Wolfgang caught sight of Lucy making her way to the seats.

  "Lucy!" He called out softly, weaving through a group of people.

  His voice was low, but it carried a sense of urgency. She halted mid-stride, furrowing her brows as she turned to face him.

  "Wolfgang? What's going on?" She asked, her worry evident. "Are you alright?"

  Leaning closer, he scanned the room with the intensity of a cornered animal. Lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, he said:

  "These people are insane, Luce. We need to get out of here. Like, now."

  "What are you talking about?" She pressed, a look of confusion creeping in. "What happened?"

  He took a moment, clenching his jaw as he wrestled with the right words.

  "It's about Holly," he finally admitted, his tone shaky.

  "She's... different. The way she talks about Vance—it's like he's some kind of God. And when she told me how he found Alan? Like it was all meant to be. This place—it feels off."

  Lucy's expression shifted as her gaze wandered to the crowd. A flicker of guilt passed over her features, subtle but impossible to miss.

  "Wolfgang," she started cautiously, "there's something you need to know."

  He frowned, his voice sharp. "What's up?"

  She swallowed hard, her voice lowering to almost a whisper.

  "The reason Karen and I were at Seneca Station... it wasn't just about the ghouls. The Family—they've been terrorizing Arefu. That's my home. And..." Her voice trembled slightly.

  "I think they took my brother, Ian."

  Wolfgang froze, disbelief washing over him.

  "WHAT?!"

  The word sounded louder than he intended, reverberating in the strained silence around them.

  Instantly, the whispers faded. Dozens of eyes pinned them with a weight that felt suffocating. Above them, on the raised platform, Vance stood still, his intense gaze locked onto Wolfgang and Lucy, radiating a quiet yet unsettling energy. A woman with dark skin stood confidently beside him, her eyes darting between Lucy and Wolfgang, akin to a hawk assessing its prey. The subtle lines on her face suggested a lifetime of wisdom, and her presence was both commanding and mysterious.

  Vance raised his hand, his voice calm yet firm, exuding an authority that demanded attention.

  "We await," he said, gesturing gracefully toward the seating area, his tone smooth and purposeful.

  Lucy glanced at Wolfgang, her face pale but determined.

  "Please," she whispered, locking her eyes with his in a silent, urgent plea.

  Wolfgang's gaze fell to the ground, frustration clashing with a reluctant understanding. He clenched his fists at his sides, and, after a brief pause, he let out a sharp breath and nodded, his voice low and resigned.

  "Yeah. Sure."

  "Thank you," Lucy replied softly, her sincerity striking a fragile chord between them.

  Without another word, she headed toward the seating area, her steps steady despite the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Wolfgang lingered for a moment, his thoughts a tangled mix of mistrust and doubt.

  "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath, barely audible, before following her, his posture tense as he scanned the shadowed crowd.

  Lucy sat down beside Holly, who welcomed her with a faint, serene smile. Wolfgang plopped down heavily beside her, his body rigid with discomfort. His eyes roamed the crowd, catching every subtle movement and every whispered word. Given the stifling silence that pervaded the space, the passing seconds seemed to drag on forever. Lucy scanned the room, noticing the strange, almost reverent stillness that had settled over the gathering, as if they were awaiting a divine revelation.

  Then she spotted him.

  It was just a fleeting moment—a man seated near the center of the crowd. He turned toward the platform, revealing a brief glimpse of his face before he shifted again, leaving only the back of his head visible. But that single moment was enough. There was no mistaking the strong line of his jaw and the unmistakable set of his shoulders.

  William Mitchell.

  Lucy felt her heart drop, a tight knot twisting in her stomach. The name echoed in her mind like a ringing bell, pulling up memories she thought she'd forgotten: bright, sunny days in Arefu filled with laughter as she, Ian, and William raced through the narrow streets of the settlement. William was often nearby, his calming presence making her feel safe, especially when her dad, Davis, was busy with his work. A plethora of questions flooded her mind.

  What was he doing here? How did he even get here? Why was he involved in this? Why hadn't he gone back to Arefu? Was this whole nightmare somehow connected to him?

  Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the flood of memories away, but her gaze inevitably returned to him, searching for answers in the curve of his shoulders or the tension in his posture. Yet, he didn't look back, his focus fixed ahead. Taking a shaky breath, Lucy forced herself to look away, hands trembling slightly in her lap. She couldn't allow herself to become distracted—not at this moment.

  From the platform above, Vance stepped forward, commanding attention with his presence. He exuded an aura of otherworldly dominance as the sharp shadows formed by the dark, flickering lantern light emphasized his chiseled features. Every move he made was deliberate, each gesture filled with purpose. Beside him stood a woman—poised and composed, her dark eyes scanning the crowd with a penetrating gaze that seemed to peel away layers of pretense, revealing the true nature of those gathered. In stark contrast to the almost imperceptible buzz of expectation that swept the room, her silence exuded a subtle but powerful intensity.

  Lucy felt a shiver run down her spine as Vance's voice resounded throughout the station, carrying an air of effortless talent.

  "Welcome, my Family. And to our guests—his intense gaze flicked briefly to Lucy and Wolfgang—a special welcome. It's not every day we get new faces."

  He gestured toward the woman standing next to him.

  "In light of this occasion, let me introduce Anne, my trusted partner and second-in-command. Anne has been by my side since the very start."

  His tone softened, almost reverently.

  "She's not just a teacher of our ways; she embodies what it means to truly embrace who we are."

  Anne gracefully inclined her head, her expression calm yet authoritative. There was a flicker of pride in her sharp, dark eyes as whispers swirled through the crowd. Some people glanced at her with a mix of awe, while others cast quick, nervous looks, as if they were students trying not to disappoint their teacher. Vance's voice shifted into a lighter, almost playful register.

  "Now, I know your time is valuable, and I bet you're ready to get back to your routines. Today, my dear Family, you're in for a treat. I'll keep this brief."

  A faint ripple of subdued laughter passed through the room—uneasy and quick. Wolfgang shifted awkwardly, his gaze flitting around the assembled members. Suddenly, the humor disappeared from Vance's face, and a profound solemnity descended upon the room. He took a measured step forward, his voice dropping to a grave tone.

  "But we must, as always, respect our Laws. They aren't just suggestions—they're the very foundation of our existence. Without them, we become savages."

  Carefully, he raised a hand, as if performing some ancient ritual. The Family moved as one, standing together in unison, their expressions serious and focused. The atmosphere thickened, charged with a reverence that bordered on fanaticism. Wolfgang's breath was caught as the weight of their collective action enveloped him like a shroud.

  It was clear now: this wasn't just a community. This was a cult.

  Vance's voice rang out, strong and unwavering. "The First Law..."

  "Feast not on the flesh; consume only the blood. This is our strength."

  The Family chanted together, their voices echoing eerily off the tunnel walls:

  Anne stepped forward, her tone steady and commanding.

  "We do not eat the flesh of those we kill for sustenance. We drink only of their blood, leaving the body intact. Eating flesh is filthy—unclean. It's what makes humans see us as beasts. But we are not animals. We are The Family."

  Vance nodded, scanning the gathered members. "The Second Law..."

  Once again, the group's chant rose, chilling in its practiced rhythm:

  "Bear not the child; welcome only the exile. This is our fate."

  Anne's voice softened, taking on an introspective tone.

  "Because we carry the stain of our past within us, we must not pass it on to children who would continue the cycle of our misdeeds. The Family must flourish by embracing those cast out by the Wasteland—those like us. This is our destiny."

  Lucy squirmed uneasily in her seat, her chest burdened by the words. At her side, Wolfgang's jaw clenched as he repressed the pent-up frustration. Vance threw them a brief glance but moved on without pause.

  "The Third Law..."

  The chant came again, firm and united:

  "Feed not for pleasure; partake only to nourish. This is our dignity."

  Anne's tone sharpened, each word piercing the air like a blade.

  "We kill only when driven by hunger or when we must defend ourselves. We do not hunt for sport or pleasure, and we do not prey on children. They are not yet tainted by the world's perceptions of us. The Family will not stand for murder born of indulgence."

  Wolfgang leaned toward Lucy, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah, sounds real noble..."

  Lucy shot him a warning, her eyes flickering nervously toward Anne, who remained still but vigilant.

  Vance raised his voice, commanding everyone's attention once again.

  "The Fourth Law..."

  The Family's chant took on a melodic, almost hypnotic quality:

  "Seek not the sun's light; embrace only the shadows. This is our refuge."

  Anne's tone shifted, touched by a strange melancholy.

  "We are creatures of the night. Daylight isn't ours to claim. Under the moon's gaze, we walk unseen, our steps silent. But as the sun rises, we retreat into the shadows, seeking shelter from its brilliance. The Family belongs to the dark—it is our sanctuary."

  Vance took a step forward, lowering his voice to attract everyone's attention.

  "And above all... The Fifth Law..."

  The Family's chant grew louder, filled with fervent conviction:

  "Kill not our kindred; slay only the enemy. This is our justice."

  Anne's voice turned grave, her words measured.

  "Above all else, no member of The Family shall kill another. Only the current head of The Family has the authority to pass judgment on such matters. Anyone who breaks this law faces exile, cast into the Wasteland as the worst of wrongdoers. To destroy one another is to destroy ourselves. Our numbers are few, and division leads to extinction."

  A heavy silence fell over them, the weight of their words thick in the air like a suffocating fog. Lucy clenched her fists in her lap, nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to break the stillness. Beside her, Wolfgang sat rigid, discomfort etched across his face.

  Vance spread his arms wide again, his voice ringing out with a sense of finality.

  "And so, we remind ourselves of who we are and what we believe in. These Laws aren't just guidelines, my Family—they're the core of our existence. With them, we elevate ourselves above the chaos of the Wasteland and become something much greater."

  He stepped back, scanning the crowd before his gaze fixed on Lucy and Wolfgang. There was an odd warmth in his eyes, a blend of affection and scrutiny that felt almost overwhelming.

  "Now," he continued, his voice softening.

  "Let's celebrate what we've built together. Eat, drink, and find comfort among your loved ones."

  The room began to stir as Vance's words settled into a quiet hush. The solemnity that had held everyone captive melted into murmurs of conversation. People turned to each other, their faces calm but their movements buzzing with a tension that hinted things could go south at any moment. Lucy and Wolfgang stayed in their seats, feeling the weight of the ritual they'd just experienced pressing down on them. Lucy's hands rested in her lap, her fingers idly curling and uncurling, while Wolfgang sat rigidly beside her, tapping his foot in a restless rhythm against the floor. His eyes flicked around the room, surveying faces and shadows with the wary alertness of a trapped animal. Leaning in closer to Lucy, he whispered just above a breath.

  "See? I freakin' told you, man. They're fucked."

  Lucy stayed silent, her attention locked on the man bowing his head, quietly conversing with someone else.

  William Mitchell.

  Her father's loyal friend, the guy who always looked after her and Ian whenever Davis was swamped with work. His rich voice resonated through the settlement, either shouting out warnings or chuckling affectionately at the antics of the local kids.

  What on earth is he doing here?

  That thought hung heavy in her mind, sharp and pressing, pulling her into a whirlwind of disbelief and fear.

  Wolfgang noticed her lack of response, his brow knitting together as he shifted his gaze between her and the crowd. His discomfort grew, spilling into his words.

  "I mean, vampires? You gotta be fucking kidding me, right?"

  Lucy remained silent, her gaze fixed on William. Her hands gripped her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned pale as she struggled to piece together this impossible situation.

  Wolfgang huffed, leaning back and muttering under his breath.

  "Crazy people. It's always crazy people..."

  "Not now," she whispered, her tone low yet firm, cutting through his rambling.

  "What?" He shot back, his voice rising slightly—too loud for her liking.

  She briefly shut her eyes, taking a shaky breath to regain her composure.

  Ian. Focus on Ian.

  When she opened her eyes, she glared at Wolfgang sharply.

  "Not here," she hissed, motioning towards the other members scattered around them.

  Wolfgang's shoulders drooped, some of the tension easing as he nodded. He glanced back at the crowd before falling silent, though his fidgeting gave away his unease.

  Lucy kept her eyes locked on William as he stood. He walked toward the back of the station, fading into the shadows. Without thinking, she shot up from her chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor.

  Wolfgang glanced up at her, concern flickering in his eyes.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, lowering his voice but still sounding worried.

  Leaning closer, Lucy whispered, "Stay here, okay? I need to find my brother."

  His expression shifted, worry etched across his face. "Are you sure about this?"

  Lucy's voice was steady, her determination unwavering.

  "I don't have a choice. These nutjobs don't matter—I need to find Ian. And right now, everyone's here. It's now or never."

  He hesitated, scanning the room with a wary expression. Finally, he nodded.

  "Alright... But just be careful."

  Lucy didn't respond. She slipped away, her footsteps light and purposeful as she disappeared into the dim corridors of the station. Left behind, Wolfgang let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair while muttering to himself.

  "Oh man... This is such a bad idea..."

  Lucy stepped into the bathroom, the soft hum of the station's activity fading behind her and giving way to the sterile silence that enveloped the enclosed space. Before she could fully register her surroundings, an arm shot out from the shadows, grabbing her and yanking her back. A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the startled gasp that escaped her lips. Her wide, startled eyes met his—pale, desperate features mirroring her shock. For a tense moment, their gazes locked, and the silence between them felt almost suffocating. Slowly, the hand released her, and William stepped back.

  Lucy shoved his shoulder roughly, her voice laced with anger and confusion.

  "What the fuck, William?" She spat, her voice trembling.

  "I know. I know," he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

  "I didn't want to be here. I didn't have a choice."

  Her eyes narrowed, the initial shock quickly giving way to anger.

  "No choice?" She hissed, her voice sharp and biting.

  "You were there, weren't you? At Arefu? After what they did? Seriously, William?"

  His gaze fell to the cracked tiles, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words.

  "I know," he muttered, shame threading through his voice. "But after my family..."

  Lucy faltered, her anger softening despite herself. The edge in her voice dulled as she asked:

  "What happened?"

  William hesitated, his jaw clenching as his mind warred with memories he didn't want to revisit. His eyes turned distant, unfocused, as if he were staring past her, trapped in the past.

  "During the attacks, people were terrified," he began, his voice hollow.

  "Me, my family... we were scared. I've seen enough out there to know that things wouldn't improve. Arefu was lost, Lucy. Arefu's time in this godforsaken hell had come to an end."

  Lucy's face twisted, disgust and disbelief warring within her.

  "So you ran?" She accused, her voice rising.

  "I found my parents' bodies in our home, William. Some of that blame is on you!"

  The words struck him like a physical blow. He stumbled back against the sink, his expression stricken. His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, breaking under the weight of his grief.

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  "Yeah? Well, I watch my family die!"

  He shouted, emotion surging uncontrollably. His voice quavered as he choked out;

  "Jenny... My poor Jenny. My little Becky. Oh, Dylan..."

  He gasped, his chest heaving as his words broke into a fractured whisper. "Oh god..."

  Lucy stared at him, the immense weight of his agony engulfing her like a mighty wave. For a moment, she felt the sharp sting of empathy—the memory of the man William once was cutting deeper than she cared to admit. But she one thought

  There wasn't time for this.

  "How did it happen?" She asked softly, her tone turning more sympathetic, almost soothing.

  She stepped closer, her gaze fixed on him. William's shoulders shook as he exhaled, his voice barely a whisper.

  "Bloatflies," he said, the word hanging like a curse.

  "Of all things, bloatflies. Jenny and Becky were the first to go. There were so many of them."

  His voice trembled, his eyes glistening as he spoke.

  "Dylan... he got hurt pretty bad. I carried him for god knows how far... but it didn't matter. It didn't take long for him to succumb to his wounds. Days, weeks? I don't even know anymore."

  Lucy listened, her heart twisting as he recounted his loss. This hollow shell of a man replaced the William she remembered. She momentarily felt the urge to comfort him, to acknowledge the pain they both carried.

  "Where's Ian?" She asked, her voice firm despite the softness in her expression.

  William blinked, his sorrowful gaze meeting hers. "Excuse me?"

  Lucy stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. "My brother, William. Where is he?"

  William's shoulders stiffened, his gaze flickering away from hers.

  "I... I can't tell you that," he said, his voice low and strained.

  The words hit Lucy like a hammer, confirming what she already knew.

  Ian was here.

  She stepped closer, her tone more demanding;

  "William..."

  Her eyes bore into his with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably. "Where is he?"

  William hesitated, glancing toward the bathroom entrance as if expecting someone to walk in at any moment. His jaw tightened, his eyes darting back to Lucy's.

  "These people..." he trailed off, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't. I'm sorry."

  Lucy exhaled heavily, her head dropping slightly as she stared at the floor near his feet. She was weighing something in her mind, her body tense with suppressed energy. When her gaze lifted back to him, it was steady and resolute.

  Before he could react, she aimed her 10mm handgun directly at his head, causing William to flinch.

  "Don't make me ask you again, William," she said softly, calm but deadly.

  The barrel of the gun didn't waver, her grip firm. The shock in his eyes was almost enough to make her falter—but not quite.

  "You don't know what you're doing, girl," he said, his voice shaking with disbelief.

  "You'll be dead in seconds."

  Lucy tilted her head slightly.

  "I don't care, William," she said, her voice piercing through the tension like a blade.

  "Where is Ian?"

  He stared at her, his lips pressed into a tight line as his mind raced. Finally, William sighed, his shoulders sagging as he muttered:

  "He's upstairs. The big door with the terminal... You can't miss it."

  Lucy's eyes narrowed as she studied him, searching for any hint of deceit. The silence that hung between them felt unbearable, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, she lowered the gun slightly.

  "Are you going to rat me out?" She asked, maintaining a steady yet cautious tone.

  William hesitated, his gaze drifting across her face as if he were looking for something hidden. Eventually, he shook his head.

  "No," he replied softly.

  "I'm staying right here. If it were someone else, maybe I would. But..."

  He let out a worn sigh, his voice thick with emotion.

  "Just look at you. Your parents—they'd be so proud of the young woman you've become."

  Her chest tightened at his words, hitting her harder than she anticipated. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the surge of emotion, unwilling to let tears show. She relaxed her grip on the gun, letting her arm drop to her side as she fully lowered it. She stood there momentarily, half-expecting him to react in anger or make a move. But William stayed still, his face reflecting an inner struggle she couldn't quite understand. Lucy turned towards the doorway but paused to look back at him. Her voice softened, though her expression remained wary.

  "You did the right thing."

  With deliberate ease, she slid the gun back into its holster and added, with a faint smile:

  "It's not loaded anyway."

  His voice abruptly halted her as she prepared to step out.

  "Lucy..."

  She turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

  "I'm with them now," he said, his tone heavy with resignation and a hint of regret.

  "Whatever you're planning, you need to act quickly—and get out of here."

  Meanwhile, seated among The Family, Wolfgang sat up straight, his eyes darting around the room. The casual chatter from those around him felt almost surreal; their relaxed voices clashed with the heavy tension knotting in his stomach. Plates clinked softly on the tables while members exchanged stories and shared quiet laughs. To them, the unsettling rituals of the "service" seemed perfectly normal, or maybe it was something they'd just come to accept over time.

  Leaning back a bit, Wolfgang's gaze fell on Lucy. She lingered at the edge of the bathroom, her body tense as her eyes darted towards the escalators. When their eyes met briefly, she gave him the faintest nod before turning and striding purposefully toward the stairs. Wolfgang frowned, a knot twisting in his stomach.

  "Whatcha up to, Luce?" He muttered.

  He couldn't shake the feeling of suspicion—had she picked up a lead on Ian?

  His body instinctively shifted to follow her, but he hesitated, glued to his seat. Instead, he shifted his focus to Anne, who sat a few chairs away. Sitting upright, her hands rested loosely in her lap, her face marked by the lines of life experience. Her dark, observant eyes missed nothing as she conversed in calm, measured tones with another member beside her. Clearing his throat, Wolfgang leaned in, cutting through the soft murmur of conversation.

  "Hey, Anne," he said casually, his voice barely loud enough to reach her without drawing too much attention.

  Anne turned her head, her gaze locking onto his. A slight smile appeared on her lips, but she had a cautious look in her eyes.

  "Go ahead," she replied, her tone inviting and steady, yet underscored with quiet authority.

  Wolfgang scanned the table, noticing that several people had grown noticeably quieter; their curiosity sparked. He leaned in slightly and asked in a casual yet intrigued tone:

  "So, how'd you and Vance end up meeting?"

  The low murmurs around them faded even more as everyone turned their attention to Anne. He noticed a slight change in her expression—a quick shadow flitting across her face. She looked off to the side, seemingly weighing her thoughts.

  "Well," she started, her voice soft but intentional.

  "That's not a question I get asked all that often."

  She reclined slightly, folding her hands in her lap. Her sharp gaze swept across the room before it settled back on Wolfgang.

  "But I guess it's a story worth sharing."

  Wolfgang raised an eyebrow, his interest piquing at the way she spoke. He gestured gently with one hand, encouraging her to go on.

  "Take your time. I got nowhere to be." He cast a look at the escalators before returning his attention to her.

  Anne let out a slow breath, a subtle, almost nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

  "It was quite a while ago," she said, her voice taking on a reflective tone.

  "Back when the Wasteland was just starting to reveal its true nature to me."

  The room fell even quieter, the soft clinking of utensils on tin plates fading as her words filled the space. Wolfgang waited, his curiosity growing as Anne captured the group's full attention. Alan, sitting at the edge of the group, leaned in a bit closer. As the newest member of The Family, he hadn't gotten the opportunity to hear Anne's story yet. He'd tried to ask others before, but they all told him the same thing: It's Anne's story to tell.

  Now, he listened intently, his curiosity evident.

  "I'm from a Vault, you see." Anne started simply, speaking in a calm, friendly tone.

  She hesitated briefly, her forehead creasing slightly as she looked for the right words.

  "Well, we started venturing out, oh, I don't know, many, many years ago..."

  "I was young then—leading our Vault's scouting team. We discovered things—so many things that no one in that Vault was ready for."

  "The Capital Wasteland..."

  She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. "It was brutal. The people out here—like animals."

  Wolfgang raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

  "A vault, huh?"

  He tapped his finger casually on the table, his expression contemplative.

  "Honestly? I don't think I've ever met a Vault Dweller. I've heard they were about as dumb as a rock, though."

  Anne let out a laugh, a warm and genuine sound that filled the room and lightened the mood.

  "Oh, and we were!" She said with a chuckle. "Absolutely dumb as rocks!"

  Wolfgang beamed, a broad, toothy smile spreading across his face that, for the first time since arriving at Meresti Station, seemed to lift the heavy tension pressing down on him. For a moment, everything felt... normal.

  Anne's laughter faded as a wistful look crossed her face.

  "We saw so much in such a short time. The skeletons right outside the vault door... raiders..."

  Her voice turned dark, and she momentarily dropped her gaze. "Ugh, those raiders."

  Wolfgang let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, real fuckin' assholes, aren't they?"

  Anne's lips curled into a brief smile, her tone shifting to a more thoughtful one.

  "It's a real shame about this place," she said softly.

  "If only you knew what I know... The Capital Wasteland could potentially be the most dreadful place on Earth.

  She quickly scanned the group, her eyes landing on Vance again. Her expression gave nothing away as she studied him, the silence stretching on just a bit too long. Then, with a cheeky smile, she turned back to Wolfgang, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

  "But hey, we were talking about me and Vancie here," she teased.

  That nickname sparked an immediate response from Vance—a slight tightening of his jaw, subtle yet noticeable. Anne's grin widened, clearly enjoying the flicker of irritation that crossed his otherwise calm face. Her playful teasing aimed to divert attention from her recent revelation. She maintained eye contact with Wolfgang while she spoke, choosing her words carefully.

  "He was staying just outside a town we used to visit all the time," she started.

  "We kind of played the role of 'ambassadors' for our vault. They had things we needed, and we had things they needed. You get the idea."

  Her eyes lingered on him as if she were debating how much to reveal.

  "I'd go over there with food and supplies," she went on, her tone softening a bit, losing some of its earlier edge.

  "And... I don't know."

  Her glance darted briefly to Vance before returning to Wolfgang.

  "I just knew he was different. He was unlike anyone I'd ever known. He showed me more about myself than I ever thought I could learn."

  Her voice quieted, snagging on some unexpressed thought.

  "It didn't take long for me to see that Vance was my family. My real family."

  Her demeanor turned distant, the look on her face hinting at something—maybe regret or yearning—as if she were wading through memories she had kept buried for so long. For a moment, the air was thick with unspoken words.

  Wolfgang watched her, sensing a glimpse of her past—a Vault life she had moved on from, a different kind of family. But just like that, the feeling faded, slipping away like mist.

  "They weren't my Family," Anne finally said, her voice steady, almost detached.

  "The two were inferior."

  Wolfgang tilted his head, an eyebrow raised with skepticism.

  "So why bring him the goods?" He asked, his voice curious.

  He paused briefly, letting the question hang before adding;

  "Come to think of it, why was he even staying outside the town? They're not a fan of bloodsuckers?" He chuckled softly, the joke escaping him before he had time to think twice.

  The room turned silent, the tension thickening like fog as every pair of eyes seemed to lock onto him, unblinking. Holly was the first to break the stillness. Her voice was low, disturbingly calm, but carried an undercurrent of menace.

  "We don't appreciate terms like that," she said, keeping her gaze fixed on Wolfgang.

  "We may not be mortal, but it still dehumanizes us. You'd do well to remember th—."

  "You know," Anne cut in smoothly, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife through silk.

  Wolfgang's focus snapped to her, his eyes meeting hers. With a controlled smile, she gazed back for a brief moment. But beneath that calm surface, there was a simmering intensity that made the silence stretch uncomfortably.

  "You remind me of someone," Anne finally said, her tone steady and controlled.

  Her eyes remained locked on his, calm yet unwavering, as if she was peeling away his defenses one by one. Wolfgang fidgeted under her gaze, the weight of her words pressing heavily on him.

  "Yeah?" His voice faltered slightly, cracking under the pressure.

  He glanced toward Holly, half-hoping she'd shoot back a retort or glare. But the space where she'd been just moments ago was now empty.

  The sudden void hit him like a gut punch, sending a cold chill down his spine. He felt a creeping dread prickling at his neck. A hollow laugh slipped from him, forced and awkward. He swallowed hard, attempting to regain his composure, and turned his focus back to Anne. He managed a weak grin, the unease still tightening around him like a noose.

  "So... who's the lucky guy?"

  Anne's lips curled into a slow, calculated smirk, the kind that suggested she knew far more than she let on. Her eyes instinctively flicked toward Vance. He met her glance with a subtle nod, his expression unreadable. When Anne's gaze returned to Wolfgang, it was sharper and more focused, as if she were sizing him up against some invisible benchmark.

  "An outsider who didn't belong."

  Meanwhile, Lucy made her way quietly through the upper levels of the metro station, her footsteps barely sounding on the worn concrete. The dimly lit corridors were like a maze. Every corner felt charged with hidden dangers, and each dark alcove loomed with the potential for something frightening. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears louder than the faint hum of the station. And then she spotted it—the door William had told her about. It was a massive steel frame, featuring a small, reinforced glass window in the center. Her breath caught as she hurried toward it, her pulse racing with hope and dread. When she finally reached the door, her hands shook as they gripped the cold metal handle. Leaning in to look through the window, she froze. Inside, lying on a bed and turned away from her, was a figure she recognized instantly, even in the dim light.

  "Oh my god," she breathed, her voice quivering. "It's him."

  Her fingers fumbled with the handle as she twisted it frantically, but the mechanism refused to budge. The door stayed locked. Pressing her face closer to the glass, she cupped her hands around her eyes, trying to get a better look.

  "Ian!" She whispered urgently. "It's me!"

  There was no reply.

  Her stomach twisted with anxiety as she tapped lightly on the glass, her tone sharpening.

  "Ian! Look at me!"

  Still, the figure remained unmoving.

  Panic began to creep in, tightening her chest. Clenching her fist, she knocked harder, the sound resonating through the empty hallway like a gunshot.

  "Ian!" She cried, her voice breaking with desperation, but the figure on the bed remained disturbingly still.

  Frustration welled up within her, and her breaths became rapid. With all her might, she tugged on the handle again, but the cold steel remained unyielding. Gritting her teeth, she stepped back and frantically scanned the door and the wall around it, searching for any possible way in. Then something caught her eye—a terminal mounted on the wall beside the door. She rushed to the terminal, her fingers darting over the worn keyboard as she switched it on. Lines of flickering green text lit up the hallway, and she hurriedly scanned through them. A wave of relief washed over her when she saw the option to unlock the door, but as she clicked it, her heart plummeted—a bold, blinking message flashed on the screen:

  Password Required.

  "Of course, there's a password," she muttered, frustration boiling over.

  Her hands clenched on either side of the terminal as she glared at the prompt. She felt an impossibly high barrier separating her from Ian, her desperation twisting into a rising tide of fear. She glanced back through the window, her eyes locked onto Ian's still figure, scrambling to find a solution. She was so close—closer than ever before—but somehow still miles away. Breathing in short, shallow gasps, she fixated on the terminal, willing an answer to materialize. Then, she felt something—a light, almost imperceptible brush against her shoulder. Her heart jumped into her throat as she spun around, expecting to see someone standing behind her.

  But there was nothing.

  The hallway unfurled before her, empty and shadowy, the flickering overhead lights casting unsettling patterns on the cracked walls. Lucy's eyes darted down both ends of the corridor, her pulse racing in her ears. The silence was stifling, and yet... was there something lurking beneath it?

  She felt a whisper, faint and ephemeral, brush against her awareness.

  "Get it together," she whispered to herself, her voice barely breaking through the noise in her head.

  Then came a tap—soft and fleeting—on her arm. She spun again, her body tense, breath held tight in her throat.

  But once again, there was nothing.

  The terrible silence, dense and oppressive, enveloped her like a palpable burden. Her eyes scanned the corridor, muscles coiled and ready to spring. Nothing moved. No one was there.

  She swallowed hard, shaking her head while trying to regain her composure. It had to be her imagination—stress, fear, and exhaustion all working together to distort her senses. Turning back toward the terminal, she forced herself to move. The weight of the eerie stillness increased as she moved slowly and deliberately. It pressed down on her, interrupted only by the uneven sound of her breathing.

  Then, a piercing electronic buzz slashed through the silence like a knife.

  Lucy froze, a chill running through her as the noise echoed faintly in the hallway. Her eyes snapped toward the source.

  Holly stood there, illuminated by the dim light.

  She faced the door to Ian's room, her back unnaturally straight, exuding an unsettling calm. The glass window in the door reflected Holly's eerie stillness, as if she had come from another realm altogether. Lucy's throat felt tight as she stared, frozen. There was something off about Holly—something almost supernatural. It seemed as though she had materialized suddenly, her presence sending a wave of unease through the air. For a long moment, neither spoke nor moved.

  "How did you do that?"

  Despite the tightness in her throat, she managed to utter the words. Holly turned slowly, her movements deliberate, almost serpentine, locking her gaze onto Lucy's. She paused for a moment before shifting her focus back to the glass window on the door.

  "Vance told me you were special," she said, her voice soft and teasing.

  A faint, almost condescending smile tugged at her lips.

  "To think I almost felt a bit jealous," she chuckled, a low, chilling sound.

  "What do you mean?" Lucy asked, her voice tight, every muscle in her body coiling with tension.

  Holly's smirk broadened, her voice dripping with amusement,

  "You're related to our newest membe—"

  "He's not one of you!" Lucy fired back, cutting her off.

  Her voice carried through the corridor, defiance resonating in every word. Holly didn't display any discomfort; her grin grew wider, her eyes sparkling with a cruel delight.

  "Mommy, perhaps?" She pondered, her tone taking on a sing-song quality, each word brimming with sarcasm.

  It was as if she reveled in Lucy's frustration, like a cat toying with its prey.

  "Open the door," Lucy demanded, keeping her voice steady as she pointed toward the locked room behind Holly.

  But Holly paid her no mind, strolling slowly forward, her steps deliberate and predatory.

  "You'd be a little young for that, but it's not completely out of the question," she continued, her voice oozing false thoughtfulness.

  "Sister?" She teased, tilting her head slightly, as if the idea delighted her.

  With panic rushing through her chest, Lucy went for her hip out of reflex, her fingers gripping the empty spot where the 10mm should have been.

  "Looking for this?" Holly's voice cut through the air, icy and mocking.

  Lucy's gaze snapped to her, and there it was—the gun dangling loosely from Holly's fingers, swinging playfully like a toy.

  "Too bad it's empty," she added, her tone dripping with exaggerated playfulness, as if she were talking to a child.

  With a dramatic sigh, Holly dropped the weapon to the floor, the metallic clatter echoing through the hallway like a cruel mockery.

  "Sister, then," Holly went on, grinning at Lucy as she relished the suspense, like a predator surrounding its victim.

  Her steps were slow and calculated, inching closer to Lucy. Her sharp gaze stayed locked on her, drinking in every flicker of fear on her face. Lucy was paralyzed, her mind racing through every possible escape, but each seemed blocked, every plan undermined by Holly's looming presence. The shadows felt like they were closing in on her, her heart tightening as Holly drew nearer, her smile a twisted imitation of warmth. Holly paused just a few feet away, her stance surprisingly casual, yet radiating total control. She tilted her head slightly, wearing an expression that oozed mock pity.

  "No, no, no," she murmured, shaking her head slowly. "That won't work."

  With poised determination, she stood there, every part of her commanding authority. To Holly, Lucy was just prey—and she wanted Lucy to feel that. Each moment felt stretched out, as if Holly was relishing the inevitability of what was about to happen.

  "Here's the thing," Holly continued, her voice lowering to a menacing whisper, each word piercing and edged like a knife.

  "Ian is one of us."

  With a rhythm that seemed scripted, she raised her hand and pointed directly at Lucy, her eyes narrowing and gleaming with danger.

  "And I know you know that."

  Lucy's thoughts stumbled, her mind reluctantly drifting back to a memory—one that involved her and Ian. He was ten, and they'd spent a sunny afternoon beneath the overpass where they always hung out, throwing rocks into the slow-moving, murky stream below. The sound of splashes filled her ears, echoing their laughter. They had been teasing each other, challenging each other to create the largest splash.

  Then, another memory emerged—the wastelander.

  She remembered him creeping into the Brahmin pen, looking hurried and suspicious.

  "Ian!"

  Ian had hurried blindly toward the stranger when she had yelled out in a dread-tinged voice. Her heart pounding, she leaped to her feet. Ian and the invader had already squared off by the time she caught up. The wastelander shoved Ian hard, sending him crashing into the dirt. Without thinking, Lucy raced to his side, a surge of protectiveness washing over her, drowning out any fear of what might happen next.

  The memory fractured as if it were made of glass. A slight shift in the air, subtle and nearly undetectable, snapped her focus back to the present moment. Her instincts urged her to move, to take action, but she was just a moment too late.

  Holly lunged forward with unnerving speed, the blade glinting in the dim lights as it sank deep into Lucy's abdomen. Lucy let out a guttural scream, but Holly swiftly silenced her by clamping her hand over her mouth. The force of the attack knocked Lucy backward, her body hitting the cold, cracked wall behind her. It was a frighteningly personal moment. Holly's face was inches from Lucy's as she leaned in, their flesh almost touching. In sharp contrast to the cold pain radiating from the spot where the blade had pierced her stomach, her breath brushed softly across Lucy's cheek. Holly moved with intention, almost as if she had planned every action. With a sickening squelch, Holly wrenched the knife free—only to plunge it back in even deeper this time. Lucy's muffled scream grew louder, filled with agony and desperation. Her vision blurred as tears mixed with sweat on her face, every nerve screaming in protest. Holly leaned in even closer, her voice a chilling whisper brushing against Lucy's ear.

  "We cannot allow you to interfere with his evolution."

  She hissed, her words dripping with venom, each one twisted to penetrate deeper—both figuratively and literally. Lucy's legs gave way, her body losing strength as her eyes swam. She stared at Holly's face, the sneer etched across her features burning into her consciousness.

  Holly's tongue then sprang out in a hideous display of power, gradually pulling up Lucy's tear-streaked cheek in an intentional motion, savoring the salt and fear.

  This wasn't a simple act of malice but a deliberate attempt to intimidate, embarrass, and establish total authority. Amid her anguish, Lucy's thoughts raced until a single memory replayed itself.

  She was back under the overpass with Ian, his small form sprawled on the ground where the wastelander had shoved him. Her breath had come in harsh gasps, her heart hammering in her chest as she rushed forward.

  But something froze her in place. The boy who stood up wasn't the little brother she remembered.

  With an unwavering expression on his face, he picked up a rock from the mud as he rose, his tiny fists trembling with anger.

  "Ian! Stop!" She shouted, her voice cracking.

  But Ian didn't seem to hear her—or maybe he just didn't care.

  He swung the rock with all his might. The dull, sickening thud reverberated as it smashed into the man's groin. The man's body jolted violently, his mouth gaping open in a silent scream before a guttural, choking cry tore from his throat. He collapsed to his knees, clutching himself as waves of agony contorted his face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Lucy's steps stumbled, disbelief paralyzing her.

  "Ian!" She shouted again, panic creeping into her voice.

  But he didn't hear her calls. He jumped onto the man's body, his small frame shaking with adrenaline, hands gripping the man's shoulders tightly. The wastelander groaned, weakly pushing at him, but Ian wasn't letting go.

  Then it happened.

  Ian let out a primal growl that sent Lucy reeling. He bent down and bit into the man's throat. The wastelander's eyes widened in horror, his hands flailing helplessly as blood gushed from his throat in a violent torrent. Crimson spurted with each frantic pulse of his heart, puddling beneath them and soaking the dusty ground as Ian tore into flesh and sinew. The sheer volume seemed almost impossible, as though his very life was pouring out in hideous excess.

  Lucy came to a screeching halt, her stomach twisting as she struggled to breathe.

  "Ian! What did you do?!"

  But Ian didn't answer. Blood smeared his face, leaving his wild eyes completely unrecognizable. Something evil had replaced the boy she had grown up with, her little brother.

  Lucy scrambled to make sense of the scene unfolding before her. It burned into her memory, an image etched in her mind. It was a moment she would never shake off, one that would haunt her forever.

  A burning agony snapped her back to reality, the blade in her abdomen grounding her as she felt Holly's tongue leave her cheek.

  For a moment, everything froze—her vision sharpened, honing in on Holly's face. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, causing a sickening crunch as her forehead collided with Holly's nose. Holly stumbled back, her arrogant look shattered, releasing a choked sigh as her hold broke. Lucy grabbed the opportunity and pressed her teeth firmly into Holly's throat. The metallic taste of iron filled her mouth as her teeth tore through flesh. Holly's eyes widened in shock as Lucy yanked her head back, tearing off a ragged piece of flesh and sinew, leaving the ripped pieces of Holly's throat hanging horrifyingly between her teeth. Blood sprayed out in a violent arc, crimson streaming down Holly's chest as she faltered, clutching her gushing neck. Her knees gave way, fingers frantically trying to stop the flow, her breathing turning to wet, rasping gasps. Lucy spat the bloody chunk onto the floor, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. Shaking from the adrenaline and pain, she glanced down at the knife still lodged in her abdomen. Fighting back waves of nausea, she gripped the hilt and wrenched it free. A muffled groan slipped from her lips as the blade clattered to the floor. She pressed her hand against the wound, hot blood seeping between her fingers as she tried to staunch the flow. Her gaze snapped back to Holly, who was convulsing on the ground, choking on her own blood. Lucy forced herself to move, her hands trembling as she tore a sleeve from Holly's shirt. She balled up the fabric and pressed it against the stab wound, each motion sending waves of pain crashing through her body. Clenching her teeth, she fought to keep back cries of agony as Holly's gurgling faded into silence. Desperately, Lucy rummaged through Holly's pockets, her fingers awkward but determined. She came up with a few items: a key and some worthless trinkets. Tossing the useless bits aside, she focused on the small key now resting in her palm. Her gaze shifted to Holly's motionless body, observing the blood puddled beneath her.

  Then she noticed a sleek device on Holly's wrist.

  It shimmered softly in the dim light, its glossy surface covered in intricate buttons and a glowing display. It seemed so advanced, almost otherworldly. For a second, she forgot her pain, her brow furrowed in curiosity and suspicion. Pushing herself up, Lucy swayed a bit, pressing the makeshift bandage tightly against her side. Each step shot fresh stabs of fire through her, but she kept moving. She shifted her gaze to the door where Ian was being held, her breath coming quick but steady as she steeled herself for the next move.

  "How the hell am I going to get him out of there?"