Silence settled over the room again.
But it was different now.
Not the kind of silence that made your skin crawl—more like the silence that came after a storm.
Alina dropped back against the sofa, her eyes following her boyfriend as he cleaned up the wreckage.
Alan moved in silence: picking up shards of the shattered vase with his bare hands, straightening the sofa cushions that had been knocked askew, stacking the books that had fallen everywhere.
No broom. No dustpan.
He lifted each sharp piece of glass one by one, like he was gathering fallen flower petals.
He cleaned away the food scraps and crumbs from the shattered plate with the same precision.
Once the floor was safe again, Alan sat on the opposite sofa.
In his head, the situation was simple: the threat had passed. All that was left was damage control.
Broken glass. Stains. Distance to maintain.
Alina's emotions were still running hot—and to Alan, emotions had always been like overloaded circuitry. Push them too hard, and they shorted out.
"Listen," Alina said, trying to keep her voice steady. "If this relationship is going to continue... if you want me to stay here... I need rules."
Alan nodded immediately, a thin beam of hope flickering across his face. "Tell me."
"First." Alina lifted one finger, eyes fixed directly on his. "No more biting me without permission. Period. No excuses about 'instinct,' 'losing control,' or anything else. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Alan said without hesitation.
"Second," Alina continued, sitting straighter. "No more secrets. I want to know everything. Your world, the rules, the dangers... everything. Don't hide things behind the excuse of 'protecting me.' I'm not some porcelain doll you have to keep in a glass case."
Alan smiled faintly, his gaze softening. "Okay. I'll tell you everything."
Alan held back from immediately dumping unprompted details.
He knew his own habit: when asked to explain something, he tended to hand over raw facts and assume the other person could process them on their own.
But Alina wasn't a field report she could just re-read.
So he chose to wait, answer only what was necessary, and check her expression every few seconds—like monitoring a dashboard indicator.
"Third," Alina looked deep into his eyes. "Be honest. Don't lie to me."
Alan went quiet for a moment, brow tightening slightly. "That depends on the question, Alina. There are things that might be... too much for you to take all at once."
"I'm not a child, Alan," Alina cut in quickly. "If you think the information is sensitive or too brutal, then say that. Let me decide whether I can handle hearing it or not."
Alan let out a long breath, then nodded in surrender. "Alright. I'll be honest."
"And if you break even one of these rules..." Alina let the sentence hang there on purpose.
"I'll accept whatever punishment you give me," Alan answered seriously. "Anything."
The tension slowly started to ease.
Alan disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, then came back carrying a tray—two glasses, one with water and the other with warm green tea. He also pulled a bag of potato chips from the bottom drawer of the side table, though he had no idea when it had ended up there.
"Snack?" he offered.
Alina took the bag cautiously, then tore it open. The sound of the plastic ripping seemed absurdly loud in the quiet room.
"Okay," she said. "Now it's your turn to answer my questions."
Alan sat down again, this time more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. "Go ahead, Detective Alina."
Alina took a sip of water, then fired the first question. "How much blood do you have to drink in a day?"
"Depends on activity," Alan answered matter-of-factly. "Normally one bottle of Gora is enough. But if I've been fighting, injured, or using too much strength, I need more."
"What happens if you don't drink it in time?"
"I get hungry. Weak," Alan said. "Same as you when you skip meals."
"Has that ever happened to you?"
"No. I always carry Gora. If things get bad, I can still hold out for three days."
Alina nodded slowly, chewing a chip while she processed the information. "What about animal blood? Can you drink that?"
Alan made a disgusted face. "It can keep you alive in an emergency, but it tastes awful. Gamey. Like you having to eat grass instead of pizza."
"As if you know what pizza tastes like."
"Observation. You guys always look ridiculously happy when you eat it."
"Are there any specific criteria? Blood type A, B, AB, O?"
"Not really. What matters is that red blood cells can be converted into energy, the same way your bodies convert nutrients."
Alina swallowed, clearly a little unsettled. "Okay. Horrifying." Then she moved to the next question. "How strong is your regeneration? Your wound closed insanely fast earlier."
"Cuts and surface wounds take seconds to minutes. Broken bones, maybe a few hours."
"Is that why you used to get into so many fights?"
"I suppose so. I never really had to think about the pain," Alan gave a small sheepish laugh.
Alina rolled her eyes as if she had finally found the missing logic.
"What if it hits your heart? Or your head?"
Alan shook his head firmly. "Those are fatal points. If the heart is destroyed or the head is severed, it's over. We're not gods."
"So vampires aren't actually immortal," Alina murmured.
"Immortal only in the sense that we don't age and we're immune to diseases, Alina. But we can still die if we're killed."
"If you don't age... tell me honestly, how old are you?"
Alan shook his head, a mischievous smile appearing.
"Alan, please answer." Alina grabbed a pillow, ready to throw it at him.
"You don't need to know. It's not important." Alan raised both hands, ready to block the attack.
"Alan, I'm serious. Tell me right now." Alina was already standing up, readying her aim.
"I..." Alan paused for a second, looking at her intently. "I'm only 75 years older than you."
"What?!" Alina gasped. "I'm dating a grandpa?!"
"I'm still considered young, Alina."
"In all that time, how many people have you dated? Admit it!"
"None, sweetheart. Vampires are only loyal to one partner."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm serious. I even had to ask Yuki for tips and read psychology books. Four years ago, my life probably wasn't this nice." Alan paused, his eyes staring off into the distance. "Before the Harrington family took me in, I was just a destructive wanderer. All I did was cause trouble, street race, and look for fights. I was a heavy-duty deadbeat who only knew how to destroy himself."
Alina fell quiet, her chips forgotten. "Then why did they help you?"
Alan answered evenly. "Mrs. Harrington felt she owed a debt of honor. My mother was the one who funded her when she was building her hospital from the ground up. To them, adopting me was their way of paying off that debt. Mr. Harrington pushed me toward college and set up this apartment so I could learn some responsibility."
Alina leaned back against the sofa, and the conversation drifted away from Alan's body and toward the world around him.
"Then why doesn't anyone realize vampires are living among humans?" she asked. "This is the modern world, Alan. There are CCTV cameras everywhere. Satellites. Drones. People go viral for breathing wrong."
Alan smiled crookedly, as though the question were painfully naive. "We have our own ways of staying below the radar."
"What ways? Magic? Mass hypnosis?"
"Something simpler and more boring. Bureaucracy and money."
Alina frowned. "Meaning?"
"We place our people—or cooperative humans—in strategic positions. Hospitals, police departments, civil records, media. If there's an incident that risks exposure, we 'clean' it up. CCTV footage gets deleted or written off as a glitch, witnesses get nudged into believing vampires are just a myth. It's an easy fix."
"Seriously? So conspiracy theories are actually real?"
"The world is just a puppet stage, Alina. If you have centuries to build wealth, you can control the narrative however you want. Working with vampires is a mutual benefit."
Alina snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. "Crazy. No wonder you're ridiculously rich."
"Of course. All vampires are smart. Long lives give us an edge in experience. When it comes to business, we already understand risk management: allocating resources, rotating capital. If a business fades because something new replaces it, we don't start from zero—we just move countries, change identities, throw in a little innovation. Easy, right?"
"Wow. Sounds amazing. You never have to hit rock bottom."
Alan gave a dry smile, like he didn't agree.
Then suddenly he went rigid.
The smile vanished. He turned his face away, one hand gripping the arm of the sofa.
"What?" Alina asked, instantly alert.
"Nothing. Keep going. Ask whatever else you want."
"Sean? Does he know you're a vampire?"
"Yes. The Smith family has worked with ours for three generations."
"In what way? Like the Gora operation?"
"No. Ocean freight logistics."
"And Sakura?"
"Yes. She knows too. The Harrington family's support is what made it possible for me to stay here. Without them, I'd still be wandering around the world."
Alina nodded, but she kept watching Alan, who had only grown tenser.
"What's wrong with you? If you're hungry, just drink something."
"No, I can still hold out."
He said that because it was technically true—he was still functional. But Alan also knew his own habits: he liked pushing limits, testing how long something could be held back. Usually that was useful. Right now it wasn't.
Alina got up, walked to the refrigerator, and returned with the bottle of specialized red blood cell formula. She set it down in front of him.
"Your mouth says you're fine, but your stomach growling says otherwise."
"No. I don't want that one."
Inside his head, Alan had already calculated the facts: Gora was safe. Gora was enough. Gora hurt no one. But the trace of Alina's blood still lingering on his tongue awakened an urge. It felt insufficient. He wanted more.
"Why not?"
"Packaged blood mixed with anticoagulants doesn't taste the same as the real thing."
"You want mine? Not happening."
"I know. Just give me time to settle down and regain control. That's enough."
His leg had started bouncing on its own. Tapping the floor in no rhythm at all.
Cold sweat gathered at his temple.
His throat had gone dry.
His vision had sharpened into something too precise.
The hunger rose like an alarm, and Alan hated the part of himself that responded this fast.
Alina was watching all of it. He could see her expression change.
It wasn't just fear anymore.
She was calculating.
"Okay," she said quietly, trying her best to look calm. She stood up and slowly walked toward him.
Alan immediately stood too. Half a step forward, then stopped himself.
Distance.
Always keep the distance.
"Alina, don't be stupid," his voice came out strained, hoarse.
"This is part of the deal, isn't it? You need it, I give it." She stopped right in front of him. Then she held out her wrist. "Drink."
The sound of her pulse was unmistakable in his ears.
His mind instantly began calculating distance, angle, pressure.
Mechanics.
Not romance.
His jaw locked.
His hands trembled.
"Alina, you don't understand—"
"Then what do you want me to do? Watch you suffer like this and sit still?" Her voice rose. "I'm not a decoration."
"But—"
"Enough. Stop making it dramatic."
His resistance collapsed.
Alan pulled Alina into him—too tightly, too fast—and regretted it in the same second. Because he knew: once he kissed her skin, once he heard her pulse, every good image he had built would collapse in the blink of an eye.
Alina opened her eyes slowly.
The first thing she did was yank back the blanket and check her body.
Red marks.
On her right leg. Her left arm. Her neck.
Her whole body ached deep in the muscle. Déjà vu. Exactly how she had felt the last time she got sick.
The wall clock read six in the morning.
She had class at ten.
Not long after, Alan came in carrying a glass of water and a small bottle.
His hair was slightly messy. His posture was still neat, but his breathing was just a little too quick—a sign he'd only just come back from outside.
"Good thing Dr. Richard was still willing to give me this antidote," Alan said, setting the bottle on the bedside table before helping Alina sit up.
"Ow... everything hurts," Alina groaned.
"I'm sorry..." Alan's voice dropped. "I really couldn't hold back."
"You're unbelievable. Seriously, you're the worst." Alina wanted to throw something at him, but her arm felt too heavy to even lift properly.
"Take the medicine first." Alan handed her a soft capsule filled with a clear reddish liquid.
Alan knew this medicine.
It was the same thing Dr. Richard had given Alina the first time she collapsed.
After taking it, she had recovered almost immediately.
Like an instant reset.
Alan pressed a soft kiss to Alina's forehead. "Wait here a little. I'll cook something for you."
Alina stared at the dim light of her phone screen beneath the blanket.
"Alan..." she said quietly, hesitant. "I was thinking about telling Marina."
Alan stopped at the end of the bed, automatically calculating the risk embedded in that one sentence.
"Telling her what?"
"All of this... all the strange things. So I'm not carrying it alone. Would that be okay?" Alina swallowed.
"What's Marina like?" he asked, calm but firm.
"Chaotic, but fun. Good-hearted."
Alan didn't like the idea.
"If she finds out, there are two possibilities: she panics and pushes you to get away from me, or she's so shocked she thinks you've lost your mind."
"But Marina's been nudging me toward you for ages."
"How?"
"Just supporting us. Supporting the relationship. Maybe because she thought I could help straighten you out."
Alan considered that. "That did work, actually."
"Exactly."
"But still... I'm sorry, Alina. Our world isn't safe to expose carelessly. So—"
"Okay. I get it," Alina said. "I want you to feel safe too. Not chased around by journalists hunting for myths."
Alan stood, and some of the tension eased from his face.
"Rest. I'll cook."
He turned toward the kitchen.
His hands moved automatically: rice measured, vegetables washed, knife meeting the cutting board. He hummed under his breath, but that was only to cover something else—his index finger was still slightly unsteady when it touched the handle of the pot.
He drew in a long breath, mentally counting through the facts one by one.
Alina was still here.
She was still willing to take the medicine.
That meant she hadn't left.
He didn't let himself celebrate the relief.
There was still too long a list running through his head: the next enemy, the history he still hadn't had time to explain, and the cold war between two factions of the night that could drag Alina into it at any moment.
He had never wanted to involve her.
Never wanted her life at risk.
But if Emerald Moon was already waiting in the dark, then at minimum Alina needed to be able to stand on her own.
That was where the hesitation snagged.
And where the guilt settled, thick in his throat.
Alan forced his face to stay calm. He stirred the broth, then poured it into bowls. The smell of cooking gradually drifted into the bedroom.
Alina forced herself up and came out. In the living room, the table was already set with dishes. Alan appeared not long after carrying a bowl of fruit salad.
"Sit," he said, pouring her a glass of water.
"You don't even eat curry rice, corn soup, or carrot stew like this... so how do you know how to make all this?" Alina sat down, staring at the spread in something like wonder.
"I used instant seasoning, then watched tutorials online. Read reviews too. Turns out it wasn't as hard as I thought," he said easily.
Alina tasted it slowly.
Alan sat across from her, chin resting on one hand as he watched every spoonful. "How is it?"
"Good. Really. It actually tastes good."
"Be honest if anything's off. I can improve it next time."
"No, this is actually good." Alina started eating more seriously. "Oh, right. I have class at ten. I should probably head back after this."
"There won't be class today," Alan said evenly.
Alina looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I've already spoken to your professor. Your class got moved to another day."
Alina immediately checked the class group chat on her phone, and sure enough, the schedule had been cleared. "How? Alan, you didn't do anything weird, did you?"
"Just some normal negotiation."
"Negotiation how? That professor is impossible. There's no way he'd just agree to move the class."
"He did today. Just rest here and recover faster."
Alina let out a long breath, then went quiet, feeding herself slowly. Alan watched her hesitant movements, but chose not to comment. He waited patiently until Alina had completely finished her meal.
"Full?" Alan asked when Alina put down her spoon.
"Yeah. Thank you."
Alan held back a satisfied smile. "You're welcome. Let me clean up."
He stood up, gathered the dirty dishes, and brought them to the kitchen sink. The sound of water running over the sponge filled the room.
As he washed them mechanically, Alan's brain automatically began calculating. Not with poetic regret, but with tactical precision.
Time to adjust the strategy.