Three weeks into his mortal life, Lucian—Luke now, he had to remember that—stood outside Roosevelt Hospital at 11 PM, staring at the employee entrance. The interview had gone well enough. Security guard, night shift, minimum wage plus benefits. The supervisor barely glanced at his fake resume before hiring him.
Apparently, nobody wanted to work overnight watching empty hospital corridors.
Luke pushed through the door and headed to the security office. His uniform waited for him—navy blue shirt and pants, both slightly too large. A plastic name badge that read "LUKE NASH" in block letters. He changed in the small locker room, catching his reflection in the mirror.
He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes, slight stubble he'd forgotten to shave. Three weeks of humanity had already changed him. His skin had more color now, flushed with actual blood flow instead of the pale marble quality vampires had. He'd lost some weight, too, his body burning through calories, as humans did.
It was fascinating and exhausting in equal measure.
"You the new guy?" A large man in his fifties entered the locker room, already dressed in a security uniform. "I'm Dave. Been working nights here for twelve years."
"Luke." They shook hands. Dave's grip was firm, his palms calloused. "First night."
"You'll be fine. Boring job, mostly. Walk the rounds every hour, check that doors are locked, make sure nobody's wandering who shouldn't be." Dave opened his locker and pulled out a thermos. "Coffee is your best friend on this shift. Hospital coffee is terrible, but the cafeteria stays open all night on the second floor."
"Thanks for the tip."
They walked together to the security office, a small room with monitors showing various hospital corridors and entrances. Dave showed Luke the route—start at the ER, work through each floor, end at the surgical wing, then back to the office. Simple enough.
"Quietest time is 2 to 4 AM," Dave explained. "That's when you can take your break. The cafeteria's empty then. Good time to eat something, clear your head." He paused. "You'll see nurses on break sometimes. Nice people, mostly. Maya from the ER usually takes her break around 3. She's a good person."
Luke filed that information away without much interest. He was here to work, not socialize. The whole point was experiencing normal human life, which meant a boring security job, not making friends.
His first round went smoothly. The hospital at night was a strange place—simultaneously busy and quiet. The ER buzzed with activity, trauma patients coming in, doctors shouting orders, nurses moving with practiced efficiency. But step into the regular wards and everything went silent. Just the beep of monitors and the occasional footsteps of night shift nurses checking patients.
Luke found it oddly peaceful. As a vampire lord, silence meant danger—plotting enemies, coming threats, something wrong. As a human security guard, silence was just... silence. Nothing sinister. Just a building full of sleeping people and tired medical staff.
He completed three rounds before his break at 2:30 AM. His legs ached—more walking than he'd done in weeks. His feet hurt in the cheap boots they'd given him. Human bodies were so frustratingly fragile.
The cafeteria was indeed nearly empty. Just a few residents in scrubs grabbing coffee, too exhausted to notice anything around them. Luke bought coffee and a sandwich, finding a table in the corner. The coffee was terrible, bitter, and burnt. The sandwich was dry and cold.
It was the best meal he'd had in fifty years.
As a vampire, food had been ashes in his mouth, completely flavorless. Now, even bad hospital food tasted like something. The coffee's bitterness was sharp on his tongue. The bread had texture. The cheese had salt. It was terrible food, but he experienced it fully, and Luke savored every bite.
"First night?"
He looked up to find a woman in blue scrubs standing nearby, holding her own coffee cup. She looked exhausted, with dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and circles under her brown eyes that suggested too many double shifts. Her name tag read "MAYA CARTER, RN."
"That obvious?" Luke asked.
"You're actually eating the food. Give it a week—you'll learn to bring your own." She gestured at the empty chair across from him. "Mind if I sit? All the other tables are sticky."
"Sure."
Maya collapsed into the chair with a heavy sigh. Up close, Luke could see the strain on her face more clearly. She wasn't just tired—she was exhausted on a bone-deep level. The kind of exhaustion that came from months or years of pushing too hard.
"Rough night?" he asked.
"Rough year." Maya sipped her coffee and made a face. "God, this is awful. Why do I keep drinking it?"
"Caffeine is caffeine?"
"True enough." She studied him with the kind of direct gaze that suggested someone used to making quick assessments. "You don't look like typical security material. Too... I don't know. Clean cut? Most of the guys Dave hires are ex-military or retired cops."
"Grad student," Luke offered the rehearsed lie. "Needed night work so I could study during the day."
"What are you studying?"
"History."
"Of course you are." Maya smiled slightly. "Let me guess—medieval Europe? Everyone studies medieval Europe."
"Renaissance Italy, actually." That part was true at least. Luke had lived through the Renaissance. "Focusing on political structures and power dynamics."
"Sounds thrilling." But she said it without mockery, just tired amusement. "Better than my undergrad degree. Nursing seemed practical at the time. Now I'm not so sure."
"Regretting it?"
"Some days." Maya stared into her coffee cup like it held answers. "Most days, really. The work is hard, the pay is terrible, and people die no matter what you do. But then occasionally you save someone, and for about five minutes, it feels worth it."
Luke recognized that tone. He'd heard it in himself for decades—the weariness of someone who'd been strong for too long without rest. It was strange hearing it from a human who couldn't be older than twenty-five. What kind of life had worn her down this much already?
"Bad case tonight?" he asked.
"Car accident. Kid, maybe seven years old." Maya's hands tightened around her cup. "Drunk driver ran a red light. The kid didn't make it. The driver walked away with scratches."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too." She took a long drink of terrible coffee. "Sorry, I shouldn't dump this on you. We literally just met."
"It's fine. Sometimes it's easier to talk to strangers."
"Is that something they teach in grad school? Philosophy of strangers?"
"Something like that."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Luke finished his sandwich. Maya nursed her coffee. Around them, the cafeteria hummed with fluorescent light and the distant sounds of a hospital at night—beeping machines, rolling gurneys, the occasional overhead page.
"This is my third night shift this week," Maya said eventually. "Picking up extra hours. Bills don't pay themselves, you know?"
"Student loans?"
"Worse. Medical debt." She laughed without humor. "Ironic, right? Nurse drowning in medical debt. My parents got sick a few years ago. Cancer for Dad, heart disease for Mom. Both gone now, but the bills keep coming."
"That's terrible."
"It's America." Maya stood, dropping her empty cup in the trash. "Anyway, welcome to Roosevelt Hospital. The coffee's bad, the hours are worse, but at least the company is occasionally decent."
"Thanks for the welcome."
She gave him a tired smile and headed back toward the ER. Luke watched her go, thinking about the weight she carried. Medical debt from dead parents. Working herself to exhaustion trying to survive. All the crushing mundane struggles of human life that he'd forgotten existed.
This was what he'd come to the surface to experience. Not just his own vulnerability, but witnessing how most humans lived—struggling, tired, doing their best anyway.
Maya Carter was more interesting than he'd expected.
Luke finished his break and resumed his rounds. The rest of the shift passed uneventfully. He saw Maya a few more times, always moving quickly through corridors with purpose, professional and competent despite her obvious exhaustion.
When his shift ended at 7 AM, Luke walked out into the morning sunlight. It hit him full in the face, warm and bright. He'd spent three hundred years in darkness, and now the sun felt like a gift every time he experienced it.
His apartment was a forty-minute walk away. Luke could have taken the subway, but he enjoyed walking. The city in early morning had its own rhythm—delivery trucks making rounds, shops opening, people heading to work. He was part of it now, just another face in the crowd.
The apartment building was exactly as Viktor described—old, slightly run-down, but clean enough. Fourth-floor walk-up. Luke's legs burned climbing the stairs, but he was getting used to it. His body was adapting to mortal limitations.
Inside, the studio was small and sparsely furnished. Bed, table, chair, kitchenette. A window overlooking a brick wall. Nothing like the luxury he'd known for centuries.
It was perfect.
Luke collapsed on the bed without bothering to undress. Sunlight streamed through the window. His body ached in a dozen places. His feet hurt. He was hungry again already, despite the sandwich.
Being human was uncomfortable and inconvenient and frustratingly limited.
He fell asleep smiling.