The lightbulb in the foyer was still buzzing overhead, blurring the doorway into a crack between shadow and light. The wind outside rustled off and on, like someone aggressively crumpling scrap paper. I clenched the silver necklace in my fist, the metal warm from my body heat pressing into my palm, as if I could squeeze out a few last words my mother left behind. The front door felt heavier than usual, weighed down by the night. A strange premonition coiled around me, sticking in my throat along with my father's curt "Get to bed early."
Lucien was still standing at the bottom of the steps, his slim shadow clinging to his feet like torn black fabric. He didn't look up—just paced slowly in circles, each step painfully cautious. Without the wind, he didn't look like the "aloof, mysterious, and devastatingly handsome" guy every girl at school talked about. He looked more like a lost cat that had trapped itself just outside the edge of the porch light.
"If you've got something to say, say it now." I was afraid he'd bolt faster than any cat. My voice was shaking, and I only realized it after the words were out.
Lucien lifted his face, and his eyes caught a faint glow in the half-light. His lips tightened in that familiar, irritating smirk. "I could choose not to tell you, but then you won't sleep tonight. You'll keep guessing—over and over—until 2:37 a.m."
I rolled my eyes. "Then do me a favor and save me the trouble."
He hesitated for a second, like he had to win a brief war with himself. Then, slowly, Lucien pulled something from his jacket—not a gun, not a textbook, but a poorly folded napkin. He shoved it back inside, coughing awkwardly. "Not that."
"Do you rehearse these dramatic reveals or are they spontaneous?" I said it too fast, like I was gambling with sarcasm to stay alive.
"Liv." This time, his voice dropped. "Are you really ready?"
The same courage I used as a kid to fight closet monsters came rushing up my throat. I clenched the silver pendant a little tighter and nodded. "I'm ready."
The moonlight finally stretched down to the steps, casting Lucien's face in cool, bluish tones—like frost creeping over the neighbor's pond in late spring.
"You were right," he said, calm as if reading a weather report. "I'm a vampire."
The air changed density the moment those words left his mouth. Everything normal suddenly sounded muffled, like the world had been dipped in a sedative. Only the distant bark of the neighbor's dog still reached me—barely.
I thought I'd be the kind of person to laugh it off or yell "Are you kidding me?" but instead, my brain latched onto something dumb: "So, are you allergic to garlic or just drink fake blood at Halloween?"
Lucien gave me a look like he'd just overheard the school nurse say spinal checks could be done with a cardboard tube.
"Not all the legends are true," he said, frowning. "But some of them are dangerous. Like… humans aren't supposed to know we exist."
His lips twitched, as if he was fighting off a rare and endangered sense of humor. "This isn't a cosplay party, Liv. This is life and death."
I felt a chill, strange and unfamiliar, that wrapped itself around memories of childhood nights hiding under the covers. "Why are you telling me this?"
Lucien's gaze hit a soft spot in my chest like acupuncture. "Because you're already involved. Deeper than you think."
He leaned gently against the porch railing, voice low enough for only the moon to hear: "The recent disappearances in town—someone's been digging for our secrets. And your mother—her disappearance wasn't just a disappearance."
The cold air poured over me like a bucket of water. I tried to breathe like I could rinse my lungs clean, but nothing washed away. "You knew my mom?"
Lucien's lips twitched like he wanted to say no, but in the end, he just shook his head. "I didn't know her. But I know someone's looking for what she left behind."
I gripped the silver pendant tighter, instinctively wanting to hide it. Lucien glanced at my hand. "That's not just a trinket, is it?"
"She gave it to me," I said, fingers clenching so hard my nails dug into my palm. "I thought it was just some old comfort thing—"
Lucien let out a soft laugh, but the weight in his eyes didn't lift. "You're wrong. Some things are older than all of us. Don't wear it in public anymore, Liv. You're already drawing too much attention."
I swallowed hard. "But if you vampires—sorry, I'm still processing—if you're all supposed to stay hidden, why show up in some tiny town like ours? Aren't humans—people like me—supposed to stay completely oblivious?"
He didn't answer directly. Just nodded once. "Only with approval from the Council. They decide who gets to blend in. Think immigration, but with night vision."
"Sounds very democratic," I muttered, my sarcasm bubbling up as a defense mechanism. "Do all your clans get assigned councilmen like cats get collars?"
"We're not that stupid," Lucien said with a bitter smile. "But our rules are harsher. And if anyone breaks them, the Enforcer doesn't hesitate."
"You mean… someone like Marina? The ice queen who looks like she could freeze someone with a glare?"
"Exactly." Lucien's tone turned sharp, like a blade slicing through wool. "And she's already started looking into you."
A shiver raced down my spine, and suddenly I knew what it meant to feel time split in half—one side filled with the mundane rhythm of small-town life, the other plunging into the darkness of ancient legends. And now, they were stitched together, unnaturally.
I tried to laugh, but it came out dry. "Great. My life's finally worthy of Dylan's podcast—Maple Town's Top Ten Creepiest Stories."
Lucien frowned, clearly unaccustomed to my self-deprecating style. "Liv, this isn't a joke. If the Enforcers think you're a threat, they won't let you explain."
There was real urgency in his voice now—quiet, but fragile.
A wave of helplessness washed over me. Images of my life before this mess filled my mind—Dad in the kitchen cooking overly healthy oatmeal, Dylan recording wild theories with his secondhand mic. The town had always felt like a ball of yarn Grandma knitted: messy, a little strange, with a scent of secrets that never quite faded.
"So what do you want me to do now?" I finally asked, my voice barely louder than the night itself.
Lucien's eyes gleamed in the dark. "Simple. Pretend nothing's changed. Don't dig. Don't tell Dylan. Trust no one."
He paused, tracing a line on the porch railing with his finger, as if looking for the right reason to leave behind. "But if you're ever really in danger—no matter when—" he hesitated, "tie the necklace outside your window, facing south. I'll find you."
"Are you GPS or something?" I cracked, the tension easing just a bit.
Lucien smiled like ink dissolving into moonlight, not answering. "Something like that. But I prefer the style of '80s detective shows—always showing up in the last two minutes."
A cold breeze swept up the steps, and from the shadows, a cat emerged, its fur pattern as strange as Lucien's expression.
"What made you come find me?" I asked suddenly, the question that had been needling at me all night. "You could've just ignored me—pretended we'd never met."
Lucien flinched, like I'd hit a nerve. He was quiet longer this time. "Because you're the only one who saw something weird and still cracked a joke. I… owe you."
That line messed me up more than I expected. "You don't owe me. I might just be too bored."
He blinked, masking the softness with a lighter tone. "Good thing you're not Type O. That'd be a nightmare."
"And you're sure I won't just freak out and scream my head off to the whole town?"
Lucien leaned into the shadows behind him and opened his hands. "You're Liv Chandler. Not just another ghost-fearing girl from Maple Town."
The porch light flickered again, and I saw the moment he finally let himself look tired—the supposedly heartless vampire who was said to scoff at humanity, now just a strange old soul awkwardly choking on mashed potatoes and small-town drama.
"Don't go to Dylan," Lucien added, slipping back into command mode. "He's impulsive. The more people who know, the more danger you're in."
I nodded. Somewhere deep beneath the fear, a strange shiver of anticipation stirred—the feeling of owning a secret, of a new life born from the dark, tangled with bloodlines and shadow.
"Okay." I whispered it. The night wind tangled with the lingering scent of my mother's old perfume, and suddenly I felt a little braver.
Lucien didn't say anything else. He melted into the far end of the porch like shattered black ice, leaving me caught between light and shadow.
The door clicked shut behind me, but I could still smell that too-fresh scent of despair hanging in the air.
I walked past the foyer, twisting the necklace in my fingers, smiling faintly: schoolwork and gossip had all turned into baby teeth for monsters now lurking in the dark. My dad's quiet stirring in the bedroom grounded the part of me that had curled up like a piece of candy.
Outside, the cat disappeared into the carved hedge, its long shadow merging with the fence slats.
I stood under the dim yellow light, looking at the crescent-shaped dents the silver chain had left in my skin, and realized my world had redrawn its map—and I still didn't know the path through the night.
On the steps, the wet footprints left by Lucien's shoes still shimmered faintly, like newly discovered constellations guiding me through the dark.