Hours had slipped away like water through her fingers. Lina barely noticed the light outside fading; only when the words on the page began to blur did she pause long enough to flick on the tall lamp beside her. Even then, it was just muscle memory; her eyes never truly left the page.
"Lina," a voice called gently, warm like a blanket. "I knew I'd find you up here. It's Wednesday, honey. I have to close at eleven-thirty."
Her head jerked up, disoriented. Mrs. Chen stood at the top of the stairs, holding her keyring loosely at her side. Lina hadn't even heard her come up. The words didn't quite sink in until she looked out the darkened window and blinked at her watch.
"It's already eleven-thirty?"
"Yes, dear. Time flies when you're potions-deep in blood magic," Mrs. Chen smiled wryly. "I have to lock up for the night."
Lina rubbed the back of her neck. It was stiff and cramped from hours of sitting curled up, unmoving. She must've gotten here around five. Six hours? No wonder her spine felt like an overcooked noodle.
"God, I didn't mean to stay that long. I completely lost track." She closed the book, finally. It let out a soft, tired creak as if protesting the pause.
"It happens." Mrs. Chen began descending the stairs slowly. "I assume I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Lina said, stretching as she stood. "I'll be here."
"Try to sign in before lunch, okay?" the librarian called over her shoulder. "You're technically supposed to be here by eight; but you're scary in the morning."
Lina let out a dry laugh. "You're too kind. I'll try to crawl in sometime after sunrise."
"I believe in you." Mrs. Chen smiled. "Where would I be without my favorite bookworm?"
"I'm your only bookworm," Lina pointed out, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"But still my favorite." She reached the bottom of the stairs and flicked off the hallway light. "Have a good night, honey."
"You too," Lina said quietly. And meant it.
As she stepped out into the night air, the sudden chill made her shiver. The library lights went off behind her, one floor at a time, like a closing curtain. The walk to her dorm took ten minutes through dim, mostly empty sidewalks; she hummed a tune she didn't recognize, something playful. Her boots echoed on the cracked concrete, and for a moment she felt light, like she had a secret worth keeping.
Then reality kicked in.
She reached her dorm door still humming, fingers fishing around in her bag for her keys when the sound hit her giggling. High-pitched. Paired with muffled cries and the unmistakable rhythm of a mattress working overtime.
Lina froze mid-hum.
"Oh, come on…"
She knocked. Loudly.
The giggling didn't stop; it just shifted tones, now underlined with soft moans and a few heavy thuds.
She gritted her teeth. "Kat! Please! Let me in!"
Still nothing but panting and rustling.
Her stomach turned. She clenched her fists and pounded harder, her voice rising. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, KAT! LET ME IN!"
Each word was a hammer, fists slamming the door like a drumbeat. Someone peeked from a doorway down the hall, then immediately closed it again.
"Yeah. Thanks, guys," she muttered under her breath.
Finally, the sounds stopped; followed by a sharp curse from inside. The door flew open.
Kat stood in the doorway like a wreck out of a bad teen drama. Her shirt, pink and unbuttoned, hung askew past her bra. Her normally sleek blonde hair was a tangled halo of chaos. Lipstick smeared. Breathless.
"What the hell do you want?" Kat snapped.
Lina blinked, deadpan.
"Just my bed," she said coolly, stepping forward.
Kat didn't move right away. Her eyes narrowed, like she was considering whether to argue or let it go. Behind her, a guy shirtless, with a smug look that made Lina's skin crawl; leaned casually against the wall near her desk. He raised his eyebrows at Lina like he was the one inconvenienced.
Kat finally stepped aside with an exaggerated sigh. "Don't break anything, drama queen."
Lina brushed past her without another word, ignoring the thick air and the musky scent of sweat and cheap cologne that hung like fog. Her half of the room was in its usual neat disarray books stacked like towers, her laptop asleep on her desk, a faded hoodie thrown over her desk chair. Everything exactly where she left it. Except now it all felt… contaminated.
She didn't bother changing. She just collapsed onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow. Her stomach twisted not from the smell or the awkwardness but from something deeper. Something sharp. The way Kat looked through her, like she was an interruption. An afterthought.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The guy coughed. "So, uh… you good to pick up where we left off?"
Lina felt her fingers curl into fists.
"No," Kat snapped. "Mood's killed."
"Oh." He didn't sound that disappointed, more annoyed at the inconvenience.
Lina's jaw tightened. She started to push past, but Kat shoved her shoulder, not hard—just enough.
"Tell you what," Kat said, eyes gleaming. "Since you don't like sharing, neither do I. Tonight, this room is mine. All of it. And you, freaky-eyed bitch, can find somewhere else to slither off to."
Lina froze. The insult burned, but what really made her stomach drop was the sound that followed; slam.
The door slammed in her face. The lock clicked. Then another. And another.
Lina stood there, hand still hovering mid-air like she hadn't accepted it yet. But she had. She always had.
The hallway around her felt too bright. Too exposed. She let her hand drop, slowly turned, and walked away without a word.
Why did she even try?
She should have known better. It always ended this way humiliation, a door in her face, and a long walk to the one place no one ever bothered her.
Kat would get away with it. Again. No one messed with a girl like that not when her family had their name carved on half the scholarships.
Counting tonight, Lina would be sleeping in the Creative Arts building for the fourth time this semester. She'd started preparing for it like a second home; kept a blanket, a pillow, even a change of clothes in her storage locker. Maybe she should just bring a mattress next.
Outside, the campus was silent. Unnaturally so.
The midnight air pressed close, thick and still. Streetlights flickered like faulty candles. Each one cast a pool of pale light, but between them was nothing but shadow long, empty stretches that swallowed noise and movement.
Lina crossed through them quickly, her boots echoing on the cracked pavement. Her usual confidence on night walks was gone, replaced with something colder.
She passed the men's dorms on her way to the art wing, head down, focused until she noticed the figure.
He stood just beyond the next pool of light, walking toward her.
Massive.
At first, she thought maybe it was a professor or someone from the gym, but as the distance closed, that theory fell apart. He was impossibly tall, with a heavy, muscular build that seemed to darken the air around him. Dressed in black from head to toe, even his hair was dark falling in long, loose waves that brushed the tops of his shoulders.
As he moved beneath the next streetlamp, silver glinted necklaces, piercings, rings, and chains that reflected the light in strange, shifting patterns. She caught sight of ink curling from his collarbone up his neck, something jagged and ancient-looking.
He didn't seem to notice her.
Or maybe he did.
Because when their eyes met; just for a second Lina stopped walking.
His gaze was cold. Sharp. Too sharp. The kind that cut through you before you could decide whether to feel afraid or fascinated.
She didn't move. Couldn't.
The word bloomed unbidden in her mind Blood.
Not in fear. Not in recognition.
In instinct.
He stepped forward again, closing the last bit of distance between them. Not fast. Not aggressive. But with the deliberate grace of someone who didn't need to run.
Lina's heart hammered, her feet rooted in place.
Then he stopped. Just a few feet from her. No smile. No expression.
"Do you live here?" he asked. His voice was deep. Smooth. Uncomfortably calm.
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
He tilted his head slightly. "You shouldn't be out here."
Lina's throat went dry. "Why?"
The man looked up toward the moon. Then back at her.
"Because things are moving tonight," he said softly. "Things that like the taste of blood."
Lina blinked up at him, her breath catching in her throat. The streetlamp above flickered once, casting his face in shadow, then light again. His features were angular, sculpted; his eyes darker than black, like staring into a locked door that didn't want to be opened.
"Excuse me?" she asked, trying to sound steady. She failed.
He didn't answer right away. Just studied her, as if she were a puzzle he hadn't quite finished solving. Then he stepped past her. Not touching her. Not even brushing her sleeve. But the air around her dropped several degrees as he moved.
She turned to watch him, half expecting him to vanish between the lights; but he didn't. He kept walking, silent as a ghost.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her backpack.
"Are you threatening me?" she called after him, louder than she meant to.
He stopped mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head back toward her.
"If I were threatening you…" he said, voice barely above a whisper, "you'd already know."
Lina's skin went cold. Every survival instinct screamed at her to turn and run. But her curiosity kept her feet locked in place.
The man looked away, continuing down the path toward the sculpture gardens that sat just beyond the art building. Then, just as he passed beneath the final streetlight, he turned his head over his shoulder one last time.
"You should go to your studio, Lina," he said, using her name like he'd known it for years.
She stood frozen as he disappeared into the shadows.
The campus was quiet again.
The silence this time didn't feel like peace. It felt like after something.
She didn't know how long she stood there before she forced her body to move. Her legs felt heavy as she walked toward the Creative Arts building, heart racing with every step.
When she finally reached the doors, she fumbled with her keycard, glancing back behind her more than once. But there was no one there. No figure. No sound. Just empty darkness and the cold stare of the full moon.
Inside, the familiar scent of paint, turpentine, and old wood hit her in a wave. She exhaled shaky, but grateful. The hallway lights buzzed softly. She made her way past the sculpture workshop, down toward the storage room she'd unofficially claimed as her crash spot.
She opened the door, stepped inside, and flicked on the lamp. The small space looked the same as always blankets on the bench, her hoodie draped over a folding chair, sketchbooks stacked near her bag.
Normal.
Safe.
She locked the door behind her.
But her eyes kept drifting toward the covered window. To the small sliver of moonlight leaking through the curtain's edge.
Something about tonight had shifted. Not just Kat. Not just being kicked out.
The man.
The way he looked at her. Like he knew something.
Like she wasn't just another student wandering around campus too late.
Lina dropped onto the bench and picked up Blood by GRAY from her bag, but her fingers didn't open the cover.
Instead, she flipped to the page she'd left folded earlier; something about night rituals and protection glyphs.
She stared at the words, not really reading them.
And then, like a whisper not meant to be heard, one line seemed to rise from the page:
They always come on the full moon. First to watch. Then to feed.