's eyes sparkled at her silence.
"Oh yes," Astrid purred, drawing out the words. "The outsider. Jonas. I've seen the way you hover near him like smoke. The way you drink in the warmth of his voice as though it feeds you more than any harvest of fear ever could. Sweet, foolish Sarah, thinking no one would notice."
Sarah's fingers curled against her palms. "Careful," she murmured.
Astrid laughed, low and sharp. "Careful? Why should I be careful, when it is you who toys with danger? Do you think he wouldn't recoil, if he knew? If he guessed what you are, what you crave?"
Her tone softened into a mockery of intimacy, each word brushing Sarah like a blade. "Does he know how you sip at him in little gulps, stealing what warmth you dare when he looks at you? Or do you dream of drinking him dry, leaving him hollow in the snow with that gentle smile frozen on your lips?"
The chamber was silent, all eyes fixed on Sarah now. Even Ingrid said nothing, letting the words coil tighter and tighter.
Astrid leaned close enough that Sarah could feel the warmth of her breath at her ear. "Weak," she whispered. "Too weak to claim what you want. Too weak to admit it. Too weak to survive what's coming."
The word cracked something deep within Sarah.
Her hand shot out, seizing Astrid's wrist with a grip like iron. Power surged, hot and cold at once, as Sarah pulled not at muscle, not at skin, but at the wild, burning core of Astrid herself.
Astrid's smirk faltered, twisted. She gasped, knees buckling as her strength rushed out of her, pouring into Sarah like storm-wind through a broken window. Her golden head dipped, hair falling forward, lips parted in a ragged cry.
Sarah's voice rang in the silence, low but thrumming with power. "Do not call me weak."
The shadows on the stone quivered. The cold of the chamber deepened until frost hissed at the edges of the walls. Astrid writhed, her laughter broken into choked gasps, her defiance stripped bare.
Sarah released her suddenly, letting her collapse against the wall. Astrid slumped there, trembling, her eyes wide with something Sarah had never seen in them before: fear.
Nils swallowed hard. Erik's gaze flickered, unreadable. Ingrid's expression was carved of stone, though her eyes burned like flint.
Astrid forced a laugh, thin and brittle. "So. The lamb bares fangs." She pushed herself upright, though her legs quivered. "How precious."
Sarah's hands trembled, though she held them at her sides, steadying her breath. Her hunger roared inside, wild and exultant, a beast that had been chained too long and now strained against the leash.
Ingrid stepped forward, her voice a blade. "Control yourself. Or the nest will teach you control."
Sarah met her gaze, unflinching. "Perhaps it is the nest that must learn."
The words fell like ice into the chamber. No one spoke after.
When Sarah left the underground hall, the night air struck her cheeks like fire, though she barely felt the cold. Her skin still tingled with Astrid's drained fury, her veins alive with a power she had long denied.
For the first time, she had shown them.
And for the first time, they were afraid