Dawn in Crimson City was not a natural phenomenon. It was a manufactured twilight, the great dome overhead simulating a perpetual, blood-orange dusk to protect its citizens from the true sun. But today, the artificial dawn felt darker than any night Jerry had known.
The entire Academy was assembled in the Grand Courtyard. The shattered gates had been hastily replaced with a temporary barrier, but the memory of the breach lingered like a bad smell. In the center of the courtyard, a platform had been erected. On it stood the gatekeeper, Ronan, bound in chains that glowed with suppressing runes. His face was a mask of bruises and despair.
High Inquisitor Morvan, a vampire so thin and severe he looked like a walking skeleton, addressed the silent crowd. His voice, amplified by magic, was dry and merciless.
"Ronan of the Low Guard," he intoned, "has been found guilty of dereliction of duty and conspiracy in the deaths of two noble scions of our city. By his own confession, given freely before the Council, he allowed the ancient evil known as a Revenant to enter our sacred grounds."
A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the students. Jerry felt Laura tense beside him. Her hand, hidden between them, found his and gave a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go. The gesture was a spark of warmth in the chilling spectacle.
Freely given? Jerry thought, his stomach churning. He could smell the lingering scent of fear and agony coming from Ronan. He could hear the man's heart hammering in a frantic, broken rhythm. This was no confession. It was a performance, a piece of theater staged to placate the masses and bury the truth.
Ronan was made to speak. His voice was a broken thing, stripped of all will. "I... I was weak. The beast... it promised me power. I opened the gate... I let the monster in." His eyes, hollow and dead, scanned the crowd without seeing. They were the eyes of a man whose spirit had already been executed.
There was no trial. No evidence presented. Only the Inquisitor's word and the prisoner's coached confession. With a final, dramatic flourish, Inquisitor Morvan declared the sentence. "For treason against the Blood, the penalty is Final Death."
A guard stepped forward with a polished wooden stake. The execution was swift and brutal. A collective gasp rippled through the students as Ronan's body dissolved into a pile of ancient dust, his essence returning to the night from which he came. The message was clear: this is what happens to those who betray our kind. Order had been restored.
But Jerry saw the deeper, more sinister message. The Council was not just killing a pawn; they were killing the truth. They had created their monster, and with it, they had cemented their narrative. Anyone who questioned it would be next.
Later, in the library's most isolated corner, Laura finally broke the heavy silence between them. Her voice was barely a whisper. "They killed him for nothing."
"He was a convenient scapegoat," Jerry replied, his own voice low and grim. He was acutely aware of how close she was, of the trust she was placing in him by sharing these dangerous thoughts. "The Council can't admit they were vulnerable to humans. It would shatter the foundation of everything they've built."
"But the Deathstalker teams..." she said, referring to the secret order she'd overheard. "They're going into the Bullpen. They know the truth."
"And they'll cleanse it," Jerry finished for her. "They'll make the human problem disappear, all while publicly maintaining the story of the lone, defeated Revenant. Two lies, one stone."
Laura looked at him, her purple eyes searching his. "How do you know all this, Jerry? How did you know to look into the Blood Hunters? Sometimes... it's like you see pieces of the game that the rest of us miss."
His heart stuttered. This was the precipice. He could lie, deepening the chasm between them, or he could take a step towards the truth. The words of his father warred with the desperate need to confide in the one person who saw him as more than a ghost.
"I have to be observant," he said carefully, each word a negotiation with his own secret. "My... condition... requires it."
It was the closest he had ever come to an admission. He wasn't denying he was different; he was acknowledging it. Laura's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't pull away. She didn't look scared. She looked... intrigued.
"Your condition," she repeated softly, a statement, not a question. She was giving him an opening, a chance to define it on his own terms.
Before he could say more, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the quiet of the library.
"Jerry. Laura. The Headmaster wants to see you both. Now."
It was Instructor Valerius. His expression was unreadable, but his aura was coiled tight, like a spring about to be released.
A cold dread settled in Jerry's gut. Had someone seen them on the balcony? Had Laura's inquiries been noticed? Or was this about his performance in the training exercise, the speed and fangs he had failed to fully hide?
They were led not to the Headmaster's office, but to a secure briefing room deep within the Citadel. Waiting for them was not the Headmaster, but a vampire Jerry recognized from the execution: the Captain of the Guard who had dragged Ronan away.
"I am Captain Vorlag," he said, his eyes, the color of frozen blood, sweeping over them. "The Inquisitor was... overzealous in his public statement. The Revenant threat has been neutralized. The gatekeeper acted alone."
He paused, letting the obvious lie hang in the air.
"However, the breach itself revealed a secondary, more mundane vulnerability. Human sympathizers or rebels may have provided a distraction. The Council has decided that the best way to root out such filth is from within. We are initiating a new... student outreach program."
He placed two forged identity cards on the table. They bore Jerry and Laura's names, but listed them as human-affairs liaisons.
"Your first assignment," Vorlag said, a cold smile playing on his lips. "You two will lead a small team on a 'humanitarian' mission into the Bullpen's Western District. You will distribute blood-tax rations and assess their morale. You will keep your eyes and ears open."
Jerry's blood ran cold. This was no outreach program. This was the Deathstalker team's reconnaissance. He and Laura were being used as bait, as disposable assets to draw out the human resistance. They would be walking into the lion's den, under the watchful eyes of hidden Council assassins.
Captain Vorlag leaned forward, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Consider it a test of your loyalty. Prove your value to the Council. Your families' standing depends on it."
As they were dismissed, Jerry caught the Captain's final, whispered words to his subordinate, words not meant for their ears.
"Let's see if the human rats bite. And if they do... we'll finally have a legitimate reason to purge the entire sector."
They were being sent into the heart of the human world, where the real Hunters lurked, as pawns in a deadly game orchestrated by their own leaders. The Council's net was closing, not just on the human resistance, but on them.
Jerry was now trapped between the vampires who saw him as a tool and the humans who saw him as the enemy, and the only person standing with him was the girl who was beginning to see the monster behind his eyes.