III: Bloody Civilian

Chief Laughlin approached the microphones with a heavy stride, his shoulders slouched like the weight of the grim news was weighing him down. About fifteen reporters occupied the small conference hall, their pens poised on notepads, hungry for the details. Camera flashes illuminated their expectant faces.

The room was silent, save for the clicks of cameras at intervals and the occasional cough from a reporter who couldn't keep it in. Chief Laughlin's voice resonated through the stillness, each word carried on a somber note.

 "As you know, on November 18th, 26-year-old David Tenant was murdered," he paused and silence swelled in the room. Then a collective inhale of breath echoed through the space. Gazing intensely at the audience, Laughlin's hands gripped the edges of the podium, knuckles whitening. "This was only just a week ago."

If there was one part of Cass's job she absolutely hated, it was the press conferences. The reporters always looked so shiny and perfect down in the audience that it felt like they were judging her without even trying. To make matters worse, she and some other officers, including Deputy Ndibisi, were required to stand behind the Chief while he rattled off an official statement. Being up here made her feel like she was 8 again, about to sing her only verse in the school Christmas recital; Mary's boy-child Jesus Christ had no idea what stage fright and anxiety was.

It was about 2 p.m., and she was already exhausted. David's parents had arrived at the department that morning, and having to take their statements while they were mourning broke her. It was already bad enough that she had been there when they saw the body. Mrs. Tenant's face had contorted into a teary-eyed, distraught look of pure grief. Cass still couldn't get the sound of Mrs. Tenant's howling out of her head; the haunting scream like she was watching her entire life crumble before her eyes.

David's father, on the other hand, had just stood there. Staring. Cass knew some men tried not to get too emotional in public, but the hard look in his eyes made him seem... irritated. Like he wasn't grieved to see his son's dead body lying on the mortician's table—he was disgusted.

Resisting the urge to rub at her eyelids, she kept her eyes forward, staring above the heads in the crowd while the light of the cameras burned into her skin. The drone of Laughlin's voice sliced through the somber air.

"A criminal investigation is well underway; we've already received a few helpful tips and we have a few witnesses in our custody whom we will begin interviewing soon," his voice tapered off. "Unfortunately, we cannot conclusively say when we will be able to make an arrest."

Murmurs spread all across the room. Cass swallowed down a sigh. Of course, they didn't know when they'd make an arrest; the murder had just happened. David's body was barely cold on the mortician's table.

They were having this press conference because the press took whatever footage and bits of information they'd gotten from yesterday and ran with it. Things hadn't gotten too out of hand yet, but Laughlin was in a hurry to get ahead of misinformation. In his words, all they had to do was give the press enough to use in their news segments, then say 'The investigation is still underway so we can't answer that yet' for everything else. Cass had been against it, but he was adamant.

Right on cue, one reporter stood up, recorder tilted towards the podium. "Chief," the reporter began, his loud, leveled voice telling Cass he was good at his job. "Is there any evidence to suggest foul play here? Perhaps the young man's life was ended by a jealous student who was threatened by his educational success."

Cass swallowed down a scoff. Was he asking or telling? David Tenant had been a graphic design student; she couldn't wrap her head around anyone being desperate enough to take a life over, what? Typography class benefits?

Laughlin leaned into the microphone and replied, "The investigation is still underway, so we can't answer that yet."

Murmurs erupted across the room again. Cass cast her thoughts to the witnesses she had to interview today; David's three housemates had taken the liberty to embark on the four-hour drive from their campus in Minneapolis to Havenfield for an interview. She hadn't seen them yet, she'd left the Havenfield Police Department right before they came in, but the Deputy had left an officer behind to make sure they were comfortable.

Another reporter shooting their hand up pulled her out of her reverie.

"Chief," the reporter began, voice recorder held up high, "can you say for certain that this town is safe?"

"Havenfield has been free from violent crimes of this nature for years, and we currently do not have reason to believe that others will be affected by this singular event."

Another reporter shot up. "But this isn't an isolated attack, Chief. A few weeks ago, Simon McMichael, an elderly member of this community, was also brutally murdered. Do these two deaths share some connection?"

"Uhh..." Laughlin drawled, and Cass almost winced. Showing uncertainty was blood in the water for the sharks aka reporters to hone in on. "Currently, we don't consider that possibility."

The reporter, a statuesque figure in a dark green power suit and pumps, arched a perfectly carved eyebrow, her sleek ponytail accentuating the air of composed authority she exuded. Judging by her reaction, it was clear to her as it was to everyone there, that that wasn't really an answer.

Blood in the water.

"You don't consider that possibility, but it could be a possibility," she fired back.

Cass's eyes drifted to Laughlin's hands. They were shaking.

"Due to the volatile nature of our  investigations, we're not allowed to reveal anymore than we already have," he replied, his voice lacking authority.

"So, are you saying you can't confirm the well-being of Havenfield? Should the citizens be afraid? Should we put our confidence in the authorities?" The questions came in rapid-fire. The sharp white fluorescent lights cast a clinical glow across the room and the way they fell across the reporter's face made her look like a villain ready to trap the hero. Cass could practically see the beads of sweat on Laughlin's forehead double.

"We're saying that citizens should exercise more caution while we work to catch the perpetrator," he managed to squeeze out.

"There's a murderer on the loose, Chief. You can't just expect citizens to walk around like nothing happened."

"We're not expecting that to—"

"Is it true that there are still no leads in the McMichael case? And that CCTV footage of the area revealed no hints as to who the perpetrator might be? Rumor has it that the Havenfield Police Department is faced with the same problems again. Could this possibly be the work of a serial killer?"

Murmurs erupted across the room, Laughlin opened his mouth but no sound came out. This was what Cass had been trying to avoid when she told him she was against having a press conference. Too many reporters nowadays were more concerned with garnering clicks and impressions than telling the truth, she didn't want to risk feeding their rumors instead of dispelling them. Laughlin had good intentions but the truth remained; news of a serial killer made a more sensational story.

"Uh…" Laughlin drawled, befuddled.

Cass had had enough. Without giving herself a second to think about it, she spoke up. Her voice cut through the din even without a microphone, "Two murders do not a serial killer make, Miss…"

The reporter looked at her with slight curiosity and heavy disdain. She clearly didn't like to be interrupted. "Sawyer," she said, lifelessly. "Sasha Sawyer of the Havenfield Gazette."

Cass had to hold back a chuckle. The Havenfield Gazette was small pickings. The way Sawyer carried herself, you'd have thought she was an anchor at CNN.

Chief Laughlin looked helplessly between the two of them, the pained look on his face conveying that he wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole and rest his bones. Cass knew that feeling all too well.

But she couldn't back down now.

Before he could fumble even more, she stepped forward and tapped him on the shoulder. "Let me handle it," she whispered.

She hated press conferences. She hated them even more when she had to be the one up on the podium, clenching the mic with sweaty hands while tens of people started up at her expectantly with hundreds more watching at home. Or from work. Or from school... oh God, was she being viewed in schools now?

She took in a deep breath as Laughlin stepped out of the way and exhaled slowly as she took her place at the podium. The lights bore down on her, the scrutinizing glare of each individual bulb made her legs heavy. A tiny voice in her mind told—scratch that—begged her not to somehow mess this up, not to give in to the bundle of nerves twisting in her stomach right on stage. A huge part of her wanted to run and crawl into a hole to avoid this. But she had already made it up there; she had to stay professional.

"Good afternoon," Cass's voice, though steady, reverberated over the walls of the conference halls and returned to her ears shaky. "I'm Detective Cassandra Pratt, the investigator in charge of this case." 

A hush fell over the room again. They'd probably heard about her, researched her, and that's how she knew that they knew she was good at her job. They knew she had a record of cracking cold cases. They knew that, in her entire career, there wasn't a perp she hadn't caught. And they knew that, in time, she would make this case her bitch.

The reporter's mouth opened as she prepared to fire another question, but Cass didn't give her the chance. "As we all know, this incident only took place a week ago. Since then, the Havenfield Police Department, with the gracious assistance of the Minneapolis Police Department, has been working round the clock to treat this case with the kind of attention it deserves. We cannot rush things, and we cannot jump to conclusions right at the beginning, or else we could drop the ball and no one gets caught."

A momentary pause allowed her to sweep her gaze across the room, registering the reporters' expectant faces. The click-clack of camera shutters punctuated the silence. "As I speak, the image of David's lifeless body lingers in my mind. He was a bright young man whose life was cut short in an unprecedented tragedy. What happened to him is horrible beyond words, and I'll admit that having to break the news to his family was one of the most difficult moments of my career," her voice wavered, and she took the time to swallow and breathe, forcing stability back into it again.

"We cannot allow ourselves to shake in these trying times. We only ask that the good residents of Havenfield show his family the love and support they deserve in this trying time and that they take caution to protect themselves as we do everything to protect them."

The reporter didn't seem particularly satisfied with Cassandra's response; nonetheless, she sat down. Before more hands could shoot up, Laughlin leaned into one microphone and said, "Thank you all for your time. We'll be taking no further questions."

As the reporters filed out of the room, Chief Laughlin let out a long, exhausted sigh. He caught Cass's eye and gestured for her to come over. 

"Cassie, thanks for stepping in," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "I've handled my fair share of press conferences, but this one…"

Cass nodded, noticing the lines of strain on his face. "They were out for blood. But you did fine, Chief."

He rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head slightly. "Fine isn't good enough. This case… it's different. We need to solve this, and soon. I'm counting on you, Cass."

The weight of his words pressed down on her, but she forced herself to stand a little straighter. "I won't let you down."

Exiting the spotlight should have felt like a breath of fresh air, but Cass was strung like a line pulled taut. 

As Cass stepped out of the conference room, the probing questions still echoed in her mind.

'Do these two deaths share some connection?'

'Are you saying you can't confirm the well-being of Havenfield?'

'Should the citizens be afraid?'

 She tried to shake off the tension, but it clung to her like a second skin. 

The questions from the reporters—sharp, relentless—echoed the doubts that were starting to creep into her own mind. Was Havenfield really safe? Could she catch this killer before more blood was spilled?

There was no guarantee and that frightened her even more. 

Nevertheless, one decisive thought popped into her head: if she didn't solve this case soon, she was screwed.

☼

"I need a coffee," Cass groaned as she trudged down the plain, cement and gray tiled hallways of the Havenfield PD headquarters. 

Although it was early evening, the building was bustling with activity. Officers responding to calls, riffling through files, and murmuring to each other in low tones made up the ambience. Cass had just crawled out of her office after hours of scouring through CCTV footage. 

She'd returned to the department right after the press conference, and after an hour of briefing herself on the witnesses and prepping questions, she'd interviewed David's three flatmates. 

Twenty-three-year-old Tucker Peterson, his boyfriend twenty-three-year-old Ben Jones, and the youngest, twenty-year-old Dennis Cooper had been David's flatmates since his first year in university. The four had developed a close relationship over the years in their small, three-bedroom apartment. 

The interviews had been long, grueling, and filled with lots of crying on their parts and listening on hers. It provided some insight: David's behavior over the past month was strange—he talked about people watching him, was constantly jumpy and overly anxious. Tucker mentioned that David might have started seeing someone given how he constantly went out even though he was usually a homebody. But he was secretive about it; he never mentioned a name. He left their apartment on the Saturday night before his body was found, lying about his destination and never returned. 

By the end of the last interview, Dennis provided David's phone password—sp@ghett1. 

Cass was grateful for the new insights but she couldn't make any sense of David's motive. From what she'd gathered, he had a very shaky relationship with his parents and preferred to avoid them if he could. So why did he so abruptly leave his apartment and come to the one town his roommates said he hadn't visited in up to three years? 

She couldn't figure out the killer's motive either. McMicheal had been a senile loner who had little to no contact with his family and the rest of the town, so much so that when he was gone people barely noticed. Why take the life of a societal nobody then move on to a college student with a tight knit group of friends? Serial killers usually went after a specific type; young men, blondes, brunette women. They had a class of people they were thrilled to kill. Two murders did not make a serial killer, but if they were considering the possibility of one, his motives made no sense.

Sighing, she trudged up to the reception desk. 

"Good afternoon, Detective Pratt," the familiar voice put a smile on Cass's face. She looked up at the person who'd given the greeting. Esther Daniels sat upright in her seat at the receptionist's desk, long salt-and-pepper faded blonde hair tied in a top bun and purple cat-shaped wireframe glasses perched at the tip of her bird-like nose as she typed away at the old desktop with giant statement rings adorning her fingers.

She was the oldest person in the department, having been the receptionist for as long as anyone remembered. Mrs. Daniels was one of those sweet old ladies that Cass couldn't help but love, the kind of person to slip gumdrops into your pockets and knit soft blankets for your pets; Cass knew that because Peppercorn had a really soft baby blue blanket in her bed along with a stuffed mouse she was absolutely in love with, courtesy of Esther Daniels. 

"Good afternoon, Esther," she greeted back, stopping at the table.

"You look so tired, dear," Esther said softly, a worried frown creasing her eyebrows. 

"Long day," Cass groaned, resting her head against the cool marble top of the receptionist's cubby. "Press conference, witness interviews, watching camera footage. I've been so cooped up in my office, I had to get some fresh air."

The more she thought about the things she had to do, the harder her head pounded.

"Well, just your luck," Esther said with a smile. "I just ordered coffee and donuts from that new place downtown. The delivery person should be here soon—"

Esther was still talking, but at that moment, it sounded like she was calling out to Cass from shore while she was drowning. The world seemed to slow around her, her surroundings blurred out of focus as she turned her head towards the entrance of the building, nerves drawn taut in anticipation of what she knew lay beyond the sliding glass doors. The smell of frost and death clawed at her sinuses even though she hadn't been looking for it, hadn't been breathing with the kind of focus it usually took to activate her powers. 

One powerful vampire in her town was an unfortunate coincidence but having two of them was just the universe reminding Cass that she couldn't have anything good.

The glass sliding doors opened, and fresh waves of the smell assaulted her senses. Waltzing through the sliding doors, balancing a coffee tray on a cardboard box while looking like a street fashion model in beige baggy jeans, black crop top, and cream and brown checked shirt was the vampire. It wasn't the same asshole that had pulled her out of the street a week ago—although some of his smell lingered on her.

How much blood sucker was too much blood sucker? Cass believed the answer was one and her one had already left her with a business card and thinly veiled threats of his return. She didn't need another.

Yet, 'Another' model-walked her way to the receptionist desk, emanating a carefree, enigmatic aura. Despite the load she was carrying, every step was certain, self-assured, like she didn't have to watch where she was going because she knew everyone and everything would move out of the way for her.

The vampire paused halfway to the front desk, running her fingers through her purple streaked mullet. Her eyes immediately flitted to Cass, and the corners of her lips curved into a mischievous smile, as if she knew something Cass didn't. 

For a second, the thought of turning around and walking away crossed Cass's mind. After all, she didn't have to go through the entire process of freezing out of fear in front of an apex predator again. She didn't need to go through the entire process of hoping her actions didn't cost her life again. She was a cop, goddammit, cowering in front of supernatural entities was not part of her job description. 

Then, the vampire opened her mouth and said, "Hey! If it isn't Law and Order!" And all thoughts of retreating to her office flew out of her head.

Frustration clawed at the base of her throat like a rabid dog. Her jaw automatically clenched, teeth grinding underneath the skin. Goddess, what could she do to catch a fucking break?

She shot the vampire a sharp look, and the vampire grinned and walked up to the front desk with the kind of confidence only someone untouchable would possess.

"I didn't expect to see you here," the black and purple-haired devil said, setting her boxes down on the reception desk. 

Cass swallowed hard and gave the only response that seemed appropriate in this situation, "Do I know you?"

The vampire clutched her chest in mock-hurt, a sliver of a smile peeking through her dark lipstick. "That's harsh, Detective Pratt," she replied. "But fair."

The casual name-drop rocked Cass to her core. Had Uriel looked into her background? Did he have a file on her somewhere? Surely, the fact that this vampire was delivering their coffee and donuts couldn't have been a coincidence. Surely, they'd sought her out.

"Have we met before?" she asked, glad that her voice sounded unaffected. "I don't think we have, and you somehow know my name."

The vampire turned around so she was now leaning against the receptionist's desk and shot Cass a shit-eating grin. "To be fair, Ofitser, your face was plastered all over the news this morning."

Cass's frown deepened. Sure, she'd been on the news but only one person called her 'Ofitser,' and it wasn't the Channel 5 anchor.

"I'm Lyra. I run Nightshade Sip House downtown," the vampire said, extending a hand. Cass stared down at it until she awkwardly withdrew it. "I think you've met my brother, the CEO. He mentioned you'd show us around town, but I didn't think we'd meet so soon."

"Oh! How nice of you, Cassie! The move here must have been so tedious! And I can't even imagine the stress you're going through running a business so soon! A friend in the community would be so helpful!" The sound of Esther's voice surprised Cass; she'd forgotten the woman was there. "It's just like our Cassie to be so welcoming, always lending a helping hand!"

Cass shot Lyra a look as if to say, 'So that's the story we're going with.' Lyra returned the look, her perfectly carved eyebrow curled up, carrying the rings that hung over it up with them.

Before Cass could tell Lyra to tell her brother to get his head out of his ass and leave her the fuck alone, Lyra started speaking again. 

"It was 'more than a helping hand'," she said cheekily, making air quotes with her fingers. "I think the two have the hots for each other. My brother came home smelling like her perfume."

Cass glared at the black and purple-haired vampire, and Lyra grinned back. Esther almost choked on her donut. 

"Cassie!" she erupted around the soft bun. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend!"

Cass almost choked on her saliva. "I do not!" she protested quickly.

"Oh! Is he attractive?" Esther asked, excitedly. "He's interested, Detective Pratt! You could seize the opportunity."

Cass wasn't interested. In fact, if she could go the rest of her life without ever seeing him and his crazy sister again, she would.

"I'm busy with work," she muttered.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dumb boy, dear," Esther said to her. Then to Lyra, "May I see a picture? I don't think I've ever heard of Detective Pratt here going out with anyone! This is so exciting!"

Cass watched in stunned silence as Lyra swiped around her phone and held it up to Esther's face. The older woman's smile widened to the point that it looked like her lips were about to stretch right off her face.

"Oh! He's a looker!" she squealed. "You both would make such a pretty couple! You should ask him out. Except you want to do it the old-fashioned way, in which case, wait until he asks you out. Accidentally dropping a handkerchief in front of him is a surefire way to get him—"

Cass had let the rambling go on for long enough. She raised a hand to quiet it down, "Hold up, hold up." Esther's speech immediately stumbled to a stop. "I barely know that man; I do not like that man."

"Do you barely know him or do you not like him?" Lyra asked.

Cass wanted to pull out her hair in frustration. That wasn't the point!

"But you'll show them around town, won't you?" Esther asked, hope buzzing through her voice like electricity through a live wire.

"Yeah," Lyra added with a devilish smirk. "We'd be extremely grateful if you do."

Lyra had called Uriel her brother despite there being no resemblance between them other than they were both unfairly attractive. She embodied the essence of a modern vampire—her sleek black and purple mullet fell effortlessly down her back. The silver curved barbell through her septum along with the silver stud poked in her left eyebrow added an edge to her otherwise youthful appearance. Cass had been watching the vampire, both for her own protection and because she just couldn't look away. She moved with such a confident, almost cat-like grace that, even when she was laughing and gesticulating, the movements looked like the fluid brushstrokes of a master painter.

A flash of red sparked beneath the striking blues of Lyra's eyes and, in that moment, leaned against the marble and stone receptionist's desk, grinning up at Cass with that self-righteous, know-it-all smile, Cass thought she'd never looked more like Uriel.

And the thought annoyed her further.

It was just her luck that this was what she'd been saddled with. Two weeks ago, she was trailing the prime suspect in a supermarket robbery case. Now she had a potential serial killer hiding from her and not one, but two very smug vampires gallivanting around her town. Who knew what the vampires would do when they were hungry. How they would feed.

Briefly, the image of Lyra biting down on Esther's papery jugular with a cool smirk on her face as she sucked her dry flashed through her mind.

The image sent a shiver down her spine.

"Listen... Lyra, was it?" Cass said with a sigh. After a day of relentless work, she was sure the weariness she felt was on full display. Vampires weren't famously known for being sympathetic, but perhaps Lyra could make an exception for just today. "I've got some work to catch up on, but let's talk some other time, plan that... tour I promised." 

Pulling a pen out of her pocket, she walked past Lyra—ignoring the goose pimples that prickled her flesh—and snatched a Post-It note from the stack Esther left on her desk.

She quickly scribbled down the first few digits she could conjure up and extended the paper to Lyra. "That's my number, text... or call..." Or don't. Please don't. "Or whatever."

Cass was fully prepared to make her triumphant exit after that, but Esther spoke up.

"I almost forgot!" The old woman picked up a cup of coffee from the tray on her desk and extended the box of donuts to Cass. The smell of freshly baked goods weakened her knees. In all the excitement, she'd forgotten how hungry she was. "I ordered a Ristretto for you; I know you like your coffee bitter."

Cass took the paper cup from her, pleased to find that the heat of it singed her fingers. "Thank you."

"Also, have a donut or two," Esther shook the box invitingly, her smile wide. "You've got to try them, Cassie, simply divine."

"The secret ingredient is love," Lyra quipped.

Esther laughed. Lyra laughed. Cass wanted to scream.

"Come around the shop sometime," the vampire added, tilting her head to look at Esther. "If I'm at the counter, I might just accidentally drop an extra bun in the bag for you."

Esther pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes becoming big and watery. "Bless your heart."

Cass almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Did Lyra even have a heart? She concentrated on listening to the sounds around her—officers arguing about a football game, the copy machine buzzing, the sound of Esther's soft breathing amplified in her ears, her own heartbeat—and yup, no heartbeat from Lyra.

The vampire gave her a skeptical look, and Cass shook her head. She was done here.

Plucking two donuts out of the box, she turned around and started making her way down the hallway. She could feel Lyra's gaze on her, laser-focused and burning a hole through the back of her skull, but Cass didn't even dare turn around.

She wasn't even halfway to the end of the hall before someone grabbed her arm.

No, not someone. It was Lyra, the way every individual hair on the back of her neck rose up was a dead giveaway.

Cass whipped around just in time to be pulled into a tight but careful hug. Tight, in the sense that she was literally trapped. Careful, in the sense that, in all the movements it took for Lyra to grab her, her coffee cup remained in her left hand, undisturbed.

The biting cold of Lyra's skin seeped through Cass's jacket, chilling her to the bone. The pressure of Lyra's grip on her arm tightened with each second, and Cass could feel her ribs compressing under the vampire's embrace, her breath hitching in her throat.

Cass's vision blurred slightly as panic set in, a sharp ringing filling her ears. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst, each beat a painful reminder of just how fragile she was in the vampire's grasp.

Lyra's cheek brushed against hers, unnervingly soft despite the cold, and Cass fought to keep from trembling.

"Lone wolf, all alone in the big city," Lyra whispered softly into her ear. "No houses to blow down?"

 Cass's voice was barely a whisper when she managed to stutter, "Screw you."

She looked around frantically for help. Two officers were coming down the corridor. She opened her mouth and... no sound came out. The scream caught in her throat, choking her. She coughed. The men walked past, their footsteps fading into the distance. They didn't even glance in her direction; and why would they? Pressed against Lyra's chest, they looked like two best friends enjoying a heartfelt reunion and not prey trapped in the claws of a predator.

"Your heart is beating so fast," Lyra said with a dark chuckle. "You scare easily. I wonder why my brother didn't get rid of your pathetic ass."

"Screw you," Cass managed to stutter.

"You wish," Lyra replied with a dark chuckle. Then her voice became devoid of all humor. "I'm not as merciful as Uriel, Ofitser. He finds you fascinating, I think you're a loose end that needs to be cut off." Her eyes narrowed, her playful demeanor evaporating as she leaned in closer. "I won't hesitate to snap your fucking neck if you step out of line."

Cass's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her ears. But just as quickly, Lyra's expression shifted back to a grin, the playful gleam returning to her eyes. "But hey, no hard feelings, right? We're all just trying to have a little fun."

The sudden change in tone left Cass reeling, unsure if she should be more terrified or enraged.

"Well then," Lyra said, turning around on the ball of her feet. "See you later!"

Cass watched as she strode down the hallway, called a hearty goodbye to Esther, and walked out the automatic sliding doors. Before the doors could shut,  Lyra paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "Oh, and Ofitser… next time, don't bring a gun to a fang fight."

The words hung in the air long after the vampire had disappeared. Cass's grip tightened around the cold coffee cup, her knuckles turning white. Her heart was racing frantically in her chest, her breathing shallow from the encounter.

She didn't start moving until the clacking of Esther typing away at her keyboard pulled her out of the trance Lyra had put her in. Then she walked slowly, mechanically, to her office, cold coffee and donuts she no longer had the appetite to eat in hand.

It was only after she shut the door of her small office behind her that she realized her hands were still shaking, the ghost of Lyra's touch lingering on her skin like frostbite.

Closing her eyes, Cass tried to steady her breathing. She crossed the room to the small mirror on the wall and stared at her reflection. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with lingering fear. How had she let it happen again? How had she let another vampire see through her defenses so easily?

Well, those questions were easy to answer; she recognised, by nature, that they were more powerful than she could possibly imagine. She wasn't wired to fight against that and she'd lived among humans for so long that she'd forgotten how dog eat dog the world of supernaturals was. 

She wasn't equipped enough to handle the threat that was the Serpov Siblings.

The reflection staring back at her looked like a stranger—someone caught between the confident detective she had always been and the frightened prey the vampires seemed to see her as. She could almost hear Lyra's mocking laugh, the cold whisper of her threat still echoing in her ears.

"Get it together," she whispered to herself, clenching her fists. But the doubt gnawed at her, a relentless voice in the back of her mind questioning whether she was truly ready for the battle ahead. What if she wasn't enough? What if the next time she faced one of them, there was no one to step in, no excuse to retreat?

She tore her gaze away from the mirror, focusing instead on the task at hand. She had a killer to catch. And maybe—just maybe—doing that would remind her of who she really was.