"What are you doing here, Mikhael? This area is off-limits… for someone like you. Someone who can't even use his legs."
Harold's voice dripped with disdain as he pointed a finger at him, full of mockery.
Mikhael didn't respond right away. A faint, mocking smirk played at the corner of his lips before he returned the gaze—soft, composed, and impenetrably calm.
"Does seeing me in a wheelchair fascinate you? Funny… I'm just as fascinated to see you here, so early, in the human district—where you clearly don't belong."
A sudden flash of lightning lit up the sky outside the window, casting sharp shadows across the room. Both of them were hiding things. And both knew it.
A guard burst in, breaking the tense silence. He held a stun gun and dragged behind him a woman, restrained by an electrified collar.
"Sir, forgive the intrusion… but she was part of the resistance. We caught her sneaking in."
The woman tried to lift her head, but the guard shoved it down, forcing her to kiss the floor.
"You think filth like you gets to look at my lord?" he growled.
Harold began pacing around Mikhael, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"This doesn't cleanse your sins, Mikhael… Not after what you did tonight."
The guard raised his weapon toward Harold, but Mikhael's wheelchair rolled between them. He lifted a hand calmly.
"Let him be," Mikhael said.
Then his gaze fell on the woman. Her skin was bronze, her sun-kissed brown hair tangled and dirty. Her shoulder was bloodied and bruised. A rebel, no doubt… but more than that.
"You may leave," Mikhael told the guard.
"But sir, she's—"
"There's no need to be so rough with a mere human," Mikhael said gently. "After all… they need us, just as we need them."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small bundle—cloth-wrapped cookies and a bottle of water.
"Drink something. You must be starving," he said, offering it to her. "I can't eat them, but you can."
He ordered the guard to remove her shackles. Her wrists were torn and raw, signs of torture clear on her skin.
"What's your name?" Mikhael asked, locking eyes with her.
The woman hesitated. The air was tense, heavy with the unknown.
"…Morgana," she muttered.
"Hm… Kesha suits you better," he said with a faint smile. "Strong, beautiful… like your emerald eyes."
Something flickered in her chest—an unexpected tremor. But she clenched her jaw.
"Don't think I don't see your intentions, vampire," she whispered. "You're all the same… The sun will burn you down."
Mikhael let out a quiet, amused laugh.
"Thank you. You've made my night."
Just then, the first rays of dawn spilled through the dusty curtains. Mikhael pulled them down, letting the golden light flood in.
And he stood up.
Kesha's eyes widened.
He wasn't paralyzed at all.
The sunlight kissed his face—and nothing happened. No burns. No pain. No screams.
"Are you afraid of me now, Kesha?"
She said nothing.
But Mikhael saw it—the shift in her eyes.
The real game had just begun.