Xavier sat in silence, staring at the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. His hands felt numb, his limbs still heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refused to rest. The warmth of the fire flickered against his skin, but it did nothing to melt the cold that had settled in his chest.
Zander sat across from him, his arms crossed, his sharp gaze unwavering. He had always been the steady one, the dependable one, but there was something different now—a carefulness in his posture, a hesitation in his words.
Xavier clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.
"My family is dead." The words felt foreign on his tongue, spoken as if they belonged to someone else.
Zander didn't look away. "I know."
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths.
Xavier's mind burned with questions, but only one managed to escape his lips.
"Why did they burn?"
Zander exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against his arm. "Because they weren't normal."
Xavier's stomach twisted. He had known the answer before he asked. He just hadn't wanted to believe it.
His mother. His father. His siblings. The flames had consumed them instantly, their bodies vanishing in an unnatural blaze, leaving nothing behind but drifting ash. It wasn't normal. It wasn't human.
It was something else.
Xavier shook his head, his voice cracking. "That doesn't make sense. They weren't—"
"Vampires?" Zander's expression didn't change. "That's what the Elves believed."
Xavier sucked in a sharp breath.
Vampires. The word alone made his skin crawl.
He had heard the stories. Creatures that lived in the shadows, feeding on blood, cursed beings hunted by the Elves like rabid animals. The Dominion did not tolerate their kind.
And now, the Elves had accused his family of being among them.
"But they weren't," Xavier muttered, shaking his head. "They weren't vampires."
Zander didn't respond right away. His silence spoke louder than words.
A cold dread settled in Xavier's chest.
He forced himself to meet Zander's gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "Were they?"
Zander hesitated for only a second. Then he said, "It doesn't matter now."
Xavier surged to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor. "The hell it doesn't!" His voice came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't care. His entire world had been ripped apart, and now Zander was acting like none of it mattered.
Zander's expression darkened. "You don't want the truth, Xavier. Not yet."
"Then when?" His fists trembled at his sides. "When I end up dead like them?"
Zander's jaw tightened. He didn't answer.
Xavier took a shaky breath, forcing himself to sit down again. His body still ached from his escape, his limbs stiff, his head heavy. He wanted to push for more, to demand the truth, but something told him he wouldn't get it tonight.
Not yet.
Not until Zander was ready.
The fire crackled between them, the only sound in the room.
Xavier closed his eyes, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. His family was gone. The Elves had executed them as monsters, and he had barely escaped with his life.
And now, the one person he trusted was hiding something from him.
A deep unease settled in his gut. He wasn't safe.
Not from the Elves.
Not from the truth.
Not even from himself.
…The next morning, Xavier woke to the scent of fresh bread and burning firewood. The warmth of the blankets still clung to him, but as soon as his eyes opened, reality slammed into him like a blade to the chest.
His family was dead.
He sat up slowly, his muscles aching from his journey, his mind still clouded with exhaustion. The small room around him was unfamiliar, but the worn wooden walls and modest furniture told him everything he needed to know.
This was Zander's home.
A place that should have felt safe.
But it didn't.
Xavier swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His thoughts were heavy, tangled in a storm of grief and unanswered questions. He needed clarity. He needed answers.
And more than anything, he needed to know why his body still felt wrong.
Xavier found Zander in the kitchen, leaning against the table, arms crossed. A loaf of bread sat between them, a knife resting beside it.
"You should eat," Zander said without looking up.
Xavier swallowed hard. He didn't feel hungry. At least, not for food.
Something else gnawed at his insides, a strange, unfamiliar ache twisting in his stomach. It wasn't the emptiness of missing a meal—it was something deeper, something unnatural.
He ignored it.
He grabbed a piece of bread, tearing off a bite. It tasted like nothing.
Zander watched him carefully, his expression unreadable. "How do you feel?"
Xavier didn't answer right away. He didn't know how to explain it. His limbs felt heavier, his skin warmer than it should be, his chest tight. His senses felt sharper, too—he could hear the soft creak of the wooden beams above them, the faintest sound of footsteps outside, the steady heartbeat coming from the next room.
He clenched his fists. "I feel… off."
Zander's gaze didn't waver. "It's starting."
A chill ran down Xavier's spine. "What's starting?"
Zander sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, you're not who you think you are."
Xavier's stomach twisted. The strange hunger inside him coiled tighter, pulsing, demanding something he couldn't name.
He looked down at his hands. His nails looked sharper than before. His skin felt different, warmer, as if something beneath the surface was shifting.
This wasn't just grief. This wasn't just exhaustion.
Something was wrong with him.
He looked back up at Zander, his voice barely a whisper.
"What's happening to me?"
Zander exhaled, his gaze heavy with something Xavier couldn't place.
"You're changing."
The words lingered in the air, final and inescapable.
Xavier's breath came slower now, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't understand, not yet. But he knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't the same as he had been yesterday.
And soon, he wouldn't be the same at all.