Oliver didn't remember opening the window.
One second he was standing in front of the mirror, staring at the faint shimmer circling his pupils…
The next, cold air drifted through the room, lifting the curtains gently as if invisible hands were brushing past them.
Night pressed against the glass.
Thick.
Heavy.
Waiting.
Oliver's breath fogged faintly, even though the room wasn't cold enough for that.
Something was wrong.
Deeply, profoundly wrong.
He backed away from the window, heartbeat loud in his ears—except it wasn't just his heartbeat anymore.
There was another rhythm.
Soft.
Steady.
Close.
Someone else was breathing in the room.
"Who's there?" Oliver whispered.
Silence answered.
Not absence-of-sound silence…
But the kind that comes right before something steps into the light.
He forced himself to stand still, every instinct screaming at him to run.
And then—
A whisper of movement.
Not behind him.
Not in front of him.
Above him.
Oliver slowly tilted his head up.
A shape clung to the ceiling—thin, pale, graceful in a way that wasn't human. Two crimson eyes glowed faintly, narrowing as they studied him. The moonlight caught the figure's outline, revealing the silhouette of a woman:
Long hair trailing like smoke.
Limbs bent at unnatural angles.
A dress that looked more like shadows than fabric.
But it wasn't her.
Not the woman who bit him.
This one was smaller.
Younger.
Sharper.
Her voice slid into the room like cold metal.
"Finally… you can see us."
Oliver stumbled backward so fast he nearly tripped over his desk.
"You— You're—"
"A mistake," the girl whispered. "Or so some believe."
She dropped from the ceiling without a sound. Landed softly, the way a feather might land on snow. Her eyes locked on Oliver's throat, and he could feel it—her hunger brushing against his skin like fingertips.
He swallowed hard.
"Stay away from me."
She tilted her head. "Why? You smell… familiar."
Her nostrils flared.
"You smell like her."
Oliver froze.
The girl's expression darkened—not fear, but irritation.
"So it's true. The noble finally chose someone."
She took one step toward him.
And then—
A second voice echoed from the corner, dripping with disdain.
"He's not ready. You're going to break him."
Oliver spun.
Another figure stood near the bookshelf—tall, with silver hair and an expression carved from stone. His eyes were gold, not red, and colder than winter.
Unlike the girl, he looked human enough… until he didn't.
The shadows behind him stretched too far.
His reflection in the mirror wavered, unfocused.
His presence felt heavy, like gravity was choosing favorites.
The girl hissed. "You're late."
"You're reckless," he replied flatly. "If the noble finds out you came here—"
"Then she should keep a better leash on her toys," the girl snapped.
They both turned toward Oliver.
He felt smaller than he ever had in his life.
"W-What do you want?" Oliver whispered.
The girl smiled—too many teeth showing. "To see what makes you important."
The silver-haired man cut in sharply. "Enough."
He stepped toward Oliver with slow, deliberate movements.
"You shouldn't even be able to stand," he murmured. "Not at this stage."
Oliver took a shaky step back until his legs hit the edge of his bed.
"What stage? What's happening to me?"
They exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations between predators.
The man folded his arms.
"You're turning."
"I know that," Oliver snapped—fear making him bold. "Into what?"
The girl grinned. "Isn't it obvious?"
Her voice dropped into a soft, deadly whisper.
"A nightborn."
The word felt heavy.
Wrong.
It vibrated in the air like something sacred or cursed.
Oliver gripped his chest. "I never asked for this."
"Few do," the man replied. "And fewer survive it."
The girl hopped onto his desk like she owned the place. "Most break on the first night."
She leaned closer, smiling sweetly.
"You didn't."
Oliver's skin crawled.
"But why me?" he asked. "Why did she—"
"The noble doesn't explain herself," the man said. "She commands. We obey."
The girl shrugged. "Or disobey. It's fun."
The man shot her a glare.
She stuck her tongue out like a child—except vampire children didn't exist.
At least, not the way humans understood them.
Oliver ran a hand through his hair, mind spinning. "So you're her… what? Servants?"
"Retainers," the man corrected.
"Strays," the girl added.
"Guardians," he insisted.
"Annoyances," she shot back.
Oliver stepped between them before they could escalate.
"Just tell me what you want with me!"
The girl blinked at him slowly.
"We're here to see if you'll live."
He felt cold all over.
"And if I don't?"
She hopped down from the desk.
"Then you die," she said simply. "Like the others."
Oliver's voice cracked. "The… others?"
"At least twelve before you," the man answered. "Strong humans. Resilient. Chosen."
"Failed," the girl added. "Very messily."
Oliver's knees went weak.
The girl approached him again, leaning in close. Her eyes glowed.
"You're interesting, though. Your scent is different. Your fear… quieter."
She inhaled near his throat, making him freeze.
"Something in you wants this."
Oliver shoved her away reflexively—harder than he expected.
She stumbled back, expression flashing from surprise to anger.
The man stepped between them instantly.
"Enough, Maren."
The girl hissed. "He pushed me."
"He reacted."
The man looked at Oliver like he was some puzzle piece that finally clicked.
"You have strength already. Too much for day one."
Oliver shook his head. "I don't want strength. I want my life back."
The man's expression softened—not kindly, but with something like pity.
"That's no longer possible."
The girl leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"You get a different life now. A darker one. A better one, if you survive."
Oliver swallowed hard.
"Why are you telling me this?"
The silver-haired man gave a faint, humorless smile.
"Because she told us to watch you."
Oliver's chest tightened. "The noble… she's coming?"
Both vampires went silent.
Then the girl whispered, almost reverently:
"She never turns someone without claiming them."
The man nodded.
"She will return for you soon."
Oliver's heartbeat sped up.
"When?"
They shared another silent glance.
The girl's smile grew wide and sharp.
"When the moon is full."
The man corrected her.
"When she decides the night is ready."
Oliver backed up until his shoulders hit the wall again. "And what am I supposed to do until then?"
The man's eyes darkened.
"Endure."
The girl stepped forward again, flicking his forehead lightly.
"And don't die."
A cold wind swept through the room.
The lights flickered.
When Oliver looked up—
They were gone.
No footsteps.
No sound.
No trace of presence.
Just the lingering echo of their voices:
"Don't die."
Oliver collapsed onto his bed, breathing hard.
The night outside seemed to press closer to the house.
Every shadow felt heavier.
Every sound sharper.
And somewhere—far away, yet impossibly close—
he felt her stir.
The noble.
The one who changed everything.
She knew where he was.
She knew what he was becoming.
And now… he wasn't alone anymore.
He was part of a world that had always existed on the other side of the dark.
A world that had just opened its doors.
Whether he was ready or not.