Chapter 50 Chapter 50

Chapter 50 Chapter 50

That night did not grant us rest right away.
I lay on the edge of the bed, my back facing Dahlia, my eyes open as I stared at the stained ceiling. Every sound from outside felt too sharp, too close. Footsteps. Laughter. The hum of passing vehicles. All of it blended with the steady rhythm of human heartbeats that reached my ears like an endless whisper.
I inhaled slowly, held my breath, then released it again. I reminded myself that I was not a hunter tonight. I was only an older sister who had to endure.
“Sis,” Dahlia’s voice came softly from behind me.
I turned immediately. “What is it?”
“I can’t sleep.”
I shifted closer to her. “Because you’re hungry.”
She nodded faintly. “And because I’m afraid of dreaming.”
“What kind of dream?”
“That I wake up and you’re not here.”
My chest tightened. I reached for her hand and held it firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
She studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for the truth there. Then her eyes slowly closed. Her breathing became steady again, though her fingers still clung to mine.
I stayed awake until just before dawn.
When the morning light finally slipped through the window, I got up. My body was tired, but my mind was even more exhausted. I washed up quickly in the small bathroom and looked at my reflection in the cracked mirror.
The face of a young human stared back at me. But my eyes carried an age and a fear that should never have lived there.
“We need a plan,” I murmured to my reflection.
That day, I returned to the eatery. The owner greeted me with a brief nod. He wasn’t a man of many words—he valued work, not stories.
“You can start now,” he said. “We’re short one server.”
I nodded. “All right.”
I worked longer that day. Carrying boxes, wiping tables, serving customers. Some people stared at me longer than felt comfortable. I lowered my gaze, avoiding eye contact, reminding myself that attention was danger.
A middle-aged man slid his empty plate toward me. “You’re not from this city.”
“No,” I replied with a faint smile.
“Your accent’s strange.”
I paused for a fraction of a second. “I move around a lot.”
He chuckled. “That explains it.”
Each passing hour felt slow and heavy. The scent of fresh blood from a small cut on one customer’s hand made my throat burn. I turned my face away, gripping the edge of the table until the wood creaked softly.
Hold on. Hold on.
When I was finally paid, I went straight to buy necessities. Bread. Instant soup. Water. A little fruit. Not much, but enough to trick our bodies into holding together.
I returned to the room in the late afternoon. Dahlia was sitting on the bed, hugging her knees. Her face brightened when she saw the grocery bag in my hands.
“Sis.”
I smiled tiredly. “I brought food.”
Her eyes lit up. “We can eat.”
“We can survive,” I corrected gently.
We ate together. Slowly. Silently. Like a small ritual that brought calm.
“Sis,” she said suddenly. “If one day I can’t hold myself back.”
I looked at her. “You’ll call me.”
“And if you’re not here?”
“I will always come back.”
She nodded, but I knew the fear hadn’t disappeared. I felt it too.
Night fell again. This time, it was quieter. I sat on the floor near the door, keeping watch. Listening. Scenting the air. Nothing suspicious.
But a city never truly sleeps.
Near midnight, noise erupted outside. Shouting. Loud laughter. The sharp stench of alcohol. Dahlia stirred restlessly on the bed.
“Sis,” she whispered. “The smell is strong.”
I stood and drew the thin curtain over the window. “Don’t look. Don’t listen.”
“I can hear their hearts.”
“I know.”
I sat beside her and held her shoulders. “Focus on me.”
She looked at me, trying. Her breathing was fast.
“Say something,” I asked softly. “Anything.”
“At the palace,” she said in broken words. “We used to sit in the garden at night. You always read those old books. I pretended to be bored, but I actually liked it.”
I smiled faintly. “You complained the whole time.”
“But I always listened.”
Her breathing gradually slowed. The scent from outside faded little by little.
“Sis,” she said again. “If someday we can’t go back.”
I swallowed. “Then we’ll build a new home.”
“In the human world.”
“Anywhere we can live without being hunted.”
She fell silent. Then she nodded.
That night, we endured without blood. Without violence. Only with exhaustion and determination.
I knew this was only the beginning. This city would keep testing us. Hunger would return. Fear would creep closer.
But for one more night, we were safe.
And that was enough to keep me standing.