Jade laid on the narrow couch in the sheriff's office, wrapped in the same scratchy gray blanket. The room was quiet, lit only by the yellow glow of a desk lamp that cast long shadows across the floor. Across from him, Alex had fallen asleep on a mountain of paperwork, head resting on a folder, his badge crooked, his shoulders sagged with exhaustion.
Jade didn't sleep. Couldn't. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't stop.
He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts rolling over each other in a frantic loop. What's happening to me? What happened to Dane? Am I turning into something else? Something like them? What is 'them'? Why me? Why now? And the thought of going back home—back to those cold walls lingered in his mind. Am I a danger?
He sat up, slowly, like the questions were dragging him upright. The blanket slipped down to his waist as he looked at his hands. They didn't look any different. No claws. But they didn't feel like his anymore either. There was something humming underneath his skin—a quiet, low current that hadn't been there before.
His eyes flicked over to Alex. Still asleep.
Jade reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card Alex had given him that night in the ambulance. He stared at it for a while. Alex had given him that card for a reason. Like Jade's suffering wasn't over yet.
Then he heard a sharp sound. A slow drag against glass. Not loud. Like something was drawing.
His eyes snapped to the window.
There, etched into the fogged pane, was a crescent moon. Carved carefully, slowly—by a clawed finger
Jade froze, heart catching in his chest. The window looked back at him with silence, but beyond the fog, something was there.
He stood. The fog was so thick outside that even the porch light didn't pierce it. But there was something about the mark—something familiar in a way he couldn't place. He glanced back at Alex. Still asleep.
Whatever pushed him next—instinct, curiosity or something deeper—he followed it.
He moved quietly to the office door, opening it slowly to avoid the creak. The hallway was empty. Dim. The night-shift receptionist was still slumped in her chair at the front, head tipped back, jacket over her shoulders, lost in sleep.
He passed through the lobby like a ghost, keeping to the edges of the wall. No one stirred.
When he stepped outside, the cold hit him like a wall. It wasn't just chilly—it was unnaturally still. The fog curled around him immediately, thick as smoke and just as suffocating. He could feel something in it. Moving.
He made his way toward the marked window.
There, in the distorted glass, he caught his own reflection.
And paused.
His eyes were glowing a bright, unnatural blue.
He didn't have time to react.
Something slammed into him from the side, hard and fast, throwing him off his feet. He hit the ground with a thud and rolled instinctively, already trying to push up, but a weight landed on top of him, pinning him to the pavement.
The figure was fast. Strong. He couldn't see a face—just a silhouette, fangs glinting between parted lips and breath steaming in the cold. Jade struggled beneath him, kicking, twisting, but the stranger held him down.
"How did you escape the forest?" the stranger asked, voice smooth and too quiet—like silk cutting through the night.
Jade gritted his teeth. "What?"
"You reek of his aura," the stranger hissed.
"Who?" Jade asked, shoving against the man's chest. "Who's he?"
The stranger froze. Something in his body language shifted. Confusion, then realization. He stared down at Jade like seeing him for the first time. And noticed his blue eyes.
"No…" he murmured. "No, no, no…" His breathing quickened, and suddenly he jerked backward, scrambling off of him.
"You're new blood."
Jade stayed on the ground, wide-eyed, heart hammering. The stranger backed away one step. Then another.
Without another word, he turned and ran—moving inhumanly fast, a blur vanishing into the fog as if the forest itself swallowed him whole.
And then the night was still again.
Jade sat up slowly, his pulse still racing, his thoughts spinning. He looked down at his hands again, as if they could tell him what just happened. But they didn't shake.
That scared him more than anything else.
⸻
He slipped back into the station through the side door. The air inside felt warmer, but only by contrast. The receptionist hadn't moved. Neither had the clock on the wall.
Back in the office, Alex was still asleep—his face turned slightly toward the lamp, his arms folded across the desk like he'd tried to keep working but passed out mid-sentence. Nothing had changed.
Jade closed the door behind him softly and crept back to the couch. He wrapped himself in the blanket, drew his knees up close, and rested his head against the armrest. His breathing was steady now, though the weight in his chest hadn't gone away.
He didn't feel safe.
But he was too tired to care.
Eventually, his eyes closed—not because sleep came easily, but because it came with the shape of a voice in his mind repeating one impossible phrase over and over:
You are new blood.
And somehow, deep down, he knew that was true.
What the hell is a new blood.