The fog was curling like a living thing, whispering against the cold pavement of Noxbridge's abandoned district. Sandra was walking faster now, her pulse pounding as she replayed fragments of last night — the screams, the flash of crimson eyes, the warmth of blood trickling down her neck.
She didn't know whether to call it a dream or a nightmare too real to be denied. Her reflection in the rain-smeared window of a closed café looked pale, hollow. The bruise on her neck was still there — two faint punctures, half-hidden beneath her scarf.
Her hands were trembling. She had woken that morning in her apartment, clothes torn, lying on the floor near the window. No memory of how she got there. Only that sensation of falling into an abyss and being pulled back by something — or someone.
She was trying to convince herself it was a hallucination. A trick of the night. But then she heard it again.
That cry.
A cry that pierced the fog like a blade.
Sandra froze. The sound came from the alley behind her — high-pitched, human, and yet distorted by something primal. She turned slowly, her breath misting the air. The fog seemed thicker there, rolling like smoke.
"Hello?" she called, her voice barely steady.
No answer.
Then came the rustling. Quick, deliberate. Something — or someone — was moving.
Her rational mind screamed run. But something deeper — curiosity, or fear of her own imagination — pushed her to step forward. The alley smelled of iron and wet asphalt. Her shoes splashed in puddles as she advanced, one cautious step at a time.
Then she saw it.
A figure crouched near a dumpster, hunched over something. A dark silhouette, trembling, feeding.
Sandra's throat tightened. She wanted to back away, but her foot scraped against a bottle. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
The figure turned.
For a second, her world stopped. Those eyes — glowing crimson, full of hunger and despair — met hers. Blood dripped from its mouth. And then it spoke, in a voice both fragile and monstrous.
"Help… me…"
It was a boy. No older than seventeen. His skin was grayish, his veins dark and visible under the skin.
Sandra's heart broke before fear could paralyze her. She knelt, trembling, her instincts torn between compassion and terror.
"What happened to you?" she whispered.
He shivered violently. "They left me… to die. I— I didn't want to feed… but it hurts. It hurts so much."
The boy's teeth — elongated, sharpened — caught the dim light. He looked at her like a starving man seeing a meal.
"Stay back," she warned, but her voice lacked conviction.
He shook his head. "You don't understand. It never ends."
And then he lunged.
Sandra barely reacted — a blur of movement and pain as his body slammed into her. She felt his cold hands on her shoulders, his breath against her neck, the whisper of fangs.
Before she could scream, a violent force threw the boy backward.
Raven stood there, his eyes glowing like coals, his hand dripping with dark energy. "Enough," he growled.
The boy hissed, scrambling up, but Raven moved faster — impossibly fast. His strike was silent, efficient. A crack echoed. The boy collapsed.
Sandra gasped, her body shaking as she stared at the lifeless figure.
"Why… why did you do that?" she cried.
Raven's face was expressionless, though his jaw tightened. "Because he was gone. There was no saving him."
"He was human," she spat.
"He was," Raven corrected softly. "Until the hunger took him."
Sandra felt the cold fog wrapping around them, a silent witness to the horror. "Then what am I?" she whispered.
Raven didn't answer immediately. He walked closer, his boots echoing in the narrow alley. "Alive," he said at last. "For now."
His voice carried both warning and sorrow.
She looked at him — tall, pale, his black coat absorbing the fog. His presence was both magnetic and terrifying. "You're not human," she said.
"No," he admitted. "Not anymore."
Sandra's breath hitched. "Then why save me?"
Raven's eyes softened for a brief instant. "Because… I remember what it's like to be afraid."
The moment lingered — heavy, charged, fragile. Then sirens wailed in the distance. Raven turned away.
"Go home," he said sharply. "Forget what you saw."
Sandra stood, defiant despite her fear. "You think I can forget this?"
Raven stopped, his back to her. "If you don't… it will destroy you."
Then he vanished into the mist — gone as if the night itself had swallowed him.
Sandra stood alone, the fog swallowing her breath. Her knees trembled, but she didn't cry. Not yet.
Instead, she looked at the body of the boy — now turning to ash. A gust of wind carried him away.
Something inside her broke. Something else awakened.
She touched her neck. The punctures burned like a brand. For a second, she thought she could hear whispers in her veins — voices calling her name.
And deep within the fog, two unseen eyes were watching.
---
The next morning, Sandra walked through the campus as if nothing had happened. But every sound — every heartbeat around her — felt amplified. The smell of blood from a paper cut on a classmate's finger made her stomach twist.
She forced herself to focus during lectures, but her hands were cold. The hunger was growing.
At the back of the criminology hall, she noticed Raven again. Sitting in silence, watching her from afar.
He didn't speak. But his gaze said everything — You're changing.
Sandra clenched her fists. She wouldn't let this thing define her. She wouldn't become a monster.
But when night fell again, the city's mist called to her.
And this time, she didn't resist.