Stella felt warmth against her palm—a familiar presence she had held a thousand times before. Her fingers instinctively curled, squeezing the hand in hers. Even before opening her eyes, she knew who it was.
A soft smile touched her lips. "Simon…" she murmured, her voice weak but filled with quiet relief.
Slowly, she forced her heavy eyelids open, expecting to see him beside her. But as her gaze adjusted to the bright hospital lights above, a sense of unease settled in her chest. Something felt wrong.
She turned her head, her heart pounding, only to be met with a sight that made her breath hitch. It wasn't Simon.
It was Rocco.
The warmth vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, sinking feeling. Panic surged through her as she yanked her hand away from his grasp as if burned. Her eyes, still hazy from sleep, locked onto him, searching for answers. But all she found was exhaustion in his features—an unspoken weight in his expression.
"Where is Simon?" Stella's voice trembled as she looked at Rocco, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps. The sterile scent of the hospital room pressed down on her, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating fear clawing at her chest.
Rocco didn't answer immediately. His face was drawn, dark circles shadowing his weary eyes. He hesitated, as if searching for the right words, but there were none.
"He's gone," he whispered.
The world tilted. Her heart seized.
"No." Her voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. Her mind whirled back—fragments of memory crashing together like shards of glass. The plane. The explosion. The fire swallowing the sky.
Her stomach lurched, and she stumbled out of the bed, ripping the IV from her arm. Blood dotted her wrist, but she didn't care.
"WHERE IS HE?!" she screamed, her voice echoing down the halls.
Rocco took a step forward, hands outstretched, but she flinched away.
"Stella—"
"He can't be gone!" Her chest heaved as she fought for air, fought against the unbearable weight crushing her ribs. "He promised he would follow me! He PROMISED!"
The room blurred with movement—nurses rushing in, trying to calm her, but their hands felt like chains, dragging her deeper into a nightmare she refused to believe.
Rocco grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Stella, listen to me!" he yelled. "He's dead! He's not coming back!"
His words stabbed through her like knives, but she shook her head violently. "No… No, you're lying." Tears burned her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. She couldn't. If she did, the truth would shatter her completely.
"I need to see him, Rocco," she whispered, her voice breaking. Her hands clutched his shirt, her fingers trembling. "Please. Take me to him."
Rocco's expression softened. He let out a slow, defeated sigh before nodding. Without a word, he took her hand and led her out of the room.
The walk felt endless, but soon, the air turned colder, heavier. They stepped into a dimly lit chamber—the crematory.
Stella's breath caught. She stared at the urn resting on a table, its polished surface reflecting the pale glow of the overhead lights. It was too small. Too still. Too final.
"He will be buried tomorrow," Rocco murmured.
Stella's nails dug into her palms, her entire body trembling. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "He's a vampire. A powerful one. He can't die."
"No vampire can escape fire," Rocco said quietly. "Fire destroys everything."
Her vision blurred, her ears ringing with a deafening silence. Every part of her screamed in denial, but the proof was right in front of her—reduced to ashes.
Memories crashed over her like waves in a storm. His touch. His voice. His teasing smirks. The way he looked at her as if she was the only thing in his world.
Gone.
Her knees buckled, and the room spun. Her body couldn't take it—couldn't bear the weight of a world without him. The last thing she heard before darkness swallowed her whole was Rocco calling her name.
But she didn't care.
She was already drowning in an abyss far worse than the one pulling her under.
Agatha stood by the window, her gaze distant, lost in thought. Behind her, Elizabeth sat on the couch, silent but resolute.
"Do the girls know?" Agatha asked, her voice quiet yet firm.
Elizabeth exhaled, fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. "I will tell them soon."
Agatha turned, her sharp eyes fixed on her oldest friend. "Do they know?"
"I said—"
"Not about that." Agatha stepped closer. "Do they know who you really are?"
Elizabeth's lips pressed into a thin line. "No. They will learn when the time is right."
A heavy silence stretched between them before Agatha spoke again, softer this time. "You can live, Beth. You can turn and stay."
A sad smile touched Elizabeth's lips as she shook her head. "Everyone has an expiration date, Agatha. You have to accept that. We can't fight the laws of nature, no matter how much we want to."
Agatha swallowed, her fingers curling into fists.
"After I pass away, they are no longer just my granddaughters," Elizabeth whispered, her voice barely steady. "They are yours now."
Agatha's breath hitched as she looked at her friend, the weight of those words settling deep in her chest. She reached for Elizabeth's hand, squeezing it tightly.
"They have always been mine too," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "And they always will be."
Elizabeth reached into her bag and pulled out a small stack of letters, placing them in Agatha's hands.
"Give these to them," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "On these dates."
Agatha's eyes flickered over the names written in Elizabeth's delicate handwriting:
Simon.
Stella.
Mallory.
Agatha.
Her breath caught as she read the last one. "There's one for me?"
Elizabeth smiled, the kind of smile that carried years of love and a lifetime of unspoken words. "My best friend deserves a goodbye, too."
Agatha's throat tightened as she pulled Elizabeth into a hug, holding her close, as if she could stop time, as if she could keep her here just a little longer.
"They're going to go through hell," Elizabeth whispered, her voice trembling for the first time.
Agatha closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'll be with them," she promised. "No matter what happens. I swear it."
The room felt heavier, as if the universe itself was mourning what was to come. As if it already knew—this year was only going to get worse.