---
Celeste hadn't stopped thinking about the elevator.
Not the elevator itself, of course.
Miki Arata.
The name echoed in her mind like a forbidden lullaby.
That scent. That indifference. That flat voice that held not even a hint of admiration or fear.
She had gone nearly three nights without feeding — something even the oldest vampires wouldn't recommend. It wasn't hunger, exactly. It was distraction. A maddening fixation.
She tried looking Miki up in the system. No personal data beyond her being an intern in the editorial department. No social media. No digital footprint worth stalking.
"Who the hell are you?" Celeste whispered to herself, reclining on the long velvet couch in her office, the city skyline glittering behind her.
She sighed, a little dramatically. Then sat up.
---
The next day, she left her top-floor office.
Something she never did.
The editors stared when she strolled into their space unannounced, every heel click turning heads.
Celeste smiled politely. Her eyes scanned.
Miki wasn't there.
Someone from the department rose, half in panic. "Ms. Lorrain—did you need something?"
"Yes," Celeste said smoothly. "The intern. Miki."
The room froze.
"Miss Arata called in sick today," someone finally said. "She sent an email early this morning."
Celeste's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "I see."
She turned on her heel, leaving behind a sea of silent panic and confusion.
---
Back in her office, Celeste stared out at the skyline again, fingers tapping slowly.
Sick?
Or avoiding me?
Not that it mattered.
She'd see her again. Smell that blood again. Hear that disinterested voice again.
She always got what she wanted.
But this time, her want wasn't a thing.
It was a girl who looked like peace and smelled like sin.
And that terrified her more than she would ever admit.
---
That night, as she paced the quiet halls of her penthouse with a wine glass she never drank from, Celeste caught herself whispering the name under her breath.
"…Miki."