Stel bounced into the living room, her face beaming with excitement.

  "Alright, I’m off! You sure you’re okay? Mom's going to be upset if you don't let me at least help you out with the whole doctor’s appointment thing."

  She reached out to give Hazel a quick, half-hearted hug, not quite sure whether to make it an enthusiastic squeeze or a lingering gesture.

  Hazel stood at the kitchen counter, a cold elegance to her movements as she carefully arranged her bag, her fingers lingering over the strap as she slid her phone into the pocket.

  The scent of freshly brewed coffee still hung in the air, a lingering comfort amidst the soft, muted morning light.

  Stel watched her for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her face, but she pushed it away with a shake of her head.

  Hazel smiled faintly, though it never quite reached her eyes.

  "I’ll be fine, Stel. I’m sure I’ll get through a routine check-up without you hovering."

  Her voice, smooth and careful, had the usual softness, but there was a chilling undertone to it now, something distant and predatory that Stel couldn’t quite pce.

  Hazel turned away from her, moving with an elegant grace that made the air around her feel heavy.

  "You’re the one who should be more worried about your own health, anyway," she added, as if the weight of their roles had shifted ever so slightly.

  Stel, with a pyful roll of her eyes, grabbed the strap of her backpack and pulled it over her shoulder.

  "I know, I know. I just—"

  She stopped herself, her eyes lingering on Hazel's back as she turned toward the door.

  "You just… make it look so easy."

  Hazel didn’t reply. Instead, she stepped toward the door, her hand grazing the doorknob, before she turned back, her amber gaze flickering toward her sister, who was now standing near the entrance, unsure of whether to say more.

  The air between them had shifted, subtle but real, and it wasn’t lost on either of them.

  "Take care of yourself, okay?"

  Hazel said softly, though there was something in her eyes that made the words feel almost like an afterthought.

  "I’ll be fine."

  The door clicked shut behind Stel, and Hazel stood still for a moment longer, her gaze settling on the empty space where her sister had just been.

  Then, she took a slow breath, the change in her senses kicking in as her skin prickled with awareness. It was time for the next step.

  Hazel stood in front of her closet, her gaze lingering over the clothes hanging neatly inside. Her fingers drifted over the fabric of each garment as if measuring them, calcuting what felt right for the day.

  The subtle hum of the house faded into the background, leaving only the sound of her breathing, deep and measured, as she selected a sleek bck blouse, the soft fabric gliding between her fingers.

  She chose a pair of tailored trousers next, their crisp lines emphasizing her lithe frame, and slipped them on with practiced ease.

  Her reflection in the full-length mirror caught her attention as she buttoned up her blouse. The dark hue of her hair seemed to devour the light as it framed her face, and the smooth, almost porcein quality of her skin contrasted with the darkness of her clothing.

  The transformation still felt like an alien thing at times, but it was becoming more natural—her body, once unfamiliar and strange, now felt more like her own.

  Hazel tilted her head slightly, inspecting the faint shadows beneath her eyes and the soft lines that had appeared on her face.

  She had to admit, the changes were stunning. A mixture of beauty and something more—something predatory that tugged at the edges of her awareness, a quiet hunger that was always present now, just below the surface.

  She moved to the vanity and applied a light yer of makeup, her hands steady as she worked. She accentuated the amber-gold of her eyes, the shade of her skin now too fwless to hide behind anything too heavy.

  A touch of lipstick—subtle, but enough to accentuate the fullness of her lips—finished the look. She barely recognized herself anymore, but in some ways, it felt more like she had become who she was always meant to be.

  The reflection staring back at her was undeniably beautiful, an allure wrapped in icy composure. Yet, even as she examined herself, there was a part of her that remained untouchable, detached, as if still unfamiliar with the depths of what she had become.

  A soft scent of jasmine and vanil lingered around her as she reached for her jacket, draping it effortlessly over her shoulders.

  The fragrance, a mix of her own natural scent and the subtle touches of perfume she had taken to wearing, made the air feel thicker, like a soft invitation.

  It was calming, almost soothing. The vampire’s presence—her presence—was something that left an impression, even if it was subtle.

  She ran a hand through her hair, fingers combing through the strands with a fluid grace, and took one st look in the mirror. The woman staring back at her felt like a stranger, yet familiar in a way that unsettled her.

  Finally, Hazel grabbed her bag, its weight comforting against her side. She paused for just a moment, inhaling the stillness of the room. The day ahead would be a mere formality, a step she had to take.

  With a breath, Hazel left the room, stepping into the quiet of the house, her steps deliberate, almost predatory. Every movement, every action today, would be calcuted.

  She was no longer the person she used to be. The transformation had made sure of that. And yet, the hardest part of it all was the waiting. The slow, inevitable changes that felt so out of her control. But she would adapt. She always did.

  The te morning sun bathed the streets in a thin, golden haze as Hazel stepped off the curb, her heels tapping a measured rhythm against the pavement.

  The city moved around her—rushed footsteps, the hiss of buses braking, idle conversation spilling from café patios—but wherever she walked, the noise seemed to dull. A subtle ripple followed her, as if the air bent slightly around her presence. People noticed, even if they didn’t understand why.

  A man holding a coffee cup did a double take as she passed by, almost spilling it on himself. A pair of teenagers hushed mid-conversation, eyes trailing her with a mixture of admiration and unease. Hazel didn’t look at any of them. She didn’t need to. Their awareness clung to her like static.

  She walked with the kind of grace that couldn’t be taught—shoulders back, spine straight, every step smooth and deliberate. Her long bck coat flowed with her movements, framing her like something carved out of shadow and silk.

  The scent that followed her—soft jasmine, vanil, and something unpceably magnetic—lingered in her wake, turning heads for reasons no one could name.

  Hazel passed by her reflection in a shop window and paused only briefly. The woman in the gss stared back with amber-gold eyes that caught the light like molten metal, her expression unreadable. There was still something distant in the way she held herself—an elegance that felt just a breath away from unnatural.

  By the time she stepped into the clinic’s gss doors, the front desk nurse was already gncing up, lips parting slightly in surprise. Hazel offered a polite, practiced smile as she approached, her voice low and smooth.

  "I’m here for my eight-thirty."

  Even her tone seemed to momentarily hush the room.

  The clinic smelled of antiseptic and synthetic vender—an attempt at comfort that Hazel found almost offensive. She took her seat in the waiting room with quiet poise, legs crossed, hands folded gently in her p.

  A toddler peeked over the back of a nearby chair, his wide eyes fixed on her, before his mother gently turned him away with an apologetic smile. Hazel gave a faint nod, gracious, detached.

  "Hazel Everleigh?"

  Hazel stood, adjusting the colr of her coat with a graceful motion before approaching the nurse. The woman was in her early thirties, efficient-looking, but her eyes flicked upward as Hazel neared—more than recognition, it was caution thinly veiled behind professionalism.

  "Follow me, please," the nurse said, clipboard clutched just a little tighter than necessary. Hazel walked beside her in silence, every step measured, her presence making the corridor feel narrower than it was.

  They entered the exam room. Bright, sterile. Calm.

  "If you’ll just sit here," the nurse said, gesturing to the padded table. Hazel complied.

  "Pulse and temperature first."

  The cuff tightened around Hazel’s arm. A beat. Then another. The machine beeped faintly—sluggish, confused. The nurse gnced down.

  A long pause.

  "Heart rate… five beats per minute," she said softly. Not shocked. Not confused. Just… noting it.

  Hazel tilted her head. "You knew before I walked in, didn’t you?"

  The nurse offered a careful nod. "You’re fgged in the system. Confidential markers. We don’t publish them in your official file, but… we’re trained now. To watch for signs. Document changes."

  Hazel’s amber eyes narrowed slightly, unreadable. "And?"

  "Temperature: 91.8. Skin oxygenation: altered. Resting pulse: nearly undetectable to most tools. But you appear lucid, coherent. No signs of distress."

  "I’m not in distress," Hazel replied evenly. "Though you might be."

  A flicker of something—fear, maybe—crossed the nurse’s face before she forced a smile. "It’s protocol. Nothing personal. We just… observe. The virus is still new. We don’t fully understand what people like you are becoming."

  Hazel uncrossed her legs and stood in a single, fluid motion. "Neither do I," she murmured. "But I promise—I’m still trying to be polite."

  The nurse didn’t respond. And Hazel didn’t wait for permission to leave the room. The hallway was quieter on the way out.

  Hazel’s heels struck the floor with soft, deliberate rhythm, but the sound barely registered beneath the weight of her thoughts.

  Outside, the city still moved at its usual, indifferent pace—cars humming past, strangers talking too loud on their phones, the smell of fresh coffee and asphalt hanging in the air.

  She paused just beyond the gss doors, her eyes scanning the street without really seeing it.

  Five beats per minute.

  Her heart still beat. Technically. But somehow that made it worse—this lingering illusion of humanity. As if her body refused to fully let go of the lie.

  She pulled her coat tighter around herself, more for the gesture than the warmth. The nurse’s words stuck with her. "We don’t fully understand what people like you are becoming."

  Neither did she.

  Two weeks ago, she had been someone else. A man, a brother, a son. Now she was a silence wrapped in silk, a shape that turned heads without trying.

  She had learned how to smile again, how to cook breakfast, how to sit at the table without staring too long at a pulsing vein.

  But the worst part wasn't the hunger—it was the effort of pretending she still needed to breathe.

  Hazel started walking.

  People made room for her without knowing why.

  She didn’t know when the changes would cease. But she knew one thing, at least:

  She wasn’t human. Not anymore.