Things are going well and nothing can change that... right?

Three days of sunshine, silence, and staying the hell out of the dark.

I don’t know if “settling in” is the right phrase. That makes it sound like this is something you can settle into—like a new job, or a bad relationship, or your skin after a sunburn. This is more like… suspending.

Lucius said stay inside after sunset, and I listened.

The irony is just killing me, cause just a few years ago I was almost the opposite, but now that’s my new religion. I'm a friggin' daylight worshipper now. Night-avoider. Sunset nun.

It helps that it’s summer, though. Long days, late sunsets. I kind of build my life around the golden hours—morning errands, a run before work, laundry, trying to stay sharp at the office like nothing’s changed. And in the evenings, I call Monica. She still doesn’t know anything, so I guess Ryan kept his word after all. We mostly talk about her business trip to Chicago—what else am I supposed to say? That I’m being hunted by a vampire and sleeping with one eye open? Right. So I keep it bland. Beige-wall bland.

Talking to Ryan is a different story, though. He keeps asking questions—about that night, about Ariadne and Lucius—and he even brought up that British guy from the club. I completely forgot about him. Shame I didn't ask Lucius about him.

{if Helped_Ethan = 0}

Ryan thinks he might be tied to all of this somehow. Another vampire maybe, or some human caught up in it? He did tell Monica to stay inside after dark, didn’t he? I keep wondering if that was just a weird coincidence.

{else}

I told him the guy, Ethan, spoke to me once, the night after Trevor, and warned me about her. He didn’t seem like a vampire—he looked too... flawed. Human, unlike Ariadne or Lucius. Ryan thinks he might be investigating them, or maybe even fighting them.

{endif}

I don’t know what to make of it yet, but I like that Ryan’s actually trying to piece things together. Like he’s starting to believe me, even if he won't fully say it. He also told me he broke things off with Vanessa—or so he claims. A week ago I would've called Monica the same second and cut him out of my life for good. But these aren’t normal times, and I can’t afford to be picky with who I trust. We're both kind of holding a gun to each other's head, so now there’s this weird… understanding. A mutual silence pact, stitched together with guilt and secrets.

He even said he might stop by one evening, just to keep me company. You know, so I’m not climbing the walls every night alone in my apartment.

All in all, things feel... weirdly okay.

At least during the day.

{if Darkness < 49}

Still… when the sun drops, I feel it.

This hush comes over everything—like the city itself is holding its breath.

I try to pretend it’s fine. I make tea. I scroll endlessly. I fall asleep to nature documentaries with the volume too low to follow.

But a few times I caught myself standing at the window with lights off, watching the dark creep up the building like a rising tide.

And something in me wonders what it would be like to step into it.

{else}

But the dark... it doesn't scare me anymore. It teases me. Plays just outside my reach like it knows I’m awake.

I lie there in bed, sweating and wide-eyed, feeling it coil around the edges of my mind like a silk ribbon tugging softly at a bow I didn’t know I’d tied.

It's not that I'm losing it, I don't hear any voices or that shit. No, it's like the night itself is calling me.

I want to open the balcony door and just step out.

I want to see what happens if I do.

{endif}

By day four, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m in control. That’s when Carter ruins it.

Teams icon pops up on my office computer. Message from Satan’s middle manager:

"How are you doing, Thalia? Everything ok?"

Huh. So unlike him, but I respond before thinking it through.

"Sure, everything's great, thanks for asking!"

“Awesome. We have a cocktail reception for premium clients tonight. Be ready. 6:15 pickup.”

I stare at the message for a full ten seconds like it might morph into something else. It doesn’t.

“Not possible,” I shoot back. “We agreed I don't have to work after dark.”

He types like he’s been waiting for this exact argument.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll drive. There and back. I'll pick you up at 6:15. Clients want face time. You’re the face.”

I don’t respond.

He follows up:

“Dress classy. But hot.”

“And don’t make this hard.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

My hand hovers over the keyboard. I could say no. I could fake sick, fake dead, fake pregnancy.

But the problem is—I’ve already told him everything is fine and now I've got nothing real to say.

What do I tell him? Sorry Carter, I’ve developed a severe allergy to fangs and blood loss?

A new message blinks.

"So?"

Rot in hell, Carter.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? If I go to that stupid event, I’ll be stuck there deep into the night—probably on some rooftop terrace with bad jazz, sparkling wine, and fancy finger food, surrounded by big shots pretending they own the city. It could be a career move, sure. But if I don’t go… well, Carter clearly wants me there. And he did rearrange the whole schedule just to accommodate me. I kind of owe him.

Denying him now? That might tank this job completely.

So… do I play it safe and probably lose my job?

Or risk everything?