It was another turn without dawn.

  Though Lucen did not know what that meant. He had never even heard the word dawn. The closest thing he might have ever seen to one were his own eyes, intense orange, almost red, like living fire. The sky had been buried for millennia beneath clouds so toxic and dense that many beings forgot the Sun had ever existed. Or never knew of it at all. Only the Eternal Night remained.

  “Lucen?”

  The Sun… yes. That Stray human had named that ancient god, the one only they believed in.

  “Lucen?!” Iriel’s deep voice cut cleanly through the vampire’s thoughts.

  “What?”

  “What do you mean, what? You’ve been spaced out for half an hour,” the dhampir snapped, then sighed and pushed a dark strand of hair behind his ear. He always wore it like that, long and partly braided, as if he couldn’t decide between restraint and violence. “I was telling you a message came in from the Shire. Several of the captured Strays agreed to relocate there and… Seriously?” He frowned as Lucen’s gaze drifted again.

  “Sorry. I’m distracted.”

  Iriel exhaled, weary. “It’s the trial, isn’t it?” Lucen nodded. “I don’t blame you. It’s not every turn the Council decides to publicly try and execute Stray humans.” A beat. “They usually reserve that spectacle for dhampirs.”

  “But you heard that human…”

  “He was screaming. Of course I heard him.”

  “He sounded convinced.”

  “He was a Stray about to die. He was desperate, Lucen.” His patience, though vast, was thinning. “Stop circling the same thought and focus. Dharla’s message means more humans under your responsibility. Former Strays. There’s a high probability they’ll stir unrest in the Shire.”

  “Dharla sent it?” Lucen cut in, finally snapping back.

  “Yes.”

  “Ignore it. They probably assigned the Strays to her sector and she’s trying to dump them on me to lighten her load.”

  “Too late.” Iriel’s warm amber eyes remained fixed on the monitor. “The message already reached the Council. The transfer is being carried out as we speak.”

  Lucen let out a heavy breath. “Fuck.” He rose from the couch and went to his closet for a coat. “I’m heading out.”

  “I’ll handle the paperwork,” Iriel replied.

  It wasn’t every turn that Iriel chose to stay behind while Lucen left, but the vampire’s tolerance for bureaucracy was nonexistent. In situations like this, it was easier to finish the administrative rot and catch up later.

  Lucen Vaedren descended the tower and stepped into the narrow street. The metallic scent of Noctia was so common he no longer registered it as strange, just as he never bothered to look up at the swollen clouds or the floating mirrors that lit the city by reflecting the glow of bioluminescent fungi. Instead, he tilted his head down, slid a cigarette between his lips, and lit it. Strands of dark brown hair fell forward; he brushed them back, exhaling smoke tinged faintly red before heading toward the train station.

  He walked with purpose. At times like this he cursed the fact that his motorcycle was in the shop. Of course it had to break down precisely now. The train arrived quickly enough, and the ride was short, but patience had never been his strength. Sitting still, watching the landscape shift from city to open fields, grated on him. Especially knowing more humans were being assigned to a sector that could not fit another body. Not even a newborn of that species.

  He mentally cursed Dharla a hundred times, momentarily forgetting the mysterious Sun that had occupied his thoughts.

  At the end of the line, the vampires disembarking alongside him were all workers of the nearest Hemophysical Shire. He did not have far to walk, though everything since Iriel had said “Dharla” and “message” felt like sand in his veins.

  The Shire was guarded by armed vampires and surrounded by ten-meter walls. Lucen showed his identification to the guard, who knew him perfectly well, but protocol was protocol.

  “Aren’t you off duty, Vaedren?” the guard asked.

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  “Why do you think I’m wearing this face?” Lucen shot back. The guard choked on a laugh.

  “Fair enough. Go on.”

  Lucen crossed the passage through the wall and slipped on his dark glasses just in time to shield his eyes from the artificial glare that revealed a different world beyond.

  Perfect rows of houses. Smooth, geometric architecture. White stretching across nearly the entire Shire.

  Sterile.

  Frigid.

  Lucen, dressed in dark clothes like the other vampires, looked like a stain against all that white. He exhaled and made his way toward the truck intake area. He had barely gone a few steps when an elderly human hurried after him.

  “Mr. Vaedren! Mr. Vaedren, please!” the man called, slightly out of breath as he caught up. “Have you reconsidered my proposal about meeting my daughter? She could make you very happy. She’s young, very beautiful and healthy. She could satisfy you in many ways if you accepted her as your familiar.”

  “Mr. Lopez, as I’ve already told you, I’m not interested in a human lover,” Lucen replied evenly, not stopping but making an effort to remain civil. Humans like this disgusted him. Willing to barter their own children for benefits.

  “Well, I also have a son, if that’s your preference…”

  Lucen stopped so abruptly the man nearly walked into him. He turned slowly. “I told you I’m not interested.” He forced himself not to kill him where he stood. “Stop insisting, Mr. Lopez. And I’m not a Noble vampire. Offering me your children won’t earn you anything.”

  “Not a Noble? Please. House Vaedren is one of the most respected. And you have a dhampir servant.”

  The word servant sharpened Lucen’s expression. “Yes. But I don’t belong to the main branch of the Clan.”

  The man stared at him for a moment, then took a small step back. “I see…” The sycophantic tone drained from his voice, replaced with faint contempt. “You could’ve said that from the beginning. Would’ve saved us both the time.” He turned and left.

  Lucen resumed walking. That human had just added another layer of filth to an already foul turn.

  Some humans greeted him respectfully as he passed. Others even with enthusiasm. Eventually he reached the truck sector office and entered without knocking.

  “You’re late, Vaedren,” said the vampire behind the desk without lifting his eyes from the paperwork. “The truck with the Strays is already pulling in.”

  “Bhuta, don’t screw with me. You know better than anyone there’s no space left in Sector Thirteen. Who approved the transfer?”

  Bhuta sighed and finally looked up. “The Nocturnal Council. Who else?”

  “And how did the Council hear about it before we did?”

  “Kaerath,” came a female voice from behind him.

  Lucen didn’t need to turn. Dharla.

  “He always grants me that sort of favor,” she continued.

  “Of course he does. You hand out humans left and right.”

  “Careful, Lucen.” She stepped closer, chin lifted. “That almost sounds like you’re accusing me of trafficking humans. And not just me. A Noble like Kaerath. A Council operative.” She smiled thinly. “Do you really think honest workers like Mr. Bhuta would allow that?”

  Lucen bit down on his response.

  “You know my sector is full,” he said instead.

  She tilted her head slightly. “Is it? I’m told you’re maintaining quite a population of elderly humans. Their blood isn’t worth much. You should thank me. I’ve just delivered you a batch of younger ones. That will raise your salary considerably.”

  He stepped forward, invading her space. “You’re a fucking bitch.”

  “Enough!” Bhuta barked, rising to his feet. “Take it outside the walls if you want to tear each other apart. Not in my office.”

  Lucen forced himself to step back. The words burning his tongue could sink him if he let them out. He turned and left.

  A few meters down the corridor, he ran into Iriel.

  “There you are,” the dhampir said, relieved. “The truck with the Strays is coming in.”

  “How did you get here so fast?”

  “With your motorcycle. The shop called right after you left. I texted you, but when you’re pissed you never check your phone.”

  “You could’ve called.”

  “And deny you the pleasure of riding the train all the way out here? Never.”

  The Strays began filing in through the loading passage. Lucen counted them while a guard escorted them forward.

  “Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen…” He looked at the guard. “Dharla said a full lot. I expected more than twenty.”

  The guard shrugged. “Couple of troublemakers made a fuss during the transfer. My partner had to shoot, and, well… you know how it goes.”

  Lucen stared at him, not surprised but visibly irritated.

  “Come on, Vaedren, don’t start. You don’t want that many to deal with anyway. Got housing ready for them?”

  “No. We’ll handle that. You deal with the paperwork.” He turned to Iriel. “I’m going to need your help.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “I need you to clear two houses. The Gonzalezes and the Santovitos. Tell Rosaline and Gerard to assist.”

  “Only two? How many are you planning to clear yourself?” Iriel asked, suddenly uneasy.

  “One.”

  Iriel stopped, eyes widening behind his glasses. “You’re going to see Mrs. Raquel?”

  Lucen nodded without looking back. If he stopped, if he hesitated, he wouldn’t do what he had decided.

  Later, he stood before a house larger and older than the rest. He paused at the door before knocking and stepping inside without waiting.

  “Mrs. Raquel?”

  “Lucen?” came the frail voice of an old woman from the living room. She soon appeared, walking slowly toward him. “I thought you had the day off.”

  Seeing her — so fragile, so trusting — made him swallow hard. The woman understood immediately. “Don’t tell me…” She sat down heavily on the couch, looking up at him.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, dear.” She smiled softly, though her eyes were sad. “You’ve let me live many years, even let me keep my family’s home.” The vampire drew a deep breath to steady himself. “I knew this day would come sooner or later.” She looked around her house, as if reliving a thousand memories with just her eyes. “Just… make it quick, sweetheart. I don’t want to suffer.”

  Lucen stepped closer, took her hand, and stroked it with his thumb. He wanted to say something, but held it back. Then he gently released her hand, walked behind her, and placed his trembling hands on her head.

  “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Raquel…”

  And with one brutal, precise movement, he broke her neck.

  He closed his eyes tightly, holding himself together, and softly kissed the crown of the woman whose life he had just taken.

  That was Mrs. Raquel’s final turn without dawn.

  First digital edition, published in serialized format.

  ? 2026 Geli B. All rights reserved.