Hale stared at the photograph for several seconds, then whispered, almost soundlessly:
"We were so close…"
He picked up a lighter and brought the flame to the edge of the folder. The paper caught fire quickly, with a greedy crackle. The flames began devouring the photographs, diagrams, and test results. Hale watched as the fire licked at the pages, the orange tongues reflected in his eyes.
"Prime-Blood…" he muttered under his breath.
"An improved vampire soul. A powerful hybrid without weakness to silver and without bloodlust. Almost perfect soldiers. We could have been the ones to finally step into the sunlight without those damned domes over New York and those cursed glass cages over half the cities in the world…"
He dropped the burning folder into the metal trash bin. The flames flared brighter.
"And instead…" he continued, picking up the next folder, "we got the Plague Pillar."
"A generational curse that no one can explain. Maybe it was always there — born the moment the first vampire killed the first human."
"And when an ordinary person kills a vampire with a simple object… the curse activates."
"People begin to gather in herds. They stand like vegetables and wait until they rot alive."
Hale smiled,a painful, bitter smile.
"We wanted to create gods. Instead we got a plague that devours both them and us."
He set the second folder on fire and tossed it into the bin. The flames grew stronger, casting a eerie orange glow across the office.
"Gérard thinks I'm his loyal dog. Thinks I'll keep covering up all these experiments."
"I'm tired of hiding the traces. Tired of watching our own curses come back to us like a boomerang."
He picked up the phone and dialed a short number. It rang once.
On the other end, Gérard answered almost immediately.
"Hale," came his cold, commanding voice.
"Report."
Richard leaned back in his chair and looked at the burning folders.
"Everything is clean, sir," he said in a steady, professional tone.
"I have destroyed all physical and digital traces of my involvement in Project Prime-Blood. Not a single record remains."
Gérard was silent for a few seconds.
"Good. And the witnesses from the catacombs?"
"Already in progress. Michael and Elizabeth are handling the hospital. By morning, there won't be anyone left who can talk."
Gérard gave a satisfied hum.
"You've always been reliable, Richard. Don't fail me now."
Hale stared at the flames in the bin. The fire had almost consumed all the documents.
"I have never failed you," he replied calmly.
"And I won't start now."
He ended the call and placed the phone on the desk. For several seconds he sat in silence, watching the fire.
Then, very quietly, almost in a whisper, he said to himself:
"But someday… someday I will stop being your shadow, Gérard. Someday I will find a way to lift this curse from all of us."
"Or… destroy those who created it."
He stood up, walked over to the bin, and watched as the last pages burned away.
"Plague Pillar…" he whispered.
"That's what they call freedom…"
The fire in the bin finally died out, leaving only black, greasy ash behind.
Richard stood in the half-dark office, staring at it with a long, heavy gaze.
The traces had been destroyed.
But the truth… the truth always leaves behind something that cannot be burned.
Just before dawn, the apartment filled with the quiet chaos of morning.
The light outside the window was only beginning to appear. The room smelled of stale socks,someone had clearly forgotten to wash their feet. On the table stood the empty canister that had once held vampire ash, next to Laurent's documents and the silver key.
Bruno was snoring heavily on the couch. Gideon sat in the armchair, leaning back, eyes open, he wasn't sleeping, just staring at the ceiling and listening to Bruno's snoring.
Ethan sat by the window, pressing the black stake to his chest, watching the street. Susie was dozing in a chair, curled up like a small kitten.
No one spoke. They had no strength left for conversation.
Suddenly the light in the room began to flicker.
First came a light chill. Then a faint silvery haze seeped through the crack under the door, as if it were alive. It swirled in the center of the room, quickly thickening and taking shape.
Everyone instantly tensed.
Gideon jumped up from the armchair so fast it toppled backward with a loud thud. His hand automatically reached for the pistol on the table.
"What the..?!" he gasped, his voice cracking with fear.
Bruno woke with a hoarse groan and tried to sit up, grabbing the knife lying beside him.
Ethan stood sharply, raising the black stake like a weapon. The black lines on his neck flared brighter.
Flash, who had been standing by the window, turned fastest of all, but he didn't reach for his weapon. He only narrowed his eyes slightly.
From the haze, a woman materialized.
Zeydana.
She appeared so smoothly and naturally, as if she had always been there.
She surveyed the room calmly, without hurry, as though she had come for an ordinary visit.
"Good morning," she said in a quiet voice. There was neither threat nor smile in it.
Gideon still held his pistol aimed at her chest. His hands trembled slightly.
"Why do you always enter like that?!" he exhaled.
"Couldn't you knock or something?"
Bruno, still sitting on the couch, stared at her with wide eyes.
"Is that… Zeydana?" he asked hoarsely.
"Or… something worse?"
Zeydana didn't answer right away. She simply took one small step forward, and the haze around her finally dissolved. Her gaze settled on Ethan.